Can I Keep My Jersey?
by Paul Shirley
Can I Keep My Jersey? is a deceptively good book. The introduction is written by Chuck Klosterman who, in my opinion, is one of the funniest writers currently taking up residence in the United States. The introduction is very funny as per usual but it arrives at a cost because you are expecting more of the same humor and insight throughout the rest of the book.
The rest of the book, to be sure, has its humorous and genuinely insightful moments but they are counterbalanced more times than not by forced attempts at humor and plenty of times wherein the reader may think to themselves, “This guy is kind of an arrogant asshole.” Here is where the deception lies: Paul Shirley can be an ass and, not only will he admit this on most occasions, he will also make sure that it does not deviate from his moral framework. Shirley is frustrated most by the contradictory nature of the NBA because, at the end of the day, it does not jive with what his perceptions of the NBA were when he was younger. It frustrates him that so many players make it a point to have prayer time, quote the Bible, have scriptures or religious-inspired messages for tattoos yet cheat on their wives, constantly check what writers are saying about them, and lamenting that they wish they could win the Lottery (even though some of them are already making around $14,000,000 a year in guaranteed money). While this contradictory nature of athletes is certainly not new it is oddly refreshing to read a member of that exclusive club bitch and vent about its very existence.
Additionally, Shirley is too keenly aware that his career is ultimately a nuisance because of this disillusionment and, therefore, striving for the NBA (something he has always wanted to do) has become contradictory by nature. Because Shirley did not have a prolific college career (he was on the Iowa State team that lost to a #15 seed), he was not heavily sought after by NBA teams. So, he had stints with teams in Yakima, Kansas City, Greece, Russia, and Spain in between his 10-day contracts with the Suns and the Bulls and in between his tryouts with other NBA teams.
Shirley, whether he is aware of it or not, is really each one of us individually. We bitch about our jobs, our bosses, our co-workers, and people whom we have never even met face-to-face (friends of a friend or co-workers in different offices in different states) and, because of this, we tend to think that we know what is best at our work. If only our bosses and our co-workers listened to us the company would be marginally better to work for. Because we are insulated in our job for at least nine hours a day (I am including commute times for most people), we look to sports and the entertainment world as an escape and it is refreshing to read someone’s perspective on how these things work behind the scenes.
Can I Keep My Jersey? also reveals something else about us as well. Midway through the book I found myself annoyed that the book’s pace and content did not coincide with the trajectory I wanted the book to take. I wanted to read about the hypocritical side of the NBA, the communication breakdowns between players and coaching staffs, and someone to validate all of the things that bother me about professional sports. Instead, this was a book written by a guy who good was enough to play in spurts in the NBA and who mostly just wrote about what he saw and what he thought. It is a very human book, with the occasional flaws and banality and all.
Like Chuck Klosterman says in the introduction–you will never be paid to play basketball and you will never know what it is like to live that lifestyle, except vicariously through people like Paul Shirley. It is not a glamorous book and it is not consistently funny but overall a very good read. This book is not your typical what-if-my-buddy-were-in-the-NBA style of book; it has the sense to make us realize that the player making $14,000,000 in guaranteed money wishing he could invent something to make him even richer is no different than the idiot you work with who overpaid for his sports coupe in the attempt to get more women.
Unlike us, athletes exist in a vacuum with themselves; there is almost no consistent interaction with upper management unless you are a superstar. Even the twelfth man on the bench gets to stare at women on the stands and gets paid to do practically nothing. If you have thought to yourself, “Man, that would be so cool,” this book sheds the necessary reality on that idea and counter argues with “Yeah, but here’s a few things you should know first…”
