"The Times and Trials in the Life of the One They Call Heart"
DISCLAIMER: The accounts of Anthony "This Kid's Got Heart" Dayrit shown here
are entirely true, yet may have been slightly exaggerated and the Dynasty is
quite concerned with the amount of free time Mr. Dayrit has on his hands.
Nevertheless, enjoy.
To the reader: This is a story of a boy. It is a story of glory, heartbreak,
and triumph. And yes I know I may be the biggest dork ever but remember that
I am a CYO champion.
Part 1
I remember that fateful summer morning as if it was just yesterday.
Four score and three lengths ago, I was waking up to the chirping parakeets
on my quaint village of Little Manila on the island of Mindanao, part of the
Philippine Islands. I always started each morning the same way. After
finishing a scrumptious breakfast of mangoes and guava juice, my tanned,
naked (!!) body would frolic to the raft that I had made out of banana tree
logs and papaya. I would row my boat out to the South China Sea so that I
could dive into the friendly waters for my coveted oysters and their pearls.
I lived a simple life, and I liked it that way. Being naked was a very
liberating experience, and I enjoyed it very much so. My life revolved
around good food, my raft, and of course being naked. The gods of the
volcano smiled down upon me, the sun smiled down upon me, and naked time
smiled down upon me.
Yet as the sun began to peek over the peak of the island's volcano Mt.
Pinatubo on that morning, I came up for air and suddenly felt that my
harmonious and life of quietude on the island was in danger. I peered
further into the waters and saw a boat fast approaching.
I grabbed my oar and desperately tried to row back to shore, yet the boat
caught up to me.
I saw a young boy, probably my age, in a black fleece and with a devilish
grin on his face jump into the muddy waters. He kept yelling at me in a
strange language and then he threw a net on top of me. As I was being
hoisted up onto the vessel, I managed to gain a glimpse of the fair ship's
name: "The HSS Dynasty." It was at that point I knew life would never be the
same. Good-bye Little Manila, good-bye Mt. Pinatubo, good-bye naked time.
I don't really know what my fascination is with being naked but nonetheless
it is a point to be brought up.
Part 2
We now flash forward to my junior year of high school.
It turns out that the boy in the black fleece would turn out not only to be
my kidnapper, but my teammate. They called him "Michael Hinck" He was a boy
with a vision-to unite specific individuals for a valiant and worthy
purpose: to win a Catholic Youth Organization High School Division
Championship.
I was transported to a world of vast wealth and privilege-Leawood, Kansas,
United States of America. It was here that Hinck groomed me from a young age
to be one thing-a champion. Instead of mangos and papaya, each day began
with a bowl of Michael Jordan edition Wheaties and a drink of five raw egg
yolks. After that, I would run no less than three miles as a warm-up,
keeping a very easy and steady pace of less than five minutes per mile. The
rest of the day consisted of basketball. My basketball was my best friend
for those foundation years. I dribbled it. I shot it. It sat next to be at
the dinner table. Yet this all ended when I caught the bastard making out
with my first love behind the seesaws at recess in 4th grade. I promptly
took it to the Pacific Ocean and booted it into the water. Sorry that was a
sore subject. I don't want to talk about it anymore.
Yet as my junior year of high school came, I was finally ready to play CYO
Basketball.
That was the year we won it all. The dream had become a reality. I knew that
all the hours of watching tape alone in a cold dark basement had paid off.
But this success clearly went to my head. The trophy had introduced me to a
world I had never before fathomed. A universe filled with gigantic houses,
fast cars, and fast women. My head spun in circles as I was intoxicated by
the chaotic life this little four letter word FAME brought me. Instead of
practicing out on the cold hard blacktop courts, I spent my nights at the
clubs with women whose names I couldn't pronounce and drinking "Crystal"
cause obviously you are not a big player without the bling bling.
My focus was wavering and Hinck sat me down to have a talk. He was obviously
still wearing his black fleece. Looking back on it, I sort of noticed that
in the 17 years I had known him, he had never taken that black fleece off.
It had become his second skin. Anyway, he told me that if I wanted a spot on
next year's potential repeat team, I needed to shape up. I took his advice
to heart.
Part 3
So the year of judgment has come. In order to know my playing style, perhaps
you should know a little bit about me.
When you take a look at me, what do you see? Probably the best damn athletic
prospect money can buy. A towering 5 foot 5 five behemoth with boyish good
looks and a slight hint of a wild side. Some people brag about dunking, but
my claim to fame is almost getting net. I drag my feet when I run. I get
tired easily. I tend to trip on things that don't exist.
You maybe laughing, yet I have one thing that you don't have: A piece of 14K
gold on my ring finger that reads "CYO Champion." You may ask, how the hell
did this kid do it? How did he rise above the odds?
My answer, my friends, lies in an intangible and unparalleled quality that I
possess. That is HEART. Nestled deep inside my chest, it pumps victory blood
into my veins. It makes me want to set the world on fire, to find a will, a
way to win. I know that deep down, heart will always prevail.
And that is all I have to say about that.