It’s a pity that no professional basketball writers were on hand to cover the five-on-five pickup game this past weekend between My Team and The Other Team. And while I obviously can’t claim impartiality, I’d be remiss if I didn’t record for posterity a game so monumental.

The tone was set from the first play after My Team’s Ball Hog, dressed in authentic Allen Iverson jersey and shorts, took an inbound pass. He dribbled up court and, after opting not to pass to three teammates open under the basket, or to The Fat Kid Who Stands At The Three-Point Line All Game, missed a baseline 15-foot turnaround hook shot. Suffice to say, it wasn’t Ball Hog’s first missed shot of the season.

The Other Team capitalized on Ball Hog’s miss, as My Friend Who Would Later Get Injured grabbed the rebound and, in a move new to pickup basketball, passed the ball to a teammate. This teammate, The 15-Year-Old Who Suggested Playing Full-Court, was off on a fast break for an easy bucket. He then called time to briefly make out with his Girlfriend In Tight Jeans On The Sidelines Who Inspired Illegal Thoughts In Me.

Neither team scored for the next 45 minutes, and when the drought finally ended, it came in a wholly unexpected way. Ball Hog couldn’t sink a fade-away shot from half-court, and The Spaz grabbed an offensive rebound. The Spaz dribbled, or rather smacked around, the ball for a bit and then whipped it at 90 miles an hour in his patented arc-less manner off the backboard and into the hoop.

With the momentum having shifted to My Team, The Guy Who Plays Defense Way Harder Than Is Appropriate intercepted The Other Team’s inbound pass, dished the ball out to The Fat Kid Who Stands At The Three-Point Line All Game, who, in one surprisingly graceful motion, swished a trey and grabbed from his pocket and unwrapped a Hostess cupcake.

Both teams exchanged a series of air balls, and then there was a brief, ugly confrontation between Ball Hog and three 10-year-olds who kept using one of the baskets when the game was down at the other end. “What, do you think the city made this playground for you?” Ball Hog finally screamed, sending the kids running.

But Ball Hog was clearly rattled, and The Other Team took advantage. My Friend Who Would Very Soon Get Injured found, wide open under the basket, The Guy Who Calls A Foul No Matter What, who missed a layup and then promptly called a foul on a play that had happened 15 minutes earlier.

The Other Team took the ball out from the top of the key, and I found myself guarding The Guy Who Doesn’t Wear A Shirt. He leaned his cold, sweaty back into me and, as I recoiled in horror, darted under the hoop where he caught a perfect pass from The Silent, He Must Be Almost 7 Feet Tall Guy and laid the ball in.

With the game tied 2-2 and the water fountains shut off since 1973, “next basket wins” was called. An hour and a half later, I grabbed a rebound, touching the ball for the first time all game. Excited and nervous, I drove to the wrong hoop, sunk the winning basket for the other team and came down on My Friend Who Was In The Process Of Getting Injured’s ankle.

I spent the next four hours waiting for him in the emergency room, contemplating the fact that I had just become The Guy The Other Guys Would Now Call The Guy We’ll Never Give The Ball To Again.

(Mark Bazer can be reached at mebazer@yahoo.com.)
(C) MARK BAZER,
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