\n<\/p>\n
Stream it on YouTube<\/a><\/p>\n When I was 9 or 10, I was picked last for a football game and, because of my thick glasses, immediately given a nickname: the Brain. This was no compliment. The quarterback on my team, after steering clear of me for most of the game, couldn\u2019t continue to ignore that I was being left uncovered and grudgingly tossed a long spiral that fell firmly into my hands for a touchdown, changing my name. The Brain became the Brain Who Could Catch. This remains probably the greatest moment in my life.<\/p>\n The absurdity of glorying in such minor athletic triumphs has never been captured more lovingly and amusingly than in a special released this year by Kenny DeForest. This hour of jokes, which begins and ends with a game of one-on-one basketball, is titled \u201cDon\u2019t You Know Who I Am?\u201d When DeForest died this month<\/a> at 37, in a bike accident in Brooklyn, most didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n It\u2019s a peculiar kind of cruelty when a young comic dies, which only partly explains the outpouring of love on social media. DeForest, who took over as host of the Sunday show at the Knitting Factory years ago, was beloved by comics for his generosity, infectious spirit, easy smile and love of the craft of stand-up. The stories that have emerged about him offering support or simply brightening up a room are as inspiring as they are legion. One of the many awful elements of this tragedy is that he was exactly the kind of joyful, skilled comic who could help ease the pain of it.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t You Know?\u201d is about coping with the end of something important, in this case his athletic career. \u201cI really appreciate you being here,\u201d he says at the start. \u201cIt\u2019s a real honor to be able to pursue my second dream.\u201d His first was basketball. That ended after he was dunked on by a future N.B.A. player in a high school game. Athletes struggle to move on, he says, because they don\u2019t know what to do with their intensity, which he explores, along with struggles with depression and alcoholism. <\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n With silky ease, DeForest turns these dark subjects into humor. His laid-back delivery makes them seem manageable, in part through punchlines and charm. But also a clear belief in the power of jokes. The end of his basketball career is reframed as the start of his comedy career. He finishes his special with an amazingly romantic story recounting New York playground glory.<\/p>\n You may relate to how he turns the memory of a step-back jumper on a Brooklyn street into something monumental. You may find it goofy. But it\u2019s a wonderful example of how a story can be more powerful than a dunk, how it can provide solace and inspiration and even hope. <\/p>\n Some are lucky enough to have memories of DeForest. The rest of us have his work, his two superb late-night TV sets (the one from \u201cLate Night With Seth Meyers<\/a>\u201d is the funniest, in my opinion) and this recent hour, which ends with him breaking the fourth wall, looking at the camera and flashing a preposterous smile.<\/p>\nDina Hashem, \u2018Dark Little Whispers\u2019<\/h2>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n