Anarchy State of Utopia
In Greek, Utopia literally is no place, a place that does not exist. In government, Utopia is the promise a always made but never kept. In terms of the self, utopia can be as simple as a dream of prosperity. It is said that utopia can never exist because its inherent tyranny creates the dystopia that the system was bound to avoid. History has shown that a future of one’s dream is nightmare for the rest of the world. Case in point, take Miss Rebecca Lynn Hammon, a known quantity in her niche, an unknown to the rest of the world, and in a larger sense, someone more unknown than known even among her followers. A legend in her time, an infamy in her future, a quantity of utopia only known to the disaster she creates. One look at the beauty on the court would render this analysis absurd, it would seem: blonde hair, blue eyes, clean living, hard working nobody turned somebody. But like all creators of utopia the rise is the greatest fall.
It is early summer of 2006. Warmth permeates the cold walls of the canyons of New York, as movement toward a new season erases any doubt of past indiscretions or bad trades as the fans file into the Garden. She is finally alone at the top. The past players have all moved forward to other teams or into retirement. New York is now her home and her team. Seven years of climbing through the ranks have paid off at last for the golden girl from the Black Hills.
“This is MY year!” she exclaims as she takes the court, cracking her gum to the rhythm of her feet.
“Let’s just focus on winning,” the coach admonishes, but in her heart of hearts she knows her employment is based on her ability on letting Becky run the team herself, by herself, for herself.
Becky looks over at Shameka all but smiling her smile but knowing that she is as much a threat as the look-alikes behind the bench; this is her team, and there is nothing that can be done about it, and it makes her happy.
The game starts and as can be expected Becky contributes to 60% of the Liberty offense; as can also be expected, they're losing by 30. It’s garbage time now yet Becky insists on remaining in the game. Her favorite superstition in situations like this is to match her jersey number 25. Not like 23 points would be a bad thing- it would please the old timers in the Sue jerseys- but 25 just has that extra ring of self-confidence to it. She goes up in her selfish and reckless style, seeing nothing except the basket. As can be expected, she gets clocked by the big blonde center fighting for playing time- that’s when she sees it for the first time.
The Garden seems unchanged. San Antonio is still San Antonio, New York is still New York. Feenstra is still Feenstra, albeit her blonde locks have a little brunette tinge to them and Becky finds it odd for such a Christian girl to be smiling brightly after clocking her opponent. She steps to the line and then looks over at San Antonio’s bench. #5… no, #55- no, wait, #55 is NOT a blonde!
The distraction causes her to miss her first shot. She looks again, and this time #55 looks back at her with almost wicked intent and mouths Becky’s name with almost an air of question to herself. Becky shakes her head and then barely makes the 2nd free throw before taking herself out of the game.
“Wow, I must’ve gotten hit hard- for a moment I thought Zolman was VJ, Lisa,” Becky complains, her head still spinning.
“Double vision?” Lisa replies.
“Umm, no, not two Zolmans, one very blonde VJ… oh, right, two 5s. I get it now. Whoa…” Becky finally comes to her senses as the game comes to a close.
“Yeah, obviously not Zolman,” Becky jokes at Vickie as they pass in the post game handshake.
“You WOULD like me better as a blonde,” Vickie jokes back.
“I got Meggan for that!” Becky whispers so the evangelical Christians don’t hear.
“Oh, they know. Why do you think Katie hit you so hard?” Vickie says with a laugh as she walks away.
That night, dressed in horribly tacky faded jeans and T-shirt bag of ice still on her head, she is home with her lover. Meggan walks in the room, basically Becky’s clone right down to the bad fashion sense.
“At least I KNOW you’re like me,” Becky tells Meggan as she sits down next to her. She describes her vision from the free throw line, and misses the flash of panic that crosses Meggan's face.
“Or something like that. You really would like it if the world was like you.”
“It would win us ballgames, that’s for sure! Just was a weird thing I had when I got knocked silly. It seemed to be just a case of blurry vision at first but the more I think about it, it seemed that everyone there was me, big me, small me, coach me, fan me.”
