The Summer of Sport

Late this past spring Dana and I went out to play a little tennis at Magnuson Park. While witnessing some evasive manuevers from high school students attempting to avoid cops while still holding onto their kegs, we started hitting back and forth. I quickly realized that despite Dana's athletic ability in many areas (she still stands number six in Western Washington history in the steeplechase), a rally in tennis proves to be difficult for the two of us. So I set out to find some good tennis.

I signed up for some adult intermediate tennis lessons with a local pro at Greenlake on Tuesdays and Thursdays. This made the middle of the week quite active for someone who loves being inactive as Wednesdays already featured high flying men's rec league basketball. How is that going you ask?

Well our men's team changed the roster with the summer session. We finished the spring with really only five players (Butler, Tim, Harry Tang, Airy, and myself). The summer brought in new blood as I documented before with Terry the point guard, Nelson the good, and Jeremy the awful. Eight players with me losing far too much playing time. But as summer goes, people didn't show up (Jeremy for three weeks thankfully) and my playing time increased.

We won a game with only four players as Butler re-injured an ankle and I poured in ten awesome points. We lost a heartbreaker last week where Airy went about 2 for 87 from three point range including a potential game-tying shot. My only three of this season carried me that week. Yesterday we won by twenty with only five players and my six point effort. The highlight of the night came as Harry Tang and I exited the building. I asked him about the hot chicks at his work and how it was going. He said that he didn't think hot white girls liked Asian dudes. So no luck.

Needless to say the games are fun sometimes and not others. I don't get to handle the ball as much and my overall numbers are down although my scoring is actually up. Yet I guess best of all, I can play nearly a whole game without wanting to die (my original goal). I feel like I am in better shape despite no loss of actual weight, which leads me to tennis.

I think I like tennis more because it is all up to me. Win or lose. Dominate or suck. No one else gets to make the difference between Agassi-like victory cries and Nadal-like Capri winning second place trophies. So I went to my first class rocking a 1997 Prince Synergy racket with the original strings and grip. That meant flaking black grip in my hand all class and almost no power. But I loved it.

(Note: I also invented a sport this summer called battle running when Dana asked me to run with her. I just started pushing her into things as we ran. Whoever does it the most wins. I dominated).

The volleys were better than I remembered. The groundstrokes stroking. I felt good. My coach gave me a tip on the serve and all of a sudden no one could stop me. But I needed more.



I needed the Federer racket.

So I took a couple rackets out on demo (a Federer Wilson and a Yonex). There was no choice. It only delayed the inevitable. I needed a Federer. And I got it.

All of a sudden I became a man with a racket full of lasers. I beat two people by myself 6-0 in a set. I aced people with serves. I never lost. Never came close. I played a junior in high school and smoked him 6-3, 6-4. Who wants a piece of Debo?

The new racket, the old love. Tennis and me were reunited again. And it feels so good.

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.

Rec League Action

I stated during the first week of this men's rec league experiment that my only goal was to not die. To literally not end my life as I ran up and down the court.

Granted this was a slight exaggeration as I (a) do not eat McDonald's everyday (b) can run a little and (c) have some athletic ability. I also had no idea how horrible some of the players in our league would be, thus the comparison actually brought me confidence and the will to live. With a 5-2 record heading into last night, we needed a win to feel good again. We also need our scorer back and he showed up, although he didn't really score as much.

Knowing we had a 9:30 start time, I needed to get prepared. I jumped rope at practice for Prep and did some shooting (making quite a few), as I fully ignored my actual duties as a coach. Once I arrived home around 6:00, I knew I still had plenty of time. After two bowls of Organic Raisin Bran, I felt the need to rest. So I took a nap until 8:30. Feeling refreshed and alive, I set off to the gym at a time when I normally feel like sleeping for the night.

My shot still felt good in warm ups as we prepared for a late night battle. I started at point guard again as we only had six guys. Which if you remember correctly is one more than last week during the grueling, horrific double header.

Early on it was obvious this would be a tough one as the opponents came to play. With some solid guards and decent post players, as well as actual physical fitness and athleticism, this would be a nice match up for us. The spread seemed accurate listing us as a two point favorite.

