The sun rose on Sunday, February 24, 2008 and when it set, My Game was gone. It passed at 6:45 PM in the hands of a lovely young lady who had it wrapped around her pinky finger. The assailant, though sweet and innocent by appearance, proved to be a little too smooth for My Game. The final blow came as she allowed me to win a game of pool thus stroking my ego and placing me exactly where she wanted me. As I boasted loudly about my prowess with a cue, she slyly nodded knowing that she had delivered the head shot and the game was all but over.
My Game had seen its climax during the joy-filled days of my youth when it was known to pull random chicks out of cars, off bus stops, and even from church pews. In 1988, it moved to Atlanta where it met and fell in love with the love of its life, thick brown-skinned sisters. Their union brought into this world many wonderful night, weekend and sick day rendezvous’, which I will always cherish. My Game had long been suffering from delusions of grandeur since my failed marriage of seven years; thinking that it could just jump back in to the life once I became a single man. Only one day before its passing, My Game was at an Old School Saturday party attempting to convince ladies to overlook my faults. Bystanders would have never been the wiser that its best days were behind it.
This year marks the 20th anniversary of the birth of My Game, but despite that youthful age this past Monday was its great getting up morning.
Monday morning, I was quoted as saying, “We all know that we are going to leave this earth one day and this was the time that for the Lord to say, “Well done!”
We’ll be pouring out liquor this Friday night.