4 Fucking Minutes
That's how long it took for my season to end. I've been waiting of the return of basketball season since the end of the last one, and now it's over. But I digress. You probably want the whole story.
Monday evening was the first time I've been able to play full court basketball since last fall when the previous iteration of this church league ended. Now, the term "church league" may conjure up images of quaint picnics in the park, parents versus kids softball games and perhaps a great big bowl of punch on the table somewhere. Not even close. What makes this league a church league? It's held in a church gym, there's a prayer said at the beginning and some people on the court aren't ready to stab your eyes out for a rebound (notice I said some). This is fuck-you-in-the-ear-I'm-here-to-win-so-stay-out-of-my-way-or-I'll-crush-you basketball being played by men in their 20's and 30's who live humdrum suburban lives and need some place to take their aggression out. We play to win, and it's a shitload of fun.
So it all started again Monday night. This time with supposedly better refereeing because the refs are getting paid this time. These are the same louts we've had on a volunteer basis before, yet somehow they are supposed to be better because they're receiving some paltry paycheck. I digress. It's 8:45, and the game is on. I got to the tip first, but he got to it stronger, so they end up with the ball first. That's ok, I hustle back to play defense; it's where I excel anyway. I'm matched up man to man against what would normally be techincally considered "one big nigger", but next to me he's just plain out-sized. They take a shot, I push my man around, grab the board and feed it to someone in green more fleet of foot than I. Lugging my fat ass down the court, I get there just in time to play the in-out game and setup our best outside shooter for a 3, he nails it. Back down the floor; man this is fun. This goes on for a few more trips up and down the floor. Us making our shots, them making fewer and having no chance at the inside game because I'm there to stop it up. Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds into the game the score is 12-7 us when it happens. I'm back on defense and chicano boy decides to make a run at the basket. In a blink it's over. I've knocked the ball out of his hands, and people are scrambling for it as it heads towards the out of bounds. The whistle blows for a foul on me (totally incorrect, but hey it happens) which stops the scrambling, but I'm paying attention to none of it. I knocked the ball out of all right, but I happen to have done it with the end of my right pinky. Oblivious to what's going on around me I let loose a stream of profanity that would have done... well me I guess, proud. You see, my finger looks ok until you hit that first knuckle, but from there on out it's skewing in ways God never intended. There's no pain (yet), so I'm able to examine the digit carefully and mentally record what it looks like. Survey says? It's fucking gross. Fingers just aren't supposed to look like that. The cool part is that there was no pain, so I got to come off like a fucking madman when I wrenched it (complete with wonderful grinding noise) back into place and walked back out on the floor. People were like O.O
(to be continued)