“No, sweetie, fan you would be ME!” Meggan corrects with a giggle and a peck on the cheek.
“Mmmm, at least that much I’m sure of.” Becky leans back into Meggan’s arms and she drifts off to the rebroadcast of the game.
The Garden was sold out for the opener. It hadn’t been that way since Becky’s rookie year. Becky walked in through the main door, as an observer, not as a player. She took her seat courtside to see everything herself. Everything looked exactly as it was this afternoon, but the lights were brighter, the music was louder and much harder to get out of your head, and the teams were prettier.
Blonde after blonde filed through for both San Antonio and New York. Then Becky saw everyone shoot. Her motions, her gutsy but oftentimes misguided drives to the lane, her smile. Her smile from numbers she knew were not hers, and then she saw #55 and again they made eye contact. She picked up a scorecard from the ground: for San Antonio, #55 V. Johnson, #5 S. Zolman; for New York, #33 Cathy Kraayeveld, #20 Christi Meeks. For some reason Erin looked untouched, still the token straight chick on the end of the bench, glaring at the scene. And then herself, herself!
#25 New York: Rebekah Hammond; #25 San Antonio: Becky Hammon. The similarities would be just for show if she didn’t notice that every vital statistic was identical: 5'6", 136, Colorado State '99, 17 years of experience.
“Man, I'd sure love to bed either of those 25s, but they carry 45s, if you know what I mean,” a young male fan in a split New York/San Antonio 25 jersey said with a perverted smile.
“Actually, I think she likes shotguns better,” Becky blurted out in shock.
“Wait…I know you…you’re this Meggan chick the gay fans talk about. Sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to diss the fact that they like girls. I’ll just stare at Christi then, at least she’s got the 5th Avenue fashion to go with the good looks. And that way I don’t have to be in 2 places at once… yeah, if anyone knows, you would, you and the die-hards know that one. It was the only way we woulda traded Becky to San Antonio in 2007.”
“Whatever,” Becky said, pondering the 2 clones of herself and everyone else when she saw #55 pass by, carrying herself as if she were three inches taller and acting like a total…point guard.
“Ain’t it great, Beckster?” Vickie said as everyone turned toward her.
Becky had to admit she was amused at the idea, and even more amused when she saw the date on the program: June 6, 2016.
“Yeah, it is,” Becky said, elated when she saw everyone standing, chanting her name, even above her other clones and no one even batting an eyelash.
“They’re all yours if you want them,” Vickie muttered as she returned to the bench, fans oblivious to her breaking the 4th wall.
Becky wakes up slowly, Meggan’s soft fingers in her long blonde hair working as hard to keep her unconscious as she's working to be conscious.
“Welcome back. You missed the boring parts, now we’re at your 10 4th quarter points. Where you finished at 24.”
Becky shudders.
“Bad dream?” Meggan asks. "You did seem to squirm more than normal."
“24 points. 24? 23 for Sue, 25 for me, but 24? Of all the numbers to match, it had to be that diva's? That stupid space cadet's?” Becky exclaims.
“There’s the Becky I love! I knew it was just a bump to the head and not a concussion,” Meggan says playfully.
“You’d have to hit me pretty hard in the head to have me forget Tari! Old fogy took away from my spotlight!” Becky said. “Come to think about it, that would make it a rather lovely dream, because I ran the team.”
“YOU, a GM? And I thought Isiah was a bad idea,” Meggan chuckles.
“No, I mean the whole team was ME, both teams, San Antonio and New York. Some stretched out versions of me, yeah, but they were all me, and it was beautiful,” Becky says.
“Okay, no more mixing head shots with vodka shots for you, young lady!” Meggan says, laughing uncontrollably. “Besides, you wouldn’t be able to keep your pants on long enough to play an official game. Why else would you be with me since almost your rookie year?” She pulls Becky close, her hands starting to wander.
“Mmmm, good point.” Becky says with a deep kiss.
She woke up on a plane next to a beautiful blonde with long cornrows.
