Jeon Dilly: Orchid Of Asia

The third inning had ended and Jeon hadn't returned and I started to grow a bit concerned. As I stood from my seat aiming to go check on her, everyone started pointing up to the big screen stadium cam showing Ted Turner's executive suite filled with the likes of both Atlanta's and Boston's famed celebrities and well-to-do's. Chipper Jones, Papi, T. I., Gronkowski, the Wahlberg brothers and Arthur Blank all holding up champagne glasses and waving and smiling big toothed grins back into the camera. Seemingly, laughing and pointing their fingers directly at me. The Dilly. Alone. Standing empty handed in the cheap seats without my wife, hotdog or cold beer.

The cameras then panned to an Asian woman being fondled and playfully giggling as she sat in the lap of the wealthy owner of the New England Patriots. We we're married here in Georgia but I was served with divorce papers from high priced Harvard lawyers and their long named Massachusetts law firm that following Monday morning.

Ssibal-nom-ah! Muthafuckin sonofabitch is right!

There's a popular saying started right here in Atlanta by Black folks that everyone everywhere now know. It describes the feeling of losing out on that promotion to the office brown-noser. Of watching Deion leave the Falcons to go win titles with the 49ers and Cowboys. Or having your #1 bitch start ho'in green for another pimp. "Don't hate the playa, hate the game," is exactly how it goes. Like everything I've told you, it's true. I didn't come up with the saying, others more wiser and creative than me came up with it, so I can't call it a Dilly, but it has become the 3rd and final rule I live by.

It hurt seeing Jeon there, but i'm not mad at her. I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth. When you are poor, or come from a middle income family, it's hard to miss the taste of caviar if you can't spell it or even know what the fuck it is.

I don't stay up at night second guessing or crying over the end of our marriage. I can wrap my head around how the person who stood by me in the sleazy bathroom of a sex club, ready to fight against this messed up world, could also find herself on the lap of an aging, gray haired billionaire. Turns out that the same modest upbringing that left her greedy for sex also made her long for the wealth and privilege her family had once came from.

What now?

Still don't get it? You don't understand the 3rd rule? You don't know how to apply hating the game to this particular circumstance?

Well, I lied. I lied to you. You came all this way and invested your time and energy into a story, that I guarantee you, is 100% all true. I have only not been forthcoming with the raw emotion that I felt and I think you can forgive a Dilly for that!

Look, when you lose your wife like that, you hate on whoever the hell you can and however the fuck you're able!

C'mon! Y'all know how this ended. Don't play dumb. You saw how everything that went wrong made national headlines. Granted, you just didn't see the Dilly name attached to any of the fucked up shit that went down.

I still love the woman and I always will! Do you understand? Jeon was, and still is, in my mind, my wife and I would never direct my anger towards her. But, Jeon wasn't the only thing I discovered through all this that I had a loving bond to. Jeon maybe forever gone, but I also still loved this city.

Atlanta was on my mind through all the subsequent events that followed and served as a fulfilling well that I drank my fill from to help strengthen my steely motivation.

I thought of Jamal Anderson and the Dirty Birds. I thought of all those poor souls on their knees working for a Fortune 500 company, but still having to apply for welfare to get by. I thought of the guy who just wanted to sit down after a hard week with a beer in hand and watch his team play. The Tuck Rule, Spygate, Deflategate! I thought of the countless, inexplainable noncalls and penalties I saw, with my very own eyes, Roger Goodell, the NFL, and its referees orchestrated together against the Falcons to steal away Atlanta's destined championship to gift to its team of northern favor.

Did I say, "I did it?" Am I giving you here an admission of guilt?

Fuck no!

Let's just say that I know of a certain someone, not me, who knows some certain people, that I don't know of, but who are really cool and knowledgeable and sympathetic to a marital situation, such as mine, who also happen to have somewhat of a background in security and were able to obtain valuable information that that particular someone, again, not me, was then able to use to one day find themselves, by sheer coincidence, standing across the street from a Florida massage parlor, under criminal investigation for trafficking foreign women in for sex work, with a burner phone in hand that could only call the crime stoppers tip line at the office of the county sheriff to inform them that an attentive local citizen, I never met and, again, not me, had just observed a certain NFL owner, with an attraction to women of Asian persuasion, was maybe, possibly, for sure walking in to said establishment on a January afternoon just a few weeks before his team had backed its way into playing for yet another football title.