The Game Where I Could Get Off at Any Time
. . .Before every big game there is an excitement that seems to build all around you, in everything you do for the entire day. It was the third week of the season and we were facing what many considered to be the other top team in the league. They were the good ole' boy fraternity and had a lot of ex-highschool, and a few ex-college athletes as members. In this case, good ole' boy means somewhat racist.
For the past few weeks my romantic life had grown stagnant. In this case, romantic life means getting piss drunk and trying to bring girls back to my dorm room. I had been striking out Friday and Saturday nights on a consistent basis. In this case, striking out means either passing out with mad mushroom cheesesticks in my mouth or taking home the most-tolerable looking girl left at the end of the night. Tack that on wich my less than inspring play so far and a guy's confidence starts to fail him.
It was a Wednesday morning and I was sitting in Introduction to Political Science with Dr. Halfbeard. We were discussing the vicious circle effect in American politics. Apathy begets non-involvement in government which begets less interest in government which begets mistrust of government, etc., etc. eventually creating a viscious circle downward until something extraordinary breaks the cycle. (Sidebar: Barack the vote!). I was able to find this on the internet (just read italics if you want): http//www.stcsig.org/sn/PDF/Voss_rita_vicious_circle.pdf
I began to realize the same was happening to me and a few of my friends. It could be my own self-destructive pattern of drinking begetting hall parties which beget drunkingly hitting on girls which beget striking out which beget a loss in confidence which beget more drinking.
It could be Once-Balding Italian's consumption of two forties begetting a hall pary begetting his full-bodied girlfriend breaking up with him begetting him calling girls fat asses begetting a general disdain for his company throughout most of campus begetting more forties.
It could even be seen with The Greying Writer's not washing his sheets all year begetting a horrible infection in his eye begetting long trips to the doctors begetting expensive medicine begetting less time in the day begetting unreturned public library cd's and Mr. Tuxedo rental tuxes, and not washing his sheets.
It's easy to fall into a destructive pattern during college. It is often the reason you see 250 pound Seniors who could once run 6 minute miles as freshman.
We had the middle game of the night, which meant the largest crowd of around 15 people. But it also meant we would be missing The Greying Writer to play practice because it didn't end until close to the beginning of the third game. With everything else going on I hadn't prepared well enough for the game and didn't feel ready when the ball was tossed. Four minutes in the first half went by without anybody on our team being able to put the ball in the basket. Everyone was playing tight. The Good Ole' Boys got out to a quick eight point lead and The Baseball Player called a quick timeout. He took Slow-Release and Long-Armed Hippie out of the game and with that I became one of the only shooters on the floor. On our first offensive set I ran my man off a screen and popped out for a 14 foot baseline jumper. A few plays later I got some daylight at the top of the key from a screen and knocked down a three. On the next possession I cut through the lane and got a great feed from V-Neck that I was able to put in with my right hand. Our opponents called a timeout and our bench rushed the court to encourage the lineup on the floor. Slow-Release pulled me to the side and said in my ear,
"You're carrying us and you're going to have to keep on carrying us." It was the single greatest moment of my life. I had never carried a basketball team before. But I liked the feeling. I finished the first half with 16 points and felt something like this: http://youtube.com/watch?v=I87edutABG8&feature=related. We had a 5 point lead after the first half and extended it to nine by game's end. Everyone else got going in the second half and I only added 5 points to the total. Most importantly, we got a great win against a really good team. Other than that, I was able to break out of a shooting slump. I could only think this confidence would permeate throughout the rest of my social endeavors.
After the rah, rah, rah's I returned to the dorms. As I approached our dorm room I began to hear subtle female moans. I listened through the door and could distinctly pick up a female's voice. Had my individual performance caught the eye of a young impressionable female who was awaiting my return? I opened the door, but it was The Greying Writer, returned early from play practice and watching Latino Lesbian Amateurs.
