Lance Allred the official website of the Lance Allred who is not the professional Poker player

Postcards from Urbino-

An excerpt from my most recent book and collection of short stories and poems, which I am about to complete, The Pesaro Poems

Hey Mom,

Hope you are well.

I finally found that great Medieval European City I have been hoping to find- Urbino. (Which is obvious from the postcard.)

It is a fantastic Renaissance era city, that was once home to Raphael, and only 30 minutes from Pesaro. It is by far my favorite city I have encountered in all my travels. I wish you could have been here today. I spent the day walking the old brick and stone streets, through narrow and wide alleyways, through grotto chapels and grandiose cathedrals, and Raphael’s house. Just outside of his house, I bought a gelato, as well as one for the little bambino next to me. But he forget to say Grazie, but I am sure it was because he was so surprised that I was either giving him an gelato cone or else at the sheer magnitude of my sheer; coy little bambino.

Urbino has completely captured my imagination. It is small enough to walk through and back in 2 hours, seeing everything that you need to see, at least within the old medieval walls, where the heart of the city and university reside, which rests atop its own hill among a landscape of many other hills that are spotted and checkered with patchwork of farm land and vineyards. Italians know how to get the most out of what land they have to work with.

It is beautiful. It is the picture perfect Italian setting I have imagined in my mind that I would hope to one day see.

Also, I found my favorite spot/seat in the entire world- It is on the western hill, above the city, where the old fort lies, overlooking the heart of Urbino and the great Cathedral and Ducal Palace. I discovered it as I was walking back to the car, when a tiny archway appeared in the old city wall, and I entered it out of curiosity, not sure where it led to, but I am big enough that I am never usually worried about someone mugging me, daring caution to come and do what it will.

When I ascended to the top of the staircase, it opened out into a courtyard, overlooking the city below. As I did, the church bell struck 5pm in perfect sequence, as the sun was setting and the old bricks of the palace and cathedral caught fire from the light.

I took a seat on a log, and I just sat there and marveled at this amazing renaissance city, nothing like I had ever seen, but had hoped to see for all my life. And to realize it was not a fantasy, but that such a place existed, was the greatest find I have ever happened upon in all of my travels across the globe. I sat there for an hour. Just sat there. Didn’t think about anything. I was just there. Present and aware. Watching.

I wish you could have been here to see it with me. It was a perfect day. A nice, crisp 59 degree fall day. Perfect for a long walk. I was only wearing a t-shirt and the Italians looked at me as though I was crazy, while they wore their winter blizzard coats, shivering their fears from their chatting teeth about how hyperthermia was soon about to set in for them at any moment. They have no idea what cold is.

“You should wear a coat,”an elderly lady chastised me after chatting with me about Pesaro Basket. “November comes.” I smiled conceding her point. But then my heart sank.

Yes, November comes.

A reminder that another thanksgiving away from home is coming my way. Too many Thanksgivings now have come and gone quietly, by myself with a makeshift dinner, while I can only hope the rest of my family is having a wonderful one. Too many come and gone. Too many missed Thursday morning flag football games and afternoon spectating, with you making your perfect meal, as I lazily slumber down for a nice nap, before and after dinner. Another missed day with my family. All for this game called basketball, that I could not tell you if I even love anymore.

It has been a tough fall. As you know, we are just waiting to see what happens when my contract expires in Pesaro in a few weeks, and all I can do is bide my time, and wait for the fates to send me wherever it is they would wish to send me.

How do I know I don’t love the game anymore? I don’t really know, or know the right words at least. I guess I just feel like I am the giver, in a relationship of unrequited love. It is not that much different from a human relationship really- I am too easy, I am too available to her. And thus she takes me for granted, while she chases after the boys who don’t give her enough attention, rewarding them with the love that I would kill for, and work so hard for, but can never have. It is a vicious cycle. It really is the only way to describe why and how it works, and that basketball is a living intelligence, and thus she is as flawed and fickle as the next human. And I am at this point where I am done giving, and I am done loving, until she decides she wants to own up to her part. And when I am gone, she can then realize how much she misses me and how she took me for granted, but I wont be holding my breathe for that day, for I will have moved on.

But there is another truth that I cannot avoid. And that is there is a part of me that does not care if she loves me back, because I do not expect it in return. I don’t love to be loved in return. I never have. This is not to say that I love, to be a martyr….. No. But that, I love, to love. I love just to be able to give love. I love so that I can feel life.

And so basketball chooses not to love me back with the love I have given her, that is fine, and there is a reason why she is dying. She has lost her soul. It has been gutted, and she has been blinded to all the lights and wealth and attention shown her way, and for awhile she could get away with it. But now, the game is dying, because she has forgotten to be grateful for the blue-collars like me and many others, who toil and work harder, for less, in the back rows, while she gives her lion’s-share to those with great, raw talent, but who couldn’t be less interested. She shares the same mortal flaws as we humans. But that is ok, because I still love her. And I always will. I guess MacLean said it best, when we can love someone, something completely, without completely understanding them. I don’t understand her, but I will always love her. Is it fair? No. But that is life.

And this is life. And this my life now. I feel like I haven’t seen you or Mac in 2 years, that is how dark and deep these trails have gone into the essence of who and what I choose to be. These last 2 months have been the hardest, but also the most triumphant of my life.

So, the game has not given me millions, like she has for others who have worked far less.

Nor have I received a multi-million dollar shoe contract or other endorsement offers, like some of the lucky ones.

But I have received something that cannot be bought and is worth more than anything that the game could ever offer me.

And I have only recently found it, somewhere on the beaches of Pesaro, and the streets of Urbino- Freedom from the opinions of others.

And that is why I am here. That is why I am in Italy. I would never have found it at home, in Cleveland or elsewhere in the NBA. Only here, after emerging from the fire, from the hell that almost sent me out a window, only here could I have found it. And it is mine.

I have won.

And that is reality.

This is my reality.

And God is reality.

And I cannot argue with God.

Keep a place for me at the table this Thanksgiving.

Loving you always,

From these immortal streets of Urbino,

Your Son,

Lance Collin Allred