With the other team in a zone, I had plenty of opportunities early to fire up threes. And I did so, only I didn't make any. I decided to make up for it on defense as I dove for a loose ball early, piling on top of some dude. Getting an early floor burn always fires up the squad. (By the way, I actually got floor burns which kind of hurts). We trail by 5-8 points for most of the first half as they get some easy buckets in transition. This is due mostly to their point guard who resembles a white Brian Jones from the Santa Clara days. Not in appearance, but definitely in demeanor. He also made me feel stupid the sixth or seventh time down the court. Early he would just stand there and pass over the defense. Seemed easy enough. Only this time he dribbled down and exploded on a quick crossover, leaving me standing on my heels and feeling like I pooped my pants.

Akon, our short somewhat retarded guard, looked more winded than usual. My guess involves some sort of alcholic debauchery the night before. I knew I needed to step it up. Fortunately I could do this due to either becoming more fit now in the eighth week or the nice nappy before the game. I hit a dribble pull up to get me on the board. We start to creep back in it.

My next basket surprised me the most. As Tim catches the ball on the low block, he gets doubled and I cut to the opposite side. He actually passes it to me and I go up for a lay in with a guy right next to me. Usually one of three things happens:

1. I get blocked with the ball usually then hitting me on the back or head and going out of bounds.
2. I miss out of fear of scenario #1.
3. I feel like I get fouled but because I look like such a woman when I do it, no ref gives me a call.

This time I made the lay in and it looked nice. It was weird.

With the three still not falling, I still felt confident. Which is also weird. I am such a self-depricating, low self-esteem basketball player that it actually makes me worse. Out of all the sports in the world, I think basketball and shooting in particular requires the most confidence. Today I had it despite my misses. I just felt good.

I boxed people out. I grabbed loose balls and then avoided defenders with swift around the back moves. I limited my turnovers. I actually thought while I still had zero points that I might be playing my best game. And I credit the nap and/or improved fitness. This must be what it feels like to have some sort of cardio fitness.

As the game continues, my game becomes ridiculously good. I hit a mid range jumper (deciding to show myself what I can do, rather than shoot threees and show everyone that I suck) and we are in the lead at this point. The game remains close as I push the ball up the court on the break. White Brian Jones (WBJ) and another defender stand in the way as we have a three on two. With Matt Airy to my right, everyone knows where I am passing the ball including WBJ. Only tonight is the night of confidence so as WBJ sprints to pick off the pass, I keep going and score a little runner in the lane. It is on brotha!

With a one point lead and two minutes remaining, I catch the ball from 15 feet. No hesitation, just water. I feel like Vincent Askew in his prime.

As the game continues, we hold onto our lead but it is tenious. Airy and Tim miss numerous free throws as our opponents attempt to prolong the game. Fortunately for us we have two things going in our favor.

1. They miss shots.
2. Me.

With WBJ barreling down the court and only myself back on d, we need a stop. Preparing to take a charge, he makes a smart decision and pulls up for a short jumper. Due to my intimidating presence and long reach, he misses. We still hold the lead.

Leading by one with only precious seconds remaining, our main man Harry gets fouled in the double bonus. (Side note: since I last called Harry our worst player, he has somewhat dominated. Hitting threes, finishing shots, rebounding, and making free throws. He definitely passed Akon and sometimes passes me in skill level). Swish and swish. Three point lead. Mock! Yeah! Ing! Yeah! Bird! Yeah!

Harry.

With a foul to give, Airy hacks WBJ as he dribbles to half court. He already told his team to shoot if they get fouled, so he throws a pass as Airy nails him. WBJ starts yelling, "I was shooting!" The refs don't buy it and we all want to staple his face to bologna and put it in a piranha tank. They get the ball in and chuck up a prayer. I find someone to box out and do it oh so well. Airy grabs the board and we win by three, covering the spread and feeling joyous in the process.

With my confidence comes results. 10 points, 5 rebounds, 5 assists, 1 steal. Not the best overall line, but the impact I made was monumental.

Current averages: 4.8 points, 4.6 rebounds, 6.8 assists, 2.5 steals. Not bad when your original goal is to stay alive.

As Airy and I left the gym and walked down to the lobby, we heard some strange laser sounds. It turned out to be a weird hippie guy and a chubby girl playing catch with a softball. As we approached, the chubby girl wound up and hurled the ball....straight into the ground. And you thought my confidence was high during the game.

Disaster

Yesterday proved to be a tough one for the life of a loyal Seattle sports fan.

Looks like the Grizzlies are hiring my choice for Sonics Head Coach, Marc Iavaroni. No good.

After pulling to within 3 1/2 games of first place, the Mariners lost two games in a row to the Angels including Felix giving up seven runs last night. Ouch.

Turns out Jeff Weaver is going back into the rotation in less than a week. Kill me.

