blogsketball

Wherever you go in life, you’re bound to find assholes. The basketball court is no different.

On my basketball court, there are a few regular rectums. Two are very similar.

The first, I call the age-rage asshole. He shows up at least once a week and in a month he’s prone to two or three major blowups. Whether someone puts two hands on him when guarding him (”you DO NOT put two hands on me! EVER!”) or he’s just huffing and puffing over the inadequacies of his team, the middle-aged man inevitably boils over, creating an ugly scene.

The other guy keeps his rage turned inward, but still needs to be recognized for his game-wrecking attitude. Asshole number two confuses the Y in Edmonton for game 7 of the NBA Finals. He’s a good player (better than me, anyway) and expects the game to go his way (note: he doesn’t have a vision) and if it doesn’t, the fuming begins. AH#2 is so good, in fact, that he has no qualms about spotting up on a fast break to take the 35-footer. This also plays into his other fault on the court: he hates passing. AH#2 would rather force a shot over a quintuple-team than give the rock up. On an inbound, he’ll throw the ball off the wall, catch it, turn and bring it up. Then force a bad shot. I’d imagine it’s what the LA Lakers not named Kobe felt like the last two years. Anyway, AH#2’s time on the court is limited. There’s only so long he can play before he grows disgusted with his teammates poor play. The turnovers, the missed shots, the inadequate defense…how can he be expected to carry his team the whole day? He waits until a particularly bad turnover to not run back on defence, take off his pinney and walk out of the gym. Until next time, asshole. You’ll be missed.

There’s something more than the fuming and teammate hate that links the first two anuses. Can you guess what it is? Hint: they’re both lawyers.

I feel bad lumping the third guy with these other two assholes. The third guy is the helpful asshole. A young guy, maybe in his early 20’s, He shows up on the weekends to play. No, to compete. He’s a good player and ridiculously intense. Too intense for the Y, really. He yells, shouts and cheers the whole way through the game, and he shits on his teammates when they screw up. By definition, he’s an asshole (I mean, if these other two guys are assholes…).

That said, I like playing with this guy. Where the first two assholes just make me hate them and with they’d call it a day, the third guy pushes me and makes me play well. Maybe it’s because he’s my basketball opposite: a slasher to my shooter; a rebounder first, whereas I make it an afterthought; someone who plays physical, while I’ve always shied away from contact. I like having him on my team and when we’re on opposite teams, I pick him out to guard him. When I shoot, he lowers his head and charges at me, but doesn’t hit me. I walk by him and pat him on the back. “The headbutt?” I ask him. “To scare you,” he says back and for the first time I think in his life, cracks a smile.

I can only imagine what it would be like telling him this.

Me: I’m guarding you because you’re the exact opposite of me. You’re a great challenge.
You make me better.

Him: Fuck you, punk. I’m gonna light you up.

I think I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.