As the school year sped along, my sophomore season of basketball continued to be filled with renewed hope.
The varsity had returned two starters from the previous highly successful season and a number of other teammates who were likely to continue the winning tradition.
One of those returning varsity teammates was also one of the best trash talkers, senior Gino Munoz. He was a four-sport athlete at our high school (football, baseball, track, and basketball.) He was very talented at all four sports and displayed a great deal of confidence and what is known today as swagger.
He was an intense, charming, cheerful, colorful guy with bright red hair and freckles. He was known for his hustle and aggressiveness. Despite that reputation, like many Mexican American athletes of that era, he was labeled as lazy, difficult to coach and lacking in motivation.
I was confused by that label due to his demonstrated versatility and success in multiple sports. What may have also been confusing was his rumored membership in the notorious local gang, the Mafia. There was some fear, trepidation about his impulse control and his unpredictable nature (also a label often thrown around towards Mexican Americans).
Nevertheless, he was an influential team member, considered a role model and leader in the locker room. His constant banter and trash-talking were considered to be helpful to the team and disarming to our opponents. I found his trash talk to be entertaining, but a little intimidating, especially if directed at me.
His voice was also very unique. He sounded like a mixture of Wolfman Jack, the legendary disc jockey, and Little Wayne, the famed rapper.
One of his favorite phrases was “Don’t lie!”
For example, while playing in a game, he would ask his opponent, “Do you think you can guard me?” The opponent would be compelled to respond with “Yeah, I can guard you!”
Gino would quickly respond with, “Don’t lie, you can’t guard me!” And, often, the next time he got the ball, Gino would suddenly and skillfully score and celebrate gleefully while smiling at his embarrassed opponent.
Sometimes, during practice or a game, when a coach would ask a player if he understood an instruction or an assignment, the player would respond with a “Yes, sir,” only to be corrected by Gino who would say loudly, "Don’t lie, ese!”
One day before an important regular late-season game our team was huddled in the locker room. Gino, a senior and co-captain of the team, went around the locker asking each his teammates if they were ready for the game. Each teammate, of course, said that they were indeed ready for the game. Gino would smile and nod affirmatively, reassured with the answer. He would then move on to the next teammate.
When he came around to the locker of one of last teammates to be asked (who was, unfortunately, a regular scapegoat on the team), Gino asked, “Jorge, are you ready?”
Unwittingly, Jorge timidly said, “Yeah, Gino, I’m ready.”
To which, Gino replied for everyone to hear, “Don’t lie, Jorge, you’re never ready!”
Unfortunately, after that overt dressing down of his teammate, Gino and the rest of the team proceeded to howl with laughter. Jorge tried to laugh with them, but the damage was done. In spite of Gino’s attempt at humor and his intention to relax his teammates, Jorge unsurprisingly was not reassured or motivated by the comment. Jorge, who, at best, had a reputation of being inconsistent, had a bad game. More importantly, however, the entire team had a bad game, and we fell to a cross-town rival who was competing with us for a district championship.
At the end of the season, we were left out of the district playoffs entirely, after such a highly successful season just one year earlier.