It is being widely reported that the Orlando Magic are agressively suiting Adonal "Adonaluminum" Foyle. Foyle will earn about $30 Million over the next three seasons (a McIlvanian mistake if you ask me) for impressive statistical numbers of 2.2 points and 1.3 fouls in 9 minutes per game last season.
But the real story, reported here only at I*Heart*Celtics, is that Adonaluminum Foyle is also a bard of such sensitive syntax and delicate diction that he makes Billy Shakespeare look like Chingy (sample lyric: "Ya that's me, Ching-a-ling equipped wit much ding-a-ling / Knock on the door I'm on the scene of things / Busted in, Henny bottle to the face! / F**k it then, feel like my head a toxic waste"). Let's just take a moment to refrain that last line: "My head a toxic waste".
Anyway, it all happened when I was hanging out at the poetry corner on AdonalFoyle.com. I was just minding my own when all of a sudden the Iambic Tetrameter of Foyle's poem "Ambivalance" just up and slapped me right across the face:
I miss the cocks that shout out loud
Arise, arise you wretched sloth.
Jesus. This is intense. Since a Freudian explication of the first line may be inapropriate for this family-friendly blog, I ask Adonal: why the self-deprication? Besides your 44% free throw shooting you are not all that wretched.
But your Biblical tone, I admit, is a bit over the top. Sloth? I don't think I've ever heard anyone use that word except in the Good Book and in the movie "Seven". Unless this poem is about one of those sloth animal things from the rain forest, which makes me totally confused because why would a cock be in the rainforest? Don't answer that question. You continue:
I miss the pain I ever hate
Whips and ropes, my haunting fate.
Sounds like we've got a sado-masochist on our hands. I mean, I could understand the darkness of this poem if maybe you were living underground in Leningrad circa 1939, but I mean, you are an NBA player making $10 million a year (more than Shakespeare and Chingy make per year mind you). I know money can't buy happiness, but hey man, what is this fate that haunts you so much? Moving to Orlando? I know, that place sucks. I'd be willing to say its the worst City in America even. But hey, you'll be near the beach, right? Wrong. Adonal rejects my optimism harder than a weakside layup:
Damn you beautiful beaches,
I curse the day you were born.
Gulp. Sorry, I was just trying to brighten things up here Adonal. Then again, the previous passage was from the agressiveltstraight-from-a-postmodern-poetry-class titled "We Too Can Build Computer Chips", a very serious reverie on post-colonialism, racism, and tourism. So you don't like the beach. To each his own. But what is it that is haunting you so much, my man? And please, don't answer that with a vague, basketball-related rhetorical question...
How many went to that raw place?
Where airballs and injuries roam.
OK, this last part lost me. Whatever happened to good old deer and antelope playing? Can airballs really roam? Too many questions, too few answers Adonal. I feel like my head a toxic waste.
* Despite my slight sarcasm regarding his poetry, I must say I respect Foyle a lot more than I did before I went to his poetry corner. It's actually fairly articulate for a professional athlete, and as he says "Writing poetry is a very important part of my life. I use poetry to capture my emotions and chronicle my life." You can't disrespect that really.Source URL: http://ledger-heath.blogspot.com/2007/08/adonal-foyle-to-be-signed-by-magic-he.html
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