The Big Game(s)

While most of America watched another exciting game between the Warriors and Jazz, I had a bigger game to be a part of last night. Actually, I should say games. Oh yeah! Double header night in men's rec league.

I entered the night, for those of you who don't remember, with averages of 3.0 points/game, 7.0 rpg, 4.0 apg, and forgot to mention last week 3.0 steals per game. No joke. If you are playing rotissiere style scoring, I notched 31 fantasy points for you.

With Steve Nash putting up 16 assists on Tuesday night, I had a more attainable goal to reach than the previous week's 27. Not to mention that our roster had a shake up. Apparently Kobe 1 thought we didn't screen enough or something because he is no longer on the roster. Good, I didn't want to have to shoot someone or even worse, play the off guard position. I am a primary... and you know this.

I grabbed a Red Bull on the way as I was napping right before I left. I walk into the gym and look around and there he was....Kobe 2. I sat on the other side.

Watching the game before us made me want to stab myself, so I didn't mind too much when Kobe 2 came to sit next to me. He asked me how my week went. I told him to "f off". So he started stretching. (Editor's note: I didn't really tell him to 'f off', I actually said, 'great, how was yours?' and grinned like an idiot). Kobe 2 then did some jumping jacks. I am thinking to myself, "Kobe wouldn't be doing this, he would be scanning for chicks or at least ignoring Rony Turiaf."

Matt Airy walks in with an air of confidence. I quickly shoot it down with my hot handles as I do ball handling drills. The ref tells me to hold the ball. I tell him to hold his balls. (Editor's note: I didn't, I just stopped). I then proceeded to turn sharply and bang my knee against a folding chair. It hurts. I am off to a great start.

I use warm up time to find my rhythm. I soon find I have none, but I do learn to avoid the right corner as the sun is coming through the window and shoots sun bullets into your eyeballs.

The ball is tipped and we sort of win it. The other team steps out of bounds. Crunk City isn't ready for this. Oh did I forget to mention that we played a team called Crunk City? Well we did. And let me say this, they were bigger tools than we were which is saying a lot.

I am looking to distribute early on which is a good idea because Airy is on fire. He starts draining threes like Adam and Dave drop shots of Bud Light (oh wait, how did that Century Club go anyway?). Crunk City hangs close for awhile thanks to my three attempt that went over the rim and slammed hard off the backboard plus my ill-advised alley-oop pass through the zone that went right into the defender's hands. But soon enough we start to pull away. I am racking up assists and a few steals, but all my three attempts are off. And the Red Bull chemicals are causing me some acid reflux.

Despite my lack of skill, I make a momentum changing play. With Baron Davis' retarded white older brother barrelling down the lane, I hold my ground. Charge called. Game changed. Nuts sore. I sub myself out.

We go on to win 61-50 and I go scoreless. Exhausted, ashamed, and nauseated, I bench myself for the beginning of Game 2. I stretch and take a few warm up shots. Drained. Swish. Oh wait, what just happened? I feel better, but with the lack of regular breaths I decide to remain with my plan to be a spark plug off the bench.

Early on Steve's Tavern stays close with us. They have some size and decent guards. Then it starts to turn with a great early substitution. Me.

I hit Airy for a three. Then I confidently sink a triple. Then another. And the assists keep racking up. We are straight smoking them. The Frank Brickowski/Bill Wennington dude can't keep them in the game. Nor can Patrick Femerling's cousin who I can guard on the block despite the fact that he stands at least 6'7.

We hold a halftime lead of 16 or 17. But with the second half starting, Airy, myself, and Tim (a dominant big man) start on the bench. Bad move. Steve's Tavern cuts it to 10. Time to sub myself in. We go on a run as I hit Airy for threes again. Steals are coming to me like the salmon of Capistrano. I pester the other time with my defense. I score a lay in on a 3 on 2 break. This game is a joke. I feel quite Nashsty at this point. The Santa Clara socks are working.

With the game in hand, I realize how much we all enjoy playing with each other. The new guy who I call Akon (can't remember his name, but it is like Akon except he is of Middle Eastern decent) racked up like 17 steals in the second game. Kobe 2 played more like McGrady, shooting some wild shots but making a ton. Airy looks awful, but scored like 89 points in the two games. Butler and Tim provide the solid rebounding and inside scoring. Mike, the guy who sucks but everyone likes, turned his ankle. (Editor's note: I am pretty sure he actually broke his leg a.k.a. Joe Theismann). The other guy who sucks, Harry, hustled all night and made some crazy good plays. We are the Phoenix Suns of the league.

With the twenty point win, we move to 3-0 in the league. Also, we are 2-1 now against the spread and yes they do actually set point spreads. I poured in eight points in the second game to go with three boards, eight assists, and five steals. (Editor's note: some of these are guesstimates as it is too hard to remember everything when you are trying to stay alive).

Game 1 line: 0 points (0-3 from 3), four rebounds, six assists, two steals

Game 2 line: 8 points, (2-2 from 3, 1-3 from 2), three boards, eight assists, five steals

Averages for season: 3.7 ppg, 4.7 rpg, 6.0 apg, 3.3 spg, 40% from the field, 42.8% from 3

Essentially I am the rec league version of Steve Nash. (Editor's note: more like Earl Watson and I hate Earl Watson).