Lastly, the Indy Wahoos lost their leading scorer and top overall player, Matt Airy, to strep throat and subsequently lost both games of a double header last night.

The undefeated dream is over. We lost game one by four and game two by four. Mostly due to exhaustion as we played both games back-to-back with no subs. Five guys. No halftime. No time between games. Essentially we played one hour and 40 minutes straight of basketball.

And I am still alive.

I changed my routine a little for yesterday's games after the near throw up Red Bull incident the week before. With the power of water, Tiger's Milk bar, and Oats N' Honey bar, I felt incredible. Nothing weighing me down, I felt quicker and more agile than usual. Which is like Joe saying he felt taller than usual. It had no effect on the outcome of the game.

Without Airy present (and his 25.0 points/game), I knew I needed to step up the scoring. I hit a three early on. Yes! We have reached the points per game average! But not everything is going well. The turnovers are abundant on my part and it all has to do with this capri-pants wearing, heroin addict playing the top of the zone for the Shoreline Gold Seal.

Yes, we played a team from Shoreline at Shoreline Community College. This is like Kobe going back to Philly. The crowd (some guy's parents) knew I wanted to impress. And this capri-pants guy didn't want me to go off. I hated him immediately. This guy clearly had too much energy (hence my thought that he did heroin, along with me stereotyping him due to his skinny nature with some veins showing and a typical rocker/artist look) and not enough skill. He would fly in and try to jump over people for tip ins. He would just come out and slap me on the arm while I brought the ball up. Then when he got a deflection, I wanted to kick him in the teeth. I hated this guy.

So as you can see, the capri man was in my head. That didn't stop me from converting a three pass alley oop for a lay in and a suprising five points early on. I had visions of a 20 point night running through my head. As the game continued, I had my ups and downs despite my early energy and confidence-boosting five points. With a slim lead I caught a reversal a few feet behind the three point arc. Feeling saucy, I threw up a high arcing beauty that banked in. The ref told me I had to call it. I retorted, "not when you are as bad as I am". Oh snap. Eat it reffie.

The second half seemed like an eternity as I tried to pace myself knowing we had a whole other game to go. Unfortunately the rest of my team paced themselves as well and we fell behind by about 16 with only eight minutes to go. Then we started to come back. Threes were flying, lay ups were dropping, and my rebounding skills went to work. I pushed the ball to open shooters or open defenders which ever came first. I drove to the hoop, absorbed contact and finished. Double digits baby!

Our comeback nearly ended early due to the incredible display of intelligence by my teammate Akon. The 5'2 sparkplug decided to talk trash while the other team shot free throws. Early on in the game the ref told him to stop after asking him if he was Rip Hamilton. I whispered, "clearly he isn't Rip Hamilton." He kept talking trash. "Your foot is on the line." And so on. Finally, the ref tells him to get out of here. Cut that crap out. Akon doesn't even leave, he just says, "I can't say anything?" I am thinking that he might have a few learning disabilities. I told him to shut up. He listened because everyone listens to the best player on the court (or eighth best, but who's keeping track?).

Despite our valant comeback, we fell short. The first loss stung a little. But it was nothing compared to the feeling in my legs as my new enemy (the ref on the other court) called us over to start playing game two. No break. Rubbing it in was the other team who sat on the bench eating popsicles. Yes popsicles. But the image of a bunch of scrubs plus a White Chocolate look-a-like eating popsicles was nothing compared to the refs.

As the game began, I noticed the other team simply inbounding the ball and chucking it up court on calls. For example, the ref calls a travel. The other team just grabs the ball and inbounds, they don't even give the ball to the ref. I tell my new enemy that we have played six games and never experienced this. He says, "I don't know who has been reffing your games then". Well mister suck-at-reffing, the guy who runs the league has reffed our games. It doesn't matter to him. Then White Chocolate tells me it is always like this. I nearly melt him with my icy glare.

Early on White Chocolate proves to be the best player as he drains ridiculous stand still ugly form threes. I want to punch him in the throat, kidney, spleen, testicles, and cornia. The game continues with this occuring and I miss multiple threes. We lead most of the first half despite my lack of scoring. Seems odd I know. I get a lay up cherry picking and I start sprinting a lot more. Weird how that works huh?

All of this occuring with the other ref showing complete incompetence. My new enemy at least knows basketball. The other ref might be retarded. In fact, he looks just like this guy (right) from some CBS sitcom. He told White Chocolate to shut up when he talked. Then he pointed the wrong way and said, "Green ball!" I asked him whose ball and he said, "Green! I said that!" Whoa tiger. This guy was clearly unstable.