“Well, this is different. I thought my dad’s genetically passed on fantasy about Bo Derek was for the beach not the Mile High Club, but you won't hear me complaining.” Becky moved in on her fantasy only to get smacked across the hand.
“Bo Derek can’t palm a basketball! Have a good nap, Becky? I know I did,” the woman said. There was an edge to her smile, and something familiar in her steady gaze, even though she was blonde and blue-eyed.
“Vickie?” Becky asked.
“Yep, good of you to come along for the trip home. Figured you can tear up the Riverwalk better?”
“San Antonio? What the?” Becky said, confused.
“Of course San Antonio. Oh, I see, you’re from before it all began. How silly of me. Well, this IS your world. I’m just doing up my braids in it. I figured someone better show you around this little world of yours before it becomes more than the 2nd worst team in the league. Oh, right, you wouldn’t know them either. You're not missing much. Not a very good basketball team, fat bitches who like guns WAY too much. Did set a trend though, gotta love that. You made 12 gauges more popular than nines in the gangsta culture. They’re changing their roster, though. And they were only 20 prison years away from breaking the Jail Blazers record,” Vickie rambled on while she checked on the rest of the plane.
“Umm, what?” Becky said.
“They had to put your love of guns somewhere, and besides, Laimbeer isn’t in on it. You bitch and moan about that a lot. I guess you admire his aggression,” Vickie said, the words coming out from between gritted teeth.
“So they ALL aren’t me. Damn,” Becky pouted.
“You don’t know the half of it. Oh, by the way, welcome to San Antonio, home of the four-time world champion Silver Stars,” Vickie said as the plane lands and Becky started looking for a hotel. “Where do you think you’re going? We got practice then the Sun!”
At practice, everyone did things her way, her lane drives, her circus shots; even the center had to be reminded not to run away from the opening tip. Becky smiled and had the best practice of her life, just like shooting hoops in her driveway; she could almost hear herself telling her teammates what to do. Not her but her voice in everyone’s head. It creeped her out a little bit, but they get the job done. And they were all HER. Even Vickie fell into line during practice; they even began to sound like her, be it her black imitation, her angry one-liners, or her gum-cracking laughter. Everyone had different names but they all turned around when one was called out– Becky Hammon.
After practice Becky looked at everyone closely. They really were clones of her, right down to her figure. Even the center seemed to have her shape as she walked into the shower.
“Say, VJ, are they like me in every sense?” Becky asked.
“If they weren’t, do you think Erin would still be on the Libs as Erin? Or if you need more proof, why don't you ask Shanna when she's done?” Vickie gestured to the front of the room, where Shanna Zolman- who looked like Becky head to toe, as if she could grab her jersey and stand in for her if she got injured- and Katie Feenstra were passionately making love in the shower.
“Wow!” Becky said, becoming aroused.
“Why, Becky, why watch when you could play?” a voice said behind her as hands that were smooth but showed Becky’s ruggedness slid down her practice jersey.
“I’ll leave you and Erin alone,” Vickie said.
“ERIN?!” Becky shrieked, half in shock and half in pleasure when she blinks awake, arm around a dozing Meggan.
“Mmmm, that’s a new crush, Beck, what have you been doing on the road?” Meggan mutters thickly and Becky rolls away in sheepish disbelief.
Months passed without incident, aside from the 10 game losing streak and the boo birds showing up at MSG. Then came the west coast trip and suddenly behind her was Vickie, looking tanned, roots showing but still in blonde braids, albeit even WORSE fashion sense.
“VJ? Don’t you knock?” Becky said sharply.
“Why? We’re roommates on the road,” Vickie said matter-of-factly.
“We aren’t even on the same team anymore, why are we- oh. Ohhh.”
“Thought it was just a dream? C’mon, we got a long trip, 3 road games in a week,” Vickie said.
“What, my real team, the Liberty?” Becky protested.
“Oh, you forgot that you sat out this trip thanks to your headaches from losing 10 straight- I mean from Katie being an immovable object? Come on, Seattle game is tonight, and you do NOT want to miss the pregame shower."
