Image by Nick Canton

The scene opens in a mansion. It’s just a game room with exceptionally long tables, but an oceanic view through a near completely glass wall screams in shot-clock quality:

“Look, Lil Bow Wow. Everything the NBA touches is our kingdom.”

Kid protagonist Calvin Cambridge sits across from his hero and teammate, Tracy Reynolds. On top of getting framed by basketball adults and being sold off to prodigy-hungry adoptive parents, the little guy’s got a geometry test tomorrow, and basketball is the only answer.

So the two head outside for a math lesson. Reynolds paints triangles on the exterior walls of his home because, well, he is in fact 2002’s greatest cinematic father figure. The difference between isosceles and equilateral is mapped out to be a press play, as the two bond further into an orange paint fight, which comes off as a ploy by Nickelodeon—but I’ll digress for fear of getting too emotional. Surely enough, Calvin understands.

It’s beautiful, but for more than the standard “ball is life” reason. The radio edit of Nas’s “Rule” backdrops the whole thing with something mesmerizing. SO mesmerizing that it transports my 10-year-old heart and all of its passions somewhere else and leaves it there for six recreational basketball years of equally aggressive bricks and picks.

You guessed it. “Like Mike” is my favorite movie, and thank Jehovah since I’m a 20-year-old straight female who’s dating life is going JUST FINE MOM. My love for this topic is as unmatched as it is undiscussed. And that’s for a reason. But, it’s Selection Sunday, and I’m ready to gush over the motion picture soundtrack that taught me how to feel and how to deal (with the player haters).

It’s only appropriate that I start with what started it all: not Nas, but his computerized background music. Upon that initial DVD viewing, only two orchestra-kid-timed bars of “Rule” passed before I knew I was based-god’s gift to suburbia. I couldn’t hoop, but ruling the world while wearing Nike calf socks suddenly became a viable career path and destiny.

There was no rhyme or reason behind this realization other than I liked the intervals I was hearing. It sounded good. It still does, especially when I walk to my political science discussion on Fridays. No, I don’t do the reading, but I do listen to Nas reiterate the word “peace” over a dozen times alongside “knowledge is power” before class because I’m a fucking diplomat. Welcome to my court.

The genre gets downright educational within the movie’s more characteristic tracks. As if the song title “Basketball” isn’t self-indicating enough, the repeated line “they’re playing basketball,” finishes the sentence, clearing all listener doubts as to what they, we, the world is doing. So helpful and, nowadays, so necessary for drunken play-throughs made possible by unattended party laptops. Sorry peers, but I often need a reminder of what we’re really doing.

What confidence “Rule” delivers ambiguously is served up in this known anthem by way of b-ball jargon. Statements like “When I’m in the paint I play wit that Alonzo style,” and “I’m like Darius ‘cuz I can shoot two miles,” are instantly accepted by my ego then and now, regardless of reference understanding. “The paint” always rings a bell, but from there I treat the words as formulas: imponderable truth.

The same concept applies to “NBA 2K2”s jet-fueled info, and all questions of the soundtrack’s credibility are answered by Bow Wow’s own “Take Ya Home.” On top of other merits, he’s “the hottest thang around,” so just agree with the universe’s opportunistic role model here. You wouldn’t argue against your future self, since I predict we’ll all “be on that level” someday. Let’s prepare ourselves by giving credit to our own intramural athletic careers along with everything else we write off as mundane.

Represent that. [Represent that]. {Represent that}.

And then, there’s my theme song. My “on repeat.” The ode to self, and the crux between me and not me. I’ve never quite known the meaning of the phrase “that’s a jam,” but I assume the closest I’ve ever gotten has been listening to Bow Wow’s “Playin’ the Game” on loop after being dumped at summer camp. It was my day off, and what started off as pick-up audio advice slid into a go-to tool for all things self-esteem recovery. I not only still listen to it, I require a daily dosage.

The song tackles the times and trials of what the preteen self considers “being a player.” It’s about hitting on girls at the mall and then never calling back for fear of hindering your own career as everyone’s favorite phatmaster townie. Both of which are my areas of expertise—minus the success brought on by the song’s major key.

Regardless, “Playin’ the Game” does the job of encapsulating the album by pushing for irresponsibility while it’s available. Sure, the lyrics advise against commitment and retaining a friendship with your prom date, but who am I to refuse the indulgent feeling of shrugging. My ego and I can walk away from whatever we see fit because we don’t have time to settle for less than a dunk and its perfectly timed photo.

Bow Wow and his various accompanying artists are talking about basketball. They’re talking about dating. They’re talking about whatever “Just blaze!” means and all the games that we can control.

So, play.