Email to Dan K., Ringleader of our NCAA Pool
Date: Fri, 29 Mar 2002 00:08:02 -0800 (PST)
From: "Newley Purnell" newleypurnell@yahoo.com
Subject: Poon Thaksin
I've got one hell of a story for you, Dan. I promised you that, while on this sojourn of mine, I'd send you witty observations on the intersection of southeast Asian culture and the NCAA tourney. But dude, I've gotta tell you, nothing could've prepared me for the gem of a tale I'm about to relate.
Before we left for Vietnam last week, my friend Chris and I spent a few days sightseeing in the Land of Smiles. One sweltering day, we were slowly perambulating through downtown Bangkok. We snaked our way around the streets surrounding Wat Po, the sprawling temple that contains the famous reclining Buddha, and we stopped in a shady alcove of the temple's courtyard to check our map. As I swung my day pack off my shoulder and reached in for the map, my NCAA bracket tumbled out onto the ground. (This was back in those heady days when I was second in the pool -- just after the first round -- and had high hopes of taking home some cold moolah; I'd been checking my progress via various Internet cafes.) I reached down, clasped the bracket in my right hand, and, just as I was about to straighten back up, I noticed an espresso-colored, sandal-clad foot just beside the paper. I looked up. The foot belonged to a bona fide Buddhist monk. He had a shaved head and wore long, gorgeous, flowing saffron robes. I studied his face and noticed something odd.
The monk's eyes were fixated on my bracket.
I was stunned at his interest in it: he was scrutinizing the paper like a Dade County ballot examiner. I looked at him and, after some time, worked up the courage to speak. "Basketball," I said, pointing at my bracket and enunciating the syllables slowly.
"Yeah, I know," he said. His voice was deep, and his words were carved out in clarion King's English. "Goddamned Cincinnati killed me. I had 10,000 Baht on that game."
My jaw hung loosely. Why would a Buddhist monk in downtown Bangkok, half a world away from the Madness of March, be following the tourney? How could such a holy man -- a man who had given his life to his religion -- be so interested in such a profane game? And such a Western game, at that?
"The name's Poon Thaksin," he said, extending his hand. "I graduated from NC State in '89. What's a basketball fan like you doing in the City of Angels this time of year?" he chuckled.
I was incredulous, and I could only manage to rub my head dumbly. I shook his hand, and he invited me to sit with him beneath a tall banyan tree. Over green tea, he explained how it was that he was so fascinated with the tournament. Turns out that Poon had gone to NC State after attending the International School of Bangkok. His parents were high-ranking Thai civil servants, he said, and after college in the States, he had returned to Siam in order to take his monk's vows. Poon told me that he sorely missed Bojangles and Waffle House and Wal-Mart, but that spiritual fulfillment was sure hard to beat.
I explained that my friend and I were in Bangkok for a few days before heading to Vietnam, and that I was following my progress in the pool via the Web. He studied my picks again and prognosticated that this wouldn't be my year, despite my strong start. And, indeed, it looks like that'll be the case. He told me, though, that if I promised to FedEx him some dehydrated bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits from Hardee's, that he had just the thing to help me in next year's pool.
He arose, ducked behind a thatched hut to the side of the gargantuan temple, and returned with a rumpled brown paper bag. "Here you go. This is for you, my friend." I opened the bag and peered inside. A small tear welled up in my right eye.
A saffron robe, just for me, was folded neatly inside the bag.
I couldn't believe it. My chest tightened with coagulating emotion; I didn't know what to say. A smile spread across Poon's face. "Wear this robe next year when you make your picks. You shall have great luck."
"Thank you," I said. "You're very kind."
"No problem," he said. "And remember, the most important thing is this: Duke will suck one day. Maybe not this year, and maybe not next year. But one day, Duke will really suck hard. Coach K will one day no longer be the shining golden boy."
I shook his hand and left Wat Po. Poon Thaksin, it would soon prove, was right about Duke.
Newley.com >> Ireland, Thailand, and Vietnam 2002