We're Back!

Signs of the apocalypse or the most unlikely event to occur in the history of the world.

1. Jeff Weaver throwing a complete game, four hit shutout.
2. Me beating Matt Airy two out of three in P-I-G.

Both happening in the same night? That's quacktastic.

Yes, the Indy Wahoos pulled a Peaches and Herb and reunited for the summer session of men's rec league action. I know you were clamoring for a recap from last week, but it's summer time baby. Things change.

We finished last session 6-2 with an easy thirty point win featuring some hot passes from Harry Tang and myself in the session finale.

With Tim, Matt Butler, Airy, Harry, and myself back in the fold, we were ready to take on all comers in the summer session with an opening double header at Bellevue Community College. Unfortunately our 6-2 record placed us against tougher competition. This became clear to me on the first two possessions. Oh snap, rebound put back. My bad guys. Oh snap, this guy just went by me for a lay in. I mutter, "I can't guard him". Apparently everyone agrees as I am switched off the baller from Bothell.

Oh and we have new teammates. Nelson, a friend of Tim, is better than me and a nice guy. That is fine. Terry is a Jason Terry type player who is also better than me. Except he treats me like I smell of cat feces. So I am luke warm on him thus far. Ah, but Jeremy. Oh Jeremy. He sucks.

Jeremy looks like the womanly guy from "Clerks". And he chucks shots like Kobe, except for he plays like, well....the guy from "Clerks". He quickly became the player we all hope quits the team.

Early on, I get picked near half court, but the defender falls. I dive over him and grab the loose ball. Now sitting on my rear, I look for an open player. It is at this point that my self-esteem plummets. Matt Airy just stands there looking at me like I am an idiot. Terry slowly comes near to get the ball. While a few weeks back I get applause for my hustle, this time I get stares and glares. I now hate my team.

The pace is furious and I am struggling. I box out, I grab a board or two, defend a little, and pass with precision, but it isn't the same. I am no longer the point guard. I am essentially Marty Conlon. Go blend Marty. That is my job. Cut. Pass. Rebound when not dominated by bigger guys. I sub out and feel deflated.

Oh did I mention we are down 27-9?

The game continues even with me on the bench (I know, weird) and I stew like Scottie Pippen when Toni Kukoc gets the game winner called for him.

I get back in and we go on a little run. Tim goes to work inside. I hit a deep jumper for two. Time to get busy.

Then I get subbed again. What is going on? Are we watching the same game?

(We actually are as I am exhausted and barely making it up the court. This other team is phenomenal).

Halftime comes and everyone has a solution. Terry suggests a 1-2-2 zone with him running around like a chicken with his head cut off. He also asks what we want to get done on offense. I want to say, "Hey Terry, it doesn't involve standing in one spot and telling me where the hell to go". Clerks dude wants more shots. We are a mess.

The game continues and we go to the rack hard, but don't get calls as we have a repeat ref who might be retarded. I don't use that word lightly, so you know that I am serious. If you remember from a previous blog, he is the fat white guy from a CBS show. Nobody knows his name just like this ref.

As we creep back within nine as I am on the court, it is clear my value is going up. In fact, I think my plus/minus ratio is off the charts. I cut continually on offense, but get no looks. I can't get any love. Still 1-1 from the field.

After getting subbed out, understandably we start to suffer. Jeremy takes his 20th shot of the game and it hits nothing. We almost stone him to death. If only we had some stones.

Down by thirteen or so late in the second half, Airy calls for a foul. No call. Oh wait, yes there is a call. Technical on Airy. Terry asks for an explanation from the bench. Technical. Terry, you aren't a coach. Stop talking. I want to shoot everyone. Then Mount Airy explodes. He kicks himself out of the game while taking a swipe at the ball, telling CBS ref that we pay for him with our fees. This game is out of hand.

Of course I am on the bench. Clearly I am the glue. Just call me Elmer. Although I assume Butler just didn't want me getting hurt late when it didn't matter as he subbed in for me with four minutes left.

We lose, I am dejected and it is clear we aren't having as much fun. People say we need time to gel. Others say that was a good team. I am less optomistic. I don't see fun entering the equation for a long time.

Then Harry Tang saves the night.

With our second opponent a no-show, we all sit around talking. I ask Harry what he does for a living. He responds.

"I'm a buyer for Paper Zone".

Of course you are. Well, how do you like it Harry?

"It's ok."

Ok. Riveting.

Then...

"There are a ton of hot chicks that work there."

Yes. Harry Tang.

"I interviewed and didn't think anything and then I show up the first day and I am like 'holy s&^*, where the f*&# did all these hot chicks come from?'"

I am soaking it in like sunshine and butter mixed together with a touch of honey.

"I always tell my friends to meet me for lunch so that I can introduce them to all the hot chicks. It is pretty good because the guy who runs the branch just hires hot girls. There is only like two other guys and one of them is gay, so he doesn't count".

I love you Harry Tang.

The night feels complete. I feel so good that I take Matt Airy on in some P-I-G. With Clerks Dude still lurking, he wants in. Won't this guy just die or something? He should just go play 21 with the Bruce Lee twins at the other end. And no that isn't racist. These two Asian guys look just like Bruce Lee and they are wearing matching outfits including shoes, pants and wife beaters. They snuck in the back door and just started playing one-on-one and at one point argued at each other in Chinese. Fists of Fury in the house!

We start out with some simple three pointers. Airy and I hit our first three shots. Clerks misses them. See ya sucker. Don't forget to turn the coffee off before you leave the store.

As we progress, I somehow beat Matt (a far superior shooter). He is phased by the double T's, the missed swipe at the ball, the poor shooting, women, school, and me being better looking. After losing the second game, it comes down to an one letter showdown. The bank three feels good. I hit it. He misses. He asks me to prove it. And it goes down. Champion.

P-I-G and Harry Tang. Can't get better than that.