At the Key, which was now a single team arena packed with Storm fans and Aussie flags, Becky was flung out for shootaround.
“G’day, Becky, always great seeing you around,” a shorter version of LJ said with a smile. Becky could not help but notice both the friendly grab of her ass or the fact that all of the Seattle players had come out without an important piece of women’s safety gear under their form fitting bodysuits.
“Aussie National Team Exhibition?” Becky asked.
“Nahh, Lizzy Lennox always greets you like that. Plus for them all that underwear just gets in the way,” Vickie said.
“Hey kid, you gotta be 18 to look at the media guide,” Becky overheard security warn a couple of 10-year-olds discovering their puberty by the scorer’s table.
“Naked media guide, g’day, bodysuits- Lauren!?” Becky said, almost becoming angry until she saw Lauren Jackson for herself – a sexier version of Becky with more leg and less aggression.
“Am I going to need to get a bucket of ice water?” Vickie teased. “After all, that’s the same look you use to catch your prey. Not your body though, I don’t think anyone in the league could make it out of the locker room if that was the case.”
“Right,” Becky said, breathless.
“Now I know why we always lose to Seattle.”
The next night was Los Angeles. Maybe it was just the cover of night, but Vickie seemed a couple of shades darker, and her stride was a little more pigeon-toed than it had been.
“They’re all Leslie! They’re all robots, they’re all dead! Stop this madness, turn back before they brainwash you! Save our children before they are transformed into little Leslies and take over the world!” a madwoman screamed, her bright orange dress torn and tattered, waving a picket sign angrily.
“LA always was home to the whack jobs,” Becky sighed. "Can we go to the game already?"
“Don’t you know who that is?” Vickie reminded Becky.
“Nope! Should I?”
“Look closer,” Vickie demanded.
“Look, I don’t have time to…HEY!”
“It’s her, it’s HER!!! THE DEVIL IN CHARGE! I MUST KILL HER!!! HER DEATH WILL SAVE US ALL FROM THE ROBOTS!! LET ME GO!!! LET ME KILL HER!!!” The madwoman jumped on top of Becky, attempting to strangle her before police quickly whisked her away toward jail.
“What the fuck? Next time you want to choke someone, don’t use your elbows. Who do you think you are?” Becky yelled at the madwoman.
“Holdsclaw, maybe?” Vickie suggested.
“Damn, I knew she flipped, but I thought that was just to get a trade,” Becky said hoarsely, still trying to catch her breath.
“Now we can go inside,” Vickie said, handing a scorecard to Becky.
“I’m sure even in my world Leslie would have the money and the ambition to have her own turf,” Becky said mockingly.
“READ.”
“9 Lisa Leslie, 18 Lisa Johnson, 27 Leslie Parker, 36 Lisa Willis, 45 Leslie Spencer, 54 Lisa…Oh my, see this is why MY world is better than hers. I still allow some of my teammates to shine through, look at yourself.”
“Do you?” Vickie demanded as Becky watched the Sparks march out of the locker room in complete lockstep, faces looking exactly like Leslie, their eyes trained only on their leader as they cracked their gum in rhythm to their steps.
“Lisa chews as well…that doesn’t mean anything!” Becky protested.
“That IS your utopia, everyone being you. Where do you think she got it from? Smoking pot with her coach?” VJ pressed Becky.
“What? It’s still a wonderful world. Every game is sold out, we’re bigger than the NBA… oh, lemme guess there’s a team of Kobes around there somewhere,” Becky giggled.
“His dad talked him out of it,” Vickie said coldly as they took the court.
Two days later they were in Phoenix, ready to go all out.
“Hey, they're different! Guess I haven’t gotten everyone, losers.” Becky smiled.
“Well, well, well, the San Antonio Beckys are in town. They ain't nothing anymore. How bad was the loss to my darling little Sun?” a voice that was clearly Diana's taunted.
“Your darling little son? You get knocked up? Hahaha, that’s a laugh,” Becky guffawed.
