A Quote by Zach LaVine
I feel like I've accomplished everything I could in the dunk contest. It would be hard for me to go back and outdo myself.
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When I was in the dunk contest, DeMar DeRozan actually did the dunk I was about to do before me. That was going to be my next dunk, so I was panicking when I went up for my turn.
I hate talking about the dunk contest. I'm just so sick of the dunk contest. I'm done with that. That point of my life I'm over with.
When I was young and I could dream a bit, I could see myself participating in the slam dunk contest. I've always wanted to experience that.
After hurting myself like that, I could not go back immediately to racing. I was in no condition, mentally or physically. That helped me to strengthen myself to go through the hard times that were ahead with my business, and to be successful.
If I were to look back on my work, I think I accomplished probably about 70 to 75 percent of what I could have. Maybe 60 percent. Somewhere in that area; two-thirds of what I could have accomplished. If I had been a really dedicated person, and really worked hard, I think I could have accomplished more.
It's like all guys want to do is make a dunk, grab their shirt and yell out and scream - they could be down 30 points but that's what they do. Okay, so you made a dunk. Get back down the floor on defense!
It's hard to get to the point where you feel motivated and energized to go back in and create new music when you feel like you've just drained yourself by pouring everything you have into the previous project. It would be nice sometimes to take a longer break in between projects.
Working with other people, it's hard to get them to make it sound like what you have in mind. Also, it's really expensive to get your tracks produced, so I thought if I could learn how to do it myself, I could make five albums in a month and it would be free, it would be me, and it would be everything that I'm doing.
I like to always be able to contest shots. If you play against a player like Al Jefferson - he likes to pump-fake, so you need to be alert and quick. If he pump-fakes you and you go up, when you come back you need to go right back up to contest his shot.
I feel like boys listen to my music. They just don't like to admit it, but I go hard. But yeah, I feel like I go really hard, so why not listen to me? Anybody could relate to my music, honestly.
I like the Slam Dunk contest when it's good.
Okay, I get kicked off the drums when I try and...the notes just keep coming at you and I'm like "Ahhhhh!" I can't do it. I have literally gotten booed off the stage way too many times. It's terrorizing. The rest of my band mates just are...they tell me to get off. I'm like, "I can play bass. Dunk, dunk, dunk, dunk."
I don't play basketball for the money. I don't play it for the crowd. When I didn't have a friend, when I was lonely, I always knew I could grab that orange pill and go hoop. I could go and dunk on somebody. If things weren't going right, I could make a basket and feel better.
I suppose I could have sat back and pitied myself. For a time I wondered if I'd ever be able to go on to a stage and perform again. After a couple of weeks I began to feel I could fight my way back to health if I put my mind to it. I thought to myself: 'Pity never did anybody any good. Go on. Patsy, show 'em what you can do'
What was I afraid of, exactly? What other people would think? I guess, a little. But that wasn't what was stopping me from acting on my feelings. It was the intensity of them. The desire for her. I knew if I gave into it, I'd have to surrender myself completely. I'd lose all control. Everything I knew, everything I was, the walls I'd built up to protect myself all these years would come crashing down. I might get lost in the rubble. Yet, she made me feel alive in a way I'd only ever imagined I could feel. Bells, whistles, music.
We could go back," he said. In the dome light of the car, his face looked hard as stone. "We could go back to your house. I can stay with you always. We can know each other's bodies in every way, night after night. I could love you." His nostrils flared, and he looked suddenly proud. "I could work. You would not be poor. I would help you." "Sounds like a marriage," I said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. But my voice was too shaky. "Yes," he said.
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