Reginald. Reggie. Reginator. Regatola. Reg … It’s time we had a little talk.
You’re obviously a talented athlete with the potential to go far in the NBA, but it’s interesting to me that a team named after a barber’s instrument drafted a rising star with one of the most unique haircuts in all of basketball. A clipper can also refer to a fast moving ship, but other than a few wooden leg jokes, my nautical repertoire is rather limited.
Without even knowing it, your haircut has enriched my life.
For years, I caught guff for my haircut or lack thereof. Once while leaving the Lenoir County Courthouse, a man muttered something under his breath to the effect of “that’s the jack**s from the paper; he needs a haircut.” I turned around and discovered the guy giving me a hard time was wearing a toupee that had apparently been purchased from the Titanic’s gift shop the day it went down.
I pointed towards his head and asked if he had a permit for it and could it eat solid food after midnight.
Reggie, thanks to you and your decision to rock that tribute to B.A. Baracus, I no longer have the most famous hair in Kinston. Encounters such as the one I described above have ceased and, for that, I’m truly thankful. I look forward to your haircut yielding more endorsement money than Chris Andersen’s. If you know of a mop or angel-hair pasta company looking for a spokesman, you know where to find me.
Years ago, when the media started pronouncing “Bullock” as “Bull-ock,” I wanted to cash in with a line of Reggie Bullock Bull-Lock Padlocks. For the commercial, we’d zoom in to see you guarding a defender on the court, then we’d jump to a scene of a frustrated criminal (in a Duke shirt, of course) unable to break into a storage building locked tight with a Reggie Bullock Bull-Lock Padlock.
Your high school coach Wells Gulledge quickly hit me with an injunction, which means I now have a 10x10 storage shed full of Bull Lock Padlocks. Ironically, someone broke in a few weeks back and stole most of them.
To get to the NBA, you had to leave my beloved Tar Heels one year early. Many people yammered till they were Carolina Blue in the face about your decision to forego your senior year and turn pro. While some critics of your decision were truly knowledgeable about the sport and more specifically your career, the vast majority of these people haven’t touched a basketball since Jimmy Carter chewed his own food.
The coaches, mentors and friends who cared about you had a right to voice their opinions, and one would assume you appreciated their concern. Everyone else who chastised you for going pro would sell their heads to science for the kind of money you’re now making. To paraphrase a scene from “MASH,” if I were offered that kind of money I’d be out of here so fast my underwear would have to catch up with me.
Why should you believe anything I’m telling you? Because we’ve dueled it out on the basketball court. Frankly, I’m a little hurt that our epic basketball battle hasn’t been brought up in any interview you’ve given over the last four years.
It all happened back in 2009. Free Press Editor and and My Little Pony collector Bryan Hanks begged/bullied me into participating in a charity basketball game. I told Hanks I hadn’t played basketball in many years, but he assured me this game was just for fun, and that if I was a little rusty, it wouldn’t be a big deal. About 10 minutes into a practice the day before the game, my jumper came back and with it, a modest amount of confidence.
On game day during the shoot around, the vibe was loose and it looked like it might be a fun day after all. I grabbed a loose ball and sank a 15-footer, so my teammate threw me the ball and suggested I try a 3-pointer. You were standing in front of me talking to a friend, but when you saw that I was about to take a shot, your instincts kicked in and you attempted to block my shot.
To my surprise, the shot rattled in. Since that fateful day, I’ve told a few hundred people that I made a 3-pointer while Reggie Bullock was guarding me. As soon as you have your first 30-point game for the Clippers, I’ll start figuring out how to fit that story on my license plate.
Others present for “The Shot” contend you were just waving to someone while I was shooting, that your feet never left the ground and that you only looked up because you were afraid you might trip over my hair. To those naysayers I say, horseradish.
Also, the contest that took place that day was not friendly. The 1992 Duke/Michigan national championship game was friendly compared to the game played in Kinston that day. I showed up expecting to shoot a little hoop to benefit a charity, but ended up participating in some sort of Mad Max Olympics.
I’ve seen people get less worked up over the birth of a child — on an airplane.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that even though we’ve only met briefly while I was dominating you on the court, there is a bond between us that can’t be broken. You’re going to need someone in your organization who is honest, forthright, and not afraid to tell you you’re wrong — of course, if that’s OK with you.
I’m worried about an earnest North Carolina guy being transplanted into seedy old Los Angeles. Reggie, those people in L.A. don’t even know what biscuits are, but obviously, I do. Plato once said “The man who foregoes a biscuit will foresaketh his soul; also, he’ll always leave the toilet seat up.”
Don’t become a guy who leaves the toilet seat up, Reggie. For only 10 percent after taxes, I’ll look after your money and the toilet seat.
Call me.
Jon Dawson’s columns appear every Tuesday and Thursday in The Free Press. Contact Jon at jon.dawson@kinston.com and 252-559-1092. Purchase music, books and Reggie Bullock Bull Locks at jondawson.com.