“I see you acquired someone not named you to help, slacking off, are we?” Diana continued.
“You weren’t paying attention at the home game, were you!” Vickie whispered.
“Hello, my princess! Oh, hi, Becky, always a welcome sight. Yeah, not too hard on your team I see, yeah.” Something wasn't right about the way Sue's gaze fixed on Diana, or the tone of her voice.
“Hmmm, they did remind me of you a little. No schnozz, though, maybe that's why I didn't notice.”
"HOW DARE YOU! I OUGHTA…" But whatever dire fate Sue had in store for Becky was muffled in the jersey she pulled over her mouth, and her entire body went rigid for a long moment.
“She still can’t talk badly about you, whoever “you” really are,” Diana snapped, putting an arm over Sue's shoulders and holding her close until the fit passed. “But the day WILL come that we will have our rightful place.”
“Excuse me?” Becky asked.
“My darling little Sun beat you by 15 and if it wasn’t for the Shock they’d be in first. Ha, too bad Detroit's still gonna end up out of the playoffs,” Diana said with a smirk. "And you still owe us another title. Matching rings, remember?" Sue opened her mouth, but Diana covered it. "You are not allowed to start singing 'We Are The Champions'. I mean it."
"Yes, dear."
“You have to be home to understand this one. But be GLAD LJ is the Storm.” Vickie’s face almost seemed to darken instantly and her shoulders became broader as Diana taunted Becky.
Becky comes home from her road trip, clutching her head.
“Hey, baby, welcome back, you even beat Houston!” Meggan says with a kiss.
“I thought I missed that trip. Wait… I dunno. I think I’m getting post concussion, honey. I better see the doctor in the morning, because I don’t remember anything from that trip,” Becky complains.
“Or you got plastered at Majerle's again!” Meggan protests.
“No, I mean it, I barely remember a thing. Remember my fucked-up dreams well enough, though.”
“Well, going 1-3 is a good thing to forget, maybe I should help,” Meggan moves in on Becky’s neck only to see it bruised. “You poor thing! Where did that come from?"
“What? Ow! My neck? Just a dream I had about Holdsclaw attacking me.”
“That psycho! I admit the Sparks game being too gruesome for me to even watch, but if I'd known… It’s OK, honey, I’ll get some ice,” Meggan says as she goes to the kitchen.
“Right, thanks, I think,” Becky says, still feeling strange, when she spies a book on robotics and another on mind control on the coffee table. “Interesting summer reading, Meg.”
“Oh, that? Got it from Figgs, she’s not all there in the head these days,” Meggan says nervously.
The next game is home against Detroit and Becky feels good- finally, no more weird dreams or headaches. Then it happens. She knows it right away as her ankle folds under her and she crumples to the floor; the pain is more intense than she can stand. Even the torn ACL didn’t feel this bad. The pain fogs her mind, and her head spins. She suddenly sees Vickie- pure, unedited, unbleached VJ- hovering over her.
“What are you doing here? You’re in San Antonio,” Becky mutters.
“It’s the last step to make your dream a reality. They had to spike her Gatorade, but they got her in there. Erin may be a trusting Mormon but she ain’t no damn fool! She knew what went on in there, and now, well, it’s showtime! Through that door, little miss,” Vickie insisted.
“What? Why are they calling for Meggan?” Becky asked.
“That would be your cue. C’mon, she’s the last one, then your world is YOURS. You’re the one who’s so in love with it! Go ahead! Isn't this what you always wanted?” Vickie snapped, her words almost carrying a taunting edge.
“The one holdout, then everyone will be me, except you…or oh, I get it, you shed your skin when you retire. Well, you’ve earned it… or were you a snake in the grass after all?” Becky winked at Vickie and then went into the white photo room, gleefully helping Erin into the chair.
Inside the white trainer’s room Lisa hovers over Becky.
“Such a drama queen, passing out over a simple ankle sprain. You’ll miss a week, maybe two, but everyone at MSG crapped so many bricks we built that arena in Brooklyn the Nets wanted so bad!” Lisa grumbles.
