Pay to Play
I did it, my first ever NYC public court basketball victory. Not only one victory, but two! The game, 21; means me versus whoever else was on the court. I had a slight advantage, I can shoot from the outside; I had a huge disadvantage, I am smaller (shorter, less muscular, and less "hood-tough") than 90 percent of everyone out there.
I went to the court to shoot by myself. I was hitting my jumper. I looked like some version of my former self – shooting off the dribble and putting the ball through the rim (no net) from literally anywhere on the court. At this point, there was one other guy shooting around and I asked him if he wanted to play one-on-one. He agreed and we started. We shot for ball (always from the top of the 3-point line), he missed, I made; my ball. We started. No less than 3 points into the game another guy joined, then another, then friends to watch. We switched the game to 21 (or Chicago, as only it is called in Columbus, Ohio). We played, I was hitting my jumper, the guy I was playing one-on-one with was hitting his jumper; everyone else was the take-it-to-the-rim type.
My game = efficiency. I hit my opening jump shot. Made all three free throws, checked it up, hit another jump shot, hit all three free throws, checked it up and missed for my first time. For easy math I jumped out to a quick 10-point lead (2+1+1+1+2+1+1+1) Free throws are key.
Anyway, at about my 17th point, I jumped for a long rebound. Some guy came flying in for the same rebound. I usually don't jump for the ball. I was reminded, brutally, of the reason for this. This guy absolutely floored me. The disadvantage: well, size, as I've already discussed (220 pounds of muscle vs. 180 pounds of heart and a love for pizza, cookies and potato chips); angle – I went straight up and he was flying in at an angle; angle part II, I can only jump 2 inches off the ground, he was flying in, literally – in short, it looks like he jumped off the top ropes WWF style and "supermanned" my shit.
I hit the ground very
, very, very hard. I smacked everything but my actual face. All the thugs got quiet and politely asked "are you straight man?" Me: "yes" as I am literally shaking and trying to walk it off. Guys: "are you sure?" Most people would have sat out, I should have sat it out, but instead of me, the guy I was originally playing one-on-one with decided to sit out and watch the rest of the game (I understand). A few minutes later as I'm back on defense and still not walking straight, he told me, "man you are bleeding all over" - I looked, and yep – WOW. I kept going. The very next time I got the ball, I discovered I could not move my left arm and had trouble dribbling and moving. I played gingerly for a few possessions but soon the adrenaline kicked in and I hit another shot, my free throws and then a final shot from the three point line (some playground rule I'd never even heard of) to win the game. I wanted to smile, but instead I agree to "run it back." We played again.
I won the next game, but only thanks to the playground rules. See if you miss the three or the free through after you hit 21, you go back to 15. The other guys must have scored 100 points combined going back to 15 several times. At some point, I had 4 points when one or both of the guys' score was reduced to 15 for the second or third time. Some guy asked, "do you need to leave?" I said "no I just need to get-it-together." I dug deep, fought back slowly. Got to 21 and hit the shots I needed to hit. Game, dap (bbal equivalent to handshake and/or high-fives), home.
Roommate responses to my battle scars were pure horror. Kenji was pumped. I wanted to take photos and post them here, but the reasonable woman in my life objected vehemently over the phone. When the reasonable woman in my life objects, I listen. No photos, but I am rocking 5 band-aids and have blood on my desk. I need to wipe that up perhaps. I should have 4 band-aids, but my co-worker who tried to help my clean up my arm (an observant angel) gave up when I was too wimpy to let her remove last night's bandage that Saint Stephanie put on for me. She said, "wow, you were man enough to take that injury, but can't remove the band-aid!?!" I grumbled some non-response and a thank you and limped back to my desk. I will deal with the whiplash Wednesday at physical therapy.
I went to the court to shoot by myself. I was hitting my jumper. I looked like some version of my former self – shooting off the dribble and putting the ball through the rim (no net) from literally anywhere on the court. At this point, there was one other guy shooting around and I asked him if he wanted to play one-on-one. He agreed and we started. We shot for ball (always from the top of the 3-point line), he missed, I made; my ball. We started. No less than 3 points into the game another guy joined, then another, then friends to watch. We switched the game to 21 (or Chicago, as only it is called in Columbus, Ohio). We played, I was hitting my jumper, the guy I was playing one-on-one with was hitting his jumper; everyone else was the take-it-to-the-rim type.
My game = efficiency. I hit my opening jump shot. Made all three free throws, checked it up, hit another jump shot, hit all three free throws, checked it up and missed for my first time. For easy math I jumped out to a quick 10-point lead (2+1+1+1+2+1+1+1) Free throws are key.
Anyway, at about my 17th point, I jumped for a long rebound. Some guy came flying in for the same rebound. I usually don't jump for the ball. I was reminded, brutally, of the reason for this. This guy absolutely floored me. The disadvantage: well, size, as I've already discussed (220 pounds of muscle vs. 180 pounds of heart and a love for pizza, cookies and potato chips); angle – I went straight up and he was flying in at an angle; angle part II, I can only jump 2 inches off the ground, he was flying in, literally – in short, it looks like he jumped off the top ropes WWF style and "supermanned" my shit.
I hit the ground very
, very, very hard. I smacked everything but my actual face. All the thugs got quiet and politely asked "are you straight man?" Me: "yes" as I am literally shaking and trying to walk it off. Guys: "are you sure?" Most people would have sat out, I should have sat it out, but instead of me, the guy I was originally playing one-on-one with decided to sit out and watch the rest of the game (I understand). A few minutes later as I'm back on defense and still not walking straight, he told me, "man you are bleeding all over" - I looked, and yep – WOW. I kept going. The very next time I got the ball, I discovered I could not move my left arm and had trouble dribbling and moving. I played gingerly for a few possessions but soon the adrenaline kicked in and I hit another shot, my free throws and then a final shot from the three point line (some playground rule I'd never even heard of) to win the game. I wanted to smile, but instead I agree to "run it back." We played again.I won the next game, but only thanks to the playground rules. See if you miss the three or the free through after you hit 21, you go back to 15. The other guys must have scored 100 points combined going back to 15 several times. At some point, I had 4 points when one or both of the guys' score was reduced to 15 for the second or third time. Some guy asked, "do you need to leave?" I said "no I just need to get-it-together." I dug deep, fought back slowly. Got to 21 and hit the shots I needed to hit. Game, dap (bbal equivalent to handshake and/or high-fives), home.
Roommate responses to my battle scars were pure horror. Kenji was pumped. I wanted to take photos and post them here, but the reasonable woman in my life objected vehemently over the phone. When the reasonable woman in my life objects, I listen. No photos, but I am rocking 5 band-aids and have blood on my desk. I need to wipe that up perhaps. I should have 4 band-aids, but my co-worker who tried to help my clean up my arm (an observant angel) gave up when I was too wimpy to let her remove last night's bandage that Saint Stephanie put on for me. She said, "wow, you were man enough to take that injury, but can't remove the band-aid!?!" I grumbled some non-response and a thank you and limped back to my desk. I will deal with the whiplash Wednesday at physical therapy.
posted by cstyle at
9:12 AM
3 Comments
