Finally!I go to a school where a sport I'm actually following wins something!
Actually, no, I take that back. I remember the Durango High School days when I'd walk into the gym and see all the trophies and whatnot (oh... but I must go back to my original claim and emphasize: actually following. What did I care about women's bowling? And women's volleyball I liked while playing, never watching).
A far cry from my Sierra Vista days... I think we won maybe... a state title in wrestling (and once again, what did I care about wrestling that wasn't cauliflower ear- related?).
It's been five years since my basketball days, and it's just now that I can go back and watch a live game without getting the urge to jump off a balcony and end the pain.
It takes a while for me to get over traumatic experiences... and that time spent on the basketball team really messed me up good. Sure, it made me lean and mean... but oh, the emotional drama and the bitching! I think it was my junior year of high school where I decided never to hang out with so much estrogen in what remains of my life ( 2-3 girls in my group of friends each time I go out, max. Any more and someone ends up in tears or missing some earring).
I was the only idiot who actually followed directions, showed up to practice (missing only two and having that waved in my face for the rest of the season; while some bitches would be smoking weed outside the gym and showing up an hour late for practice with a brownie in hand), and had good grades (straight A's... minus that one B in that sexist-son-of-a-bitch Mr. Thomas' pre-calc class). These girls were bitching about dealing with pre-algebra and I was busting my ass in A.P. history... and they still got to start.
If it weren't for my Dennis Rodman skills, I probably would have been benched the entire season. Fucking bullshit. Instead, Shawn Marion's little sister took my spot (but she was the nicest of the group... so I think it was done intentionally because they knew I'd never bitch at her... and who could hate on such a nice guy's little sister? Bastard coaches).
I sometimes have nightmares of running suicides and making lay-ups. I hated those things... and I still can't do the left handed lay-up for the life of me.
All that practice, and all that... trauma, for nothing. I think we went... I have no idea... but I'm pretty sure we won about 4 games... and who starred in those games? Me! But nooo... let the cry-baby, idiot, ballhog girl have her way and drive us into the hole because she wants to have a school record with 23 points a game... while the other team out-scores us 75 points!
Oh! And the spectators! Freakin' A! The spectators! I'd always get the urge to just run into the stands and knock over the pushy, loudmouthed, lazy-ass moms screaming at me.
I'll block your fucking pork of a daughter all I want! The point IS to keep her from scoring. It's not my fault she can't mow me down like the rest of the team when she charges. Tell her to quit thinking she's the 5'2" female version of Shaq. Maybe that way she'll quit getting so many damn personal fouls called out against her.
Moms would be having a cow because I'd be able to stand my ground (unknowingly... I'm just accustomed to having people lunge and me not budging. Comes with the territory of being the playmate of an only-brother) and their dumb daughters kept getting caught after about the fifth time they charge me (I scored about 50 points that way). Then they'd get pissed if I managed to catch up to their slow offspring and strip the ball from them. Give me a break, man.
These moms weren't nice. What 45 year-old woman calls a 17 year-old girl a "motherfucking cunt!"? C'mon now! Call me that when I can't get hauled off by school security after slapping you around a bit, dumb ass lady.
Then I'd get the occasional:
Damn, girl! Look at that ass! You just keep jumpin'!
Can I get yo' number?
The gender of the people screaming that would also vary. You'd try to be nice... tell them you don't swing that way... but so many mini-Iversons following you to the locker room would eventually turn traumatizing 'cause you'd find yourself sizing them up from time to time thinking "Yeah, I can take her if she came at me."
It'd be worse when they'd eye you from the sidelines, only to get a feel on you during a rebound or their so-called "screens."
Dibs on the Latina with the two French-braids. Umm.
Fuck... I knew the braids were a bad idea...
I've never felt so much ass-on-leg action in my life (and I wish never again). Not even the lambada compares. Those were moments I wished I were short enough to play point guard instead of forward.
See, it's not pretty... and it was stressing the crap out of me... not to mention it gave me shin-splints like a motha...
But let's just forget about that sad part of my basketball-loving experience. It's just great to know that it's in the past, and UNLV, of all schools, made me feel better about watching the sport. Thanks fellas, you really rock.
Haha, Older Brother! Your fighting Irish may have gone to the Sugar Bowl (how the hell did you spend all that money, retard?) back in January, but my Rebs actually won their shit! (Not hating on Notre Dame, how could I? They introduced me to the ever so handsome Brady Quinn! Plus, I own a jersey, pajamas, and a sweater all with some sort of ND-affiliation. I can't really despise a team whose logo I rock)Victory feels good.
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