“Ok, thanks, can I sit on the bench? Whoa…” Becky stumbles up, but Lisa pushes her back down.
“Relax, Meggan will pick you up. After the whole in and out thing, well, we can't be too careful with our star.”
Back home Becky settles into her favorite easy chair and Meggan puts on some game film.
“Ahhh, nothing like the past to forget the present," Becky says. As Meggan takes the ice pack off, Becky's eyes close and she drifts off.
“DAMNIT! I had to bring you home to South Dakota! You really think this is your universe? DAMN, Teresa was right when she said you were so dense even a spoon can’t get through you!” Vickie yelled.
“Where am I?” Becky asked.
“Home. Or Yedsena Labs and Basketball Camp, Rapids City, SD. Say hi to Tamika Catchings.” Vickie pointed crossly over to the slumped over, bleaching figure in the chair; the chain and padlocks near the wires, and the strap around one limp wrist, suggested that she was brought in forcibly.
“Is this the replacement the Fever ordered? Surprised they’d go with another black woman. I guess the charity work paid for something,” a technician said while tending to Catchings.
“What…yeah…” Becky said feebly.
“We’ll go upload her into the main computer, then,” the technician said. "At least we won't have the… unexpected liabilities we had with the last one."
“THIS you gotta see!” Vickie said.
The three walked past the Lynx, with Whalen being bombarded by the Minnesota Golden Gopher fight song, her face glowing with school pride, not noticing the performance of the green clad clones of hers on the screen behind her. Past an aging and wilting Lisa Leslie being jolted into attention by a woman tied in a chair behind her almost as a youthful battery pack. Past Ann Strother with a large nose plastered on her in a dark blue Sun jersey, living the lives of Sue and Diana so they could live.
“It was going to be Sue, but Diana had… other plans. Think you saw what she had in mind," Vickie said.
They kept walking, past two technicians struggling under the weight of Kara Braxton's still body. Past an eerily unfamiliar blonde settling into the vacant chair and giving Becky a grin. Past the window over the gym where college and high school children were divided up to become the idol they want to be more.
“Ah, what you wanna be when you grow up day! Colorado State is a perennial Final Four team, you should be glad to know,” Vickie said sharply, making Becky seem uneasy.
They twisted and turned past the various colleges and their coaches' dreams of perfect players, and then they climbed the stairs to the blue, green and black-paneled room of the master computer. Becky could do nothing but scream at the near skeletal figure of herself with white hair, wires everywhere, and her eyes locked into nowhere, almost dead, humanly dead, nothing but a figure of a master brain that ran it all.
Becky awakens, but only partway, only as much as she can. Her eyes are fixed on her own image on the screen, tunnel vision so severe that there is nothing else in the world. She can feel Meggan’s hot tongue keeping her fixated as she tries to squirm out of the chair with pretend moans that only get more real.
“It was no dream! My God, what’s going on… no, no! Meggan, what’s…”
“Shhh, sweetie, I’m just doing what a good lover does, making your dreams come true. Welcome to your world, honey. I love you, and I'll do well by you,” Meggan says seductively and as much as she tries to resist, Becky’s hands fall slack against her lover’s jeans as she becomes refocused on herself, falling back in love with herself with every passing second.
Becky was back in the control room, with Erin trying her best to look away from the camera, but Becky grabbed her and held her in place until she relaxed, gaze locked to the picture. Her guilt made her hesitate, but her eyes were as drawn to the image as Erin's, and her hands went slack on Erin's slumped shoulders. It was what she wanted, or is it? Her own world, a utopia, a heaven, a land to call her own.
The shutter releases…
“You never could be me…” is all that can be heard anywhere, at any time, in any place, in any universe.
Rebecca Lynn Hammon, a star gone supernova, be it in time, or in place, or in a child’s game that makes average men gods. Her own world, where everyone wore her jersey, be they black, white, Asian, male or female, everyone was her. A world she wanted, and in the end, she had it all the while, for it is her name the kids wear on the playground, where everyone is her.
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