For the past few weeks my romantic life had grown stagnant. In this case, romantic life means getting piss drunk and trying to bring girls back to my dorm room. I had been striking out Friday and Saturday nights on a consistent basis. In this case, striking out means either passing out with mad mushroom cheesesticks in my mouth or taking home the most-tolerable looking girl left at the end of the night. Tack that on wich my less than inspring play so far and a guy's confidence starts to fail him.
It was a Wednesday morning and I was sitting in Introduction to Political Science with Dr. Halfbeard. We were discussing the vicious circle effect in American politics. Apathy begets non-involvement in government which begets less interest in government which begets mistrust of government, etc., etc. eventually creating a viscious circle downward until something extraordinary breaks the cycle. (Sidebar: Barack the vote!). I was able to find this on the internet (just read italics if you want): http//www.stcsig.org/sn/PDF/Voss_rita_vicious_circle.pdf
I began to realize the same was happening to me and a few of my friends. It could be my own self-destructive pattern of drinking begetting hall parties which beget drunkingly hitting on girls which beget striking out which beget a loss in confidence which beget more drinking.
It could be Once-Balding Italian's consumption of two forties begetting a hall pary begetting his full-bodied girlfriend breaking up with him begetting him calling girls fat asses begetting a general disdain for his company throughout most of campus begetting more forties.
It could even be seen with The Greying Writer's not washing his sheets all year begetting a horrible infection in his eye begetting long trips to the doctors begetting expensive medicine begetting less time in the day begetting unreturned public library cd's and Mr. Tuxedo rental tuxes, and not washing his sheets.
It's easy to fall into a destructive pattern during college. It is often the reason you see 250 pound Seniors who could once run 6 minute miles as freshman.
We had the middle game of the night, which meant the largest crowd of around 15 people. But it also meant we would be missing The Greying Writer to play practice because it didn't end until close to the beginning of the third game. With everything else going on I hadn't prepared well enough for the game and didn't feel ready when the ball was tossed. Four minutes in the first half went by without anybody on our team being able to put the ball in the basket. Everyone was playing tight. The Good Ole' Boys got out to a quick eight point lead and The Baseball Player called a quick timeout. He took Slow-Release and Long-Armed Hippie out of the game and with that I became one of the only shooters on the floor. On our first offensive set I ran my man off a screen and popped out for a 14 foot baseline jumper. A few plays later I got some daylight at the top of the key from a screen and knocked down a three. On the next possession I cut through the lane and got a great feed from V-Neck that I was able to put in with my right hand. Our opponents called a timeout and our bench rushed the court to encourage the lineup on the floor. Slow-Release pulled me to the side and said in my ear,
"You're carrying us and you're going to have to keep on carrying us." It was the single greatest moment of my life. I had never carried a basketball team before. But I liked the feeling. I finished the first half with 16 points and felt something like this: http://youtube.com/watch?v=I87edutABG8&feature=related. We had a 5 point lead after the first half and extended it to nine by game's end. Everyone else got going in the second half and I only added 5 points to the total. Most importantly, we got a great win against a really good team. Other than that, I was able to break out of a shooting slump. I could only think this confidence would permeate throughout the rest of my social endeavors.
After the rah, rah, rah's I returned to the dorms. As I approached our dorm room I began to hear subtle female moans. I listened through the door and could distinctly pick up a female's voice. Had my individual performance caught the eye of a young impressionable female who was awaiting my return? I opened the door, but it was The Greying Writer, returned early from play practice and watching Latino Lesbian Amateurs.
posted by HAL 9000 at 1:12 PM
1 Comments:
Wasn't this within like two months of discovering the Milf Hunter? I think the Writer was Milfing it up. Who had time for Latino Lesbian Amateurs when Milfhunter Fever was sweeping the nation (dorm)?
I remember that game well. It was like watching a modern era Jimmy Chitwood. If that game was the movie "Hoosiers," though, the Italian could have easily reprised Dennis Hopper's role as "Shooter," the alcoholic, but lovable assistant coach. It was a dark time for him.
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