The game remained close as I started to rack up assists including a Joe Montana-esque dime over the defense to a streaking Akon for a lay in. Everyone liked that one. I steal the ball later and with a large 6'6 guy on my back apparently swing my elbow and hit his tooth. It doesn't stop me as I dribble into a horrible pass on the fast break. Of course, I ask the guy as he gets the ball back if he is ok. I genuinely want to know and also want to avoid being assaulted.

After a lay up late, I landed and my calf said, "what the hell are you doing jumping son?" I decided to stay mostly on the ground. And with players cramping on each side, it became a war of attrition. Only I will not lose this war. (As opposed to the wars I did lose such as the war with the fence in college or the four year war with my bike in college).

With the game on the line late, I knew I had to 'd' up White Chocolate. Others may have quickness, but they play stupid defense. I told Akon 42 times to trace the ball and keep a hand up so that W.C. couldn't shoot his three. He didn't listen, so I needed to take this game over myself. White Chocolate could do nothing against me as his quickness rivaled my own. Down two, Butler screened across for Tim as I threw a ridiculous dime from the top for a lay in. Tie game.

Soon after we have the ball on an inbounds play and I throw it in. White Chocolate tells me I shouldn't inbound under the hoop. I think many things including:

1. I have a state championship as a coach and teach inbounds plays, so please save the lessons for your soon-to-be six children.

2. Punching him.

3. Him stabbing me with a dagger after I punch him.

Instead I keep silent and play for victory. With the game tied, we play good defense and get a missed shot. Unfortunately they get a tip in from the guy who showed up at halftime. Trust me, there is no bigger advantage in men's rec league than being rested. We need a two. Butler brings the ball up and tells me to get it. I am standing two feet away with no one on me. He doesn't pass, but yells for me to get the ball. Confused, I wait for the pass. Butler decides to drop it off behind his back. As the ball rolls loose, only White Chocolate and me have a chance to grab the rock. He didn't stand a chance as I grab it. Needing help at this point, I throw to Tim who kicks it to Butler. He lines up a three and shoots. Knowing full well he should have passed to me, the ball inevitably goes off the rim. We foul, but rested guy hits both free throws. The game is over. My life ruined.

I try to take solace in the fact that I never fully cramped and didn't have to leave the game. With this in mind, I add up my stats (of course estimating since I could barely walk, think, or feel):

Game 1 - 10 points, 5 rebounds, 8 assists, 2 steals

Game 2 - 4 points, 4 rebounds, 11 assists, 3 steals

Those seem right. Averages now stand at 4.0 points, 4.5 rebounds, 7.0 assists, 2.8 steals. That comes up to 32 fantasy points per game in rotissirie style scoring. You might want to consider picking me up if you are running a men's rec league Wednesday night fantasy league. Just a thought.

Gellin

The readers (Joe in this case) request certain things to be covered on the blog and when it involves my own athletic prowess, I must oblige.

The biggest reason I did not write a story about the Indy Wahoo’s game last week at Jefferson Community Center revolved around the fact that we only had four players at the beginning of the game. We ended up with five regulars and one scrub off the street who played with us. I nearly passed out from that much physical activity so my brain could not remember many of the details. A quick recap:

I scored three points to slightly lower my average. No matter who I guarded they would say out loud, “post him up” and followed it by scoring over me consistently. I threw a couple great passes and a bunch of lousy ones and we won the game. We were the underdog, thus pushing our record to 4-0 and 3-1 against the spread.

Moving on to this week. With Dana gone to Eastern Washington, my days involve taking naps after school, watching the Mariners and playing video games. Thus the thought of running up and down a court appealed to me if only to avoid complete slothfulness. At around 5:00 p.m. I decided to eat a sandwich, some yogurt, a chocolate chip cookie, and some sting cheese. Nice small meal. Of course this does not count the Red Bull and chocolate croissant I had for breakfast. Shhhhh.

The game begins and we have six players. Of course I start. Was there any doubt? We win the tip as Matt Airy smartly taps it back to me. Good idea to get the ball quickly into the hands of our playmaker.

We start off pretty slow. And by pretty slow, I mean awful. Like a four grade girls team. The score stands 6-4 with ten minutes gone by in the first half. And we are losing. The opponents (Ballahalics) are in a zone. How the hell do you spell Ballaholics? Jesus, what a stupid name (as a reminder we did not create the name Indy Wahoo’s for ourselves, but our opponents do come up with the names such as Crunk City).

