Little Damian at Weinland Park

"Why do you react with such anger and aggression?"

Nine words Damian had probably never heard in his life. See, Damian is a special kid. Somewhere between six and nine years old, Damian doesn't have much. One of five kids sitting on a bench as I approached the courts at Weinland Park on the city's near northeast side today, Damian just wanted to play basketball.

As Damian, Kelly, Matthew, Zyreke and Antonio (he wanted me to call him "Montana") sat on the bench watching four grown men play with the only basketball at the park, I decided to give these boys the extra ball I had sitting in my backseat for a month.

These kids just wanted to play. And Damian was special.

"We can keep it?" Matthew asked me.

"Yeah, man. You just have to share it," I replied. "If one of us eats, we all eat."

As the boys faces lit up with gratitude, I could tell they just wanted to play. As we hit the opposite side of the court where the grown men, somewhere in their mid-30's, were playing, we decided to play three on three.

"Let me shoot for ball," Zyreke yelled out.

*swish*

Zyreke was special as well. A 5'10 sixth grader with special athleticism, and a funky looking jump shot that went in more than it rimmed out, Zyreke had dreams of playing at Beechcroft.

"I like football better though," Zyreke said.

Zyreke could really hoop, though. With Damian and Matthew on my team, both the same age (somewhere between 6-9), we had to form a quick bond to take down a talented team of Zyreke, Antonio and Kelly.

Kelly was quick, but couldn't really shoot. So he decided to take Damian to the rack, over and over and over again. The last time Kelly blew past Damian for a score, Damian fell to the ground faster than the South Side Chicago housing market after the Illinois interstate system ripped through the heart of the African-American community in the mid 1950s.

These boys are the aftermath of such "city planning." Just a few miles north of I-670, and two Euro-steps west of I-71, these five young boys were the product of project ghettos, and creeping gentrification disguised as "urban renewal."

But, they didn't know that. They just wanted to hoop.

The last time Damian fell to the ground, he erupted with anger. Charging at Kelly faster than I thought the young boy was capable of, I stepped in front of Damian before he could land his punch. Damian was better than that, but nobody had ever told him that.

"Why are you so angry?" I asked Damian.

"He knocked me down," said the young boy with tears filling his eyes.

"Get back up, it'll be okay. These dudes can say whatever they want to you. Know how to make them shut up?" I asked Damian.

"How?" he said.

"Give him buckets. They can't talk smack when they're getting scored on," I explained.

So Damian responded. Transforming from a child that traveled every time he touched the ball to a young Lillard, Damian showed he was special.

"See, that's how you do it," I shouted to little Damian as he crossed over from his right to his left to finish a tough lay-up.

Damian was quick. Damian had ability. Just never had any direction from what I could tell.

But Zyreke would not shut up.

Yelling at the top of his lungs whenever he felt he had to express himself, I could tell Zyreke had some anger built up inside him.

"Why do you have to yell?" I asked Zyreke.

"Because they won't listen," he replied, looking visibly stressed.

I had to explain to him that people don't want to listen to a loud mouth, blabbering fool, even if what he was speaking needed to be said.

So he quieted down, and explained the situation.

Matthew had been refusing to check the ball up, explaining to Zyreke that on "this block we play first to last," whatever that meant.

"Just check the ball up, dummy," Zyreke told Matthew.

Checking the ball into me, Matthew's pass was crisp, and Zyreke's defense was suffocating.

Obviously not playing my hardest, I decided to give Zyreke a little bit of a jab step, faking a cross over to my left, only to shift right for an easy lane to the bucket.

It was like taking candy from a baby, but without Donald Sterling-like intentions. You Reach I Teach, and Zyreke was in for a history lesson.

With the game tied at six, Matthew asked what the score was.

"About to be 9 to 6 after I drain this three," a confident Zyreke boasted.

*swish*

Zyreke was special. Taking a 9-6 lead, Zyreke's team held an advantage. We had to score, but Damian was too emotionally charged and Matthew was too small to take Antonio off the dribble.

"Come set a pick for me," I shouted to Damian.

"What's that?"

You have to be kidding me! Taking a break in the action, I showed these five young boys how to set screens, and move off the ball. More importantly, I showed them how to defend them, so one day, maybe these boys will be experienced enough to recognize road blocks and guide them out of this project ghetto.

But Damian was special.

As I set a screen on Kelly's left side, Damian drove to his strong side, rolling off my screen to find an open lane to the bucket. As Zyreke switched with Kelly, the cocky sixth grader fouled Damian as his lay up clanked off the left side of the rim, miraculously rolling in for a point.

"And 1," Damian boasted. This time Damian fell to the court, nobody said a word. I guess he took my advice.

Cutting the lead to 9-8, we needed a stop. Matthew hadn't defended anyone all day, which made sense when I asked him who his favorite NBA player was prior to the game.

"James Harden," he said with a smile.

You would have thought Harden was giving Matthew one-on-one instruction. Antonio had his way with the undersized fourth grader, and would again blow past him for an easy lay up. Having to guard Zyreke out on the perimeter, I couldn't help with our interior defense. But I had faith in the two young boys.

"We gotta get some stops," I said as I checked the ball in with our team down 10-8.

Passing to Damian, I set a screen to Kelly's right side. This time, Damian drove off the screen, and found a cutting Matthew for an easy lay up. Antonio had fallen asleep somewhere along the play, and with the lay in off the backboard, something I had showed Matthew right before the game, his confidence was restored.

Returning on the defensive side, Matthew showed quickness that he hadn't showcased at all prior to that possession.

Ripping Antonio clean for a steal along the perimeter, Matthew looked up, finding me right under the basket for a score.

10-10. Tie game. Win by two.

As Damian and Kelly had gotten into what looked like another scuffle, I checked the ball into Zyreke, with an eye on the situation taking place on my right side.

"Punk ass cry baby," Kelly yelled in Damian's face. I had took my focus off Zyreke.

*swish*

"Game over, boaaaaa," Zyreke boasted loudly.

Stepping in the middle of what could have been a full out fist fight, I wasn't worried about losing that game.

I just wanted to win the war, and these kids were my soldiers.

Walking back to the parking lot, Damian walked alongside me.

"You hungry?" I asked him.

"Yeah"

As Damian followed me to the parking lot, I looked up and remembered a corner store just a block down the road.

"Take this and go get something to eat," I said to Damian as I handed him a $5 bill.

"Just don't tell those guys I gave you any money, alright?"

"Okay. Thank you," Damian said as he generously took the money I gave him.

Walking down 4th Street, Damian turned left and walked into the corner store.

I wasn't going to stay and see what he got, but I was just happy to know that I helped Lil Damian today.

Hopefully he remembers what I did for him, and helps someone out just like himself one day.

Either way, I had won the war today.

But Damian was special.