Rise 'n' succumbful of Gerson Marchinha, legend of the slam dunk

 



Shot of Polaroid (also pronounced "polaruá") showing Gerson Marchinha (left) with his team mate Henry Felgueroso in 199..?, during a TV advertising.
















..... This story starts so far and so good and so what...... as if we were talking 'bout another planet, as if as if as if we were talking 'bout that dreamed and yellow novella of José Mauro de Vascocelos: "My Sweet Orange Tree".

Gerson Josephino Margareto Tiramisu dos Santos Socrates Casserolo Pelé do Nascimento Maracanaço Dumbarton Marchinha was born in Pelotas, Brazil, the day 1/1/19..?

Marchinha would declare, years later during an interview for Gerald Ford: "Eu nasci em Pelotas, efetivamente, coraçao do meu Brasil Brasileiro." ("I was born in Pelotas, exactly, heart of my Brazilian Brazil").

When Gerson Marchinha was 5 years old, he already was 6'9 ft, extra-ordinary stature which -possibly- was due to the very particular diet of the Marchinha's family: mangaratibas, crust of crustaceans and bowls of steam.... years later, a French commentator would call him "epoustouflant", due to his tallness.
Being 15 years old Marchinha was already 8 feet tall: his physical development was complete at the age of 24, when Gerson already reached the 9 feet of haltitude.
Due to this staggering characteristic, he was soon engaged by a local basketball club, the "Pelotas Riders", where he scored 1.916 triples, the first semester.

This mind-boggling effectivity caught the eye of the powerful LA Lakers, who engaged Gerson Marchinha, paying 4 million Patacas of Macau to Pelotas Riders, and giving Gerson a Fiat 133: Marchinha accepted this jump to the NBA with gusto, and traveled from Pelotas to LA driving his brand new Fiat for 55.000 miles in zig-zag like a bellend, in an epic periplus of 8 months and a half, during which he knew the Americas, and almost lost his life close to Ipacairatupixingú, in the middle of the concha of Amazonia.
This is when the Fiat of Gerson Marchinha arrived to Porongas Grossas, ghost town in the middle o' the pluvial jungles, inhabited by macaco monkeys and crap:

Once in the smogey LA, Marchinha joined the LA Lakers team, performing a jaw-dropping thread of 3.001 triples in 4 months, pulverizing his former record teaming for the Pelotas Riders, and in fact pulverizing any record ever, since the highest rekkerd to date belonged to the Sovietic half-cyborg Dimitri Bonbonovich, with 2.002 triples in 5 months.

The following months and years signalled a hysteria: the Gersonmarchinhamania, because of the insanely opulent quantity of triples, doubles and fouls he scorred for the LA Lakers, so much that the powerful Bosston Keltics ofered 44.444 million dollars for Marchinha, but the Lakers declined the offer, offering Marchinha quadruple salary instead.

Due to this massive augmentation in his incomes, Marchinha moved to the most exclusive zone of Beverly Hills: his next door neighbors were Rod Stewarch, Jack Nichalson and Sylbeast Stallion... is in these months of excess, pouring dollarotes and blond champagne when -already installed in the core of the jet set- Gerson Marchinha knows the cocaine, the Paco-Pum, the Poxiran, the Jackson5, the laudanum, and especially the "jumbo of saccharine", demolishing injectable drug that could dissolve the brain of a whale in 2 weeks.

The effect of the narcotics becomes evident soon: Marchinha starts acting like an arse, indulging in ridiculousomisms and out-there extravaganzas, like smoking the tyres of a Peugeot 404, playing Basque pelota, buying a recording studio for himself, to record and release a quintuple album of Michel Polnareff covers (Polnareff himself was hired to produce it and appear in thong on the cover).... finally, in the last straw of the arseholistic dandy-ism, Gerson Marchinha proclaimed himself "God, Pope and Ave Caesar of Los Angeles", built a palacet for himself and his horses, erected an altar where himself was worshipped, and ate every day with his percheron, Incitatus, only guest rekeived and admitted with honors of head of state in his banquets because, acording to the own words of Marchinha: "There's no beast intelligenter [sic] than a horse, not even my self."

But all this desparramo of eccentricenesses is nothing, nada, nadita compared to the last whim of Gerson Marchinha: Marchinha decided to score the most sensational slam dunk, ever, a slam dunk that would start with Gerson running with controlled ball, dribbling rivals spectacularly, and once he was close enough for the slam dunk, in imposing jump, download the ball into the net with so much potence, that he would triturate the backboard and make a crater on the floor in the process, after this superabundant display of everything, Marchinha would retire, covered in laurels and glory, carried shoulder-high by a horde of fans in a stupor of triumphant delirium, boastful fanfaronades and exuberant dickheadism.

The great day arrived, LA Lakers faced the spirited Charlotte Bobcats... the match started tranquil for Gerson Marchinha, who was concentrating and preparing himself for the great moment... the first half ended, with Marchinha scoring some triples, performance which was repeated as the second half progressed, then.... 2 minutes before the final of the match, Marchinha felt that the moment had come.... breathed profoundly, opened his eyes like two standard boiled eggs, caught the ball, and ran...... 
ran...... ran...... ran......

Rival after rival were dribbled by the ostrobogulous skills of Gerson, who made the players of Charlotte Bobcats look like a bunch of half-baked groggies... until the net was free, clear and limpid in front of his eyes... and this is when... and this is when...

This is when Marchinha ran toward the basket with burning desision [sic], and his eyes wide open like two conchas Codan, like a possessed, ready to jump and download the ball bestially into the net, but -in his lunacy- he jumped with so much oomph and pizzazz, that his body flew unstoppably crashing against the backboard, and falling exanimous -with backboard and all- over a portion of the audience, which was mercilessly crushed by the enormous and inert humanity of Gerson Marchinha and the aforementioned backboard, since both operated like a lethal compactor on the stupefied and defenceless fans.

This horrid massacre was broadcasted live, coast to coast by the CNNBNCFOXABCUHF, and also satellitally toward the Eurasia, for the much consternation of the fans worldwide.





RIP Gerson Marchinha, possibly a hero who paved the road for a new Gerson Marchinha, who will arrive sometime in 7.000 years, and probabley won't be so dumbass and pelotudo as the first Gerson Marchinha?