As the point guard my job is to distribute. And I pass early. Then no one ever passes back to me. Airy is missing threes. Airy throws the ball consistenly to the other team early. Big man Tim misses lay ins. I miss a three. We are ridiculously bad. This is pretty much how the entire first half plays out as we are down by six. The bright side involves only being down by six after playing so awful. The dark side remains my lack of touching the ball. Seriously, let’s get the ball to me a little more. Of course when I do shoot, I either a) miss horribly or b) miss horribly because the ball glances off my own forehead as I am shooting. I know, I know.

The second half begins and we play with a renewed vigor in part due to our switching to a 2-3 zone. This change in philosophy hits me hard. As a coach, I never have my team play zone especially at the freshmen and JV level. At the varsity level, you need a zone as a counter defense similar to a blitz package in football or a circle change in baseball. What convinced me to play zone in this game was my chest and throat area. They seemed to be both full of pain, suffering, Red Bull, and turkey and havarti sandwich. It is very difficult to play while burping up dinner constantly.

You know how they call point guards like Steve Nash a coach on the floor? Well we literally had three coaches on the floor with Airy (pictured on the right), Matt Butler, and myself. It’s like we jumped in a time machine and went back to the days of Lenny Wilkins as player/coach. The advantage to having three coaches on the floor is that we constantly communicate because when our players don’t we want to bang our heads against the backboard repeatedly. Thus our 2-3 became a chatterbox 2-3 and it stifled the Ballaholics.

Our lack of offense in trying to break the opponent’s 2-3 zone kept us down in the five to eight point range for much of the second half. After some ill-advised shots by my teammates and a lack of touching the ball, I subbed myself out of the game. Not only that but my body would not respond to what my mind asked it to do such as cutting to open spots in the zone for easy buckets. While out of the game, I contemplated my role on this team. As the other team called time out, I stepped up my game. I told the guys that we need to just throw the first easy pass and trust each other; we are too busy trying to make the perfect pass.

Side note: in this league, timeouts do not stop the time. Hence, I believe they should be called runningclockouts or rest for old dudes time.

The game resumed and we still trailed as our worst player, Harry, chucks up a three that misses. Time to sub myself back in. We trail by five when I enter the game with about 6:30 left. The score reads 49-44 bad guys winning. Unfortunately for them, we start to gel. We are gellin like a felon with no watermelon. That is such a better line for those shoe insoles commercials.

We start to inch back into it. Like the good coach that I am, as we are down three with 2:30 left, I tell our team that there is a lot of time. Butler hits a free throw. Down two. My cat like reflexes provide some stellar defense in this stretch including a ridiculous one handed-grab out of thin air-spiderman type steal. Which brings me to my next point.

Spiderman 3 was one of the top five worst movies I have ever seen. It now stands in a list with Crazy/Beautiful, King Kong, Congo, and Waterworld (featuring Santa Clara Hawaiian girl). I don’t think I actually watched Waterworld, but we always used to like to bring it up because this girl from Santa Clara was an extra in it and she hated that we brought it up. But seriously could more stupid things happen in Spiderman 3? I hate it.

So Tim scores inside and the game is tied up. We get a stop and the ball is pitched ahead to Airy who bangs in a three to put us up 52-49. That’s right, lockdown defense led by me. We are flying around the perimeter to prevent any threes and we grab the rebound. Actually I grab it. And I will not pass this baby. They foul me and kind of twist me around. I throw my elbow out as if to say, “get off of me”. Ready to ice the game I bend my legs to get prepared for the one-and-one. I release, rotation, and clank off the front rim. Luckily Butler grabbed his 87th rebound of the game and we kicked it out to call timeout with about 20 seconds left.

I volunteer to screen for Airy as we inbound and I set a beauty. He gets the ball and is fouled. Two free throws later this game is iced and I need some ice. Zero points and maybe four rebounds. Not a shining performance but another win for the Wahoos. At 5-0 and now 3-1-1 (we pushed this one) against the spread, we feel nearly unstoppable.

As Airy and I sit and relax before getting ready to leave the gym, Harry comes over to say goodbye. Airy says, “Harry, you can sub in whenever. Don’t be afraid, just grab me. It is fine.”
Harry responds, “I guess the more I know you guys the more comfortable I will be to do that. To I guess, just be an ass”.

Being an ass is fine Harry, just as long as you don’t ever sub for me.