The tip off of life. It's a circle of players (family, doctors, nurses) surrounding two, and the lil bitty ball (baby) tossed up for the free for all of attention.
Dribble. Differnt things to differnt folks. As a toddler, we drool, dribble from our high chair. That's the first quarter of life. If we be lucky enough to make it to the 4th quarter of life, we men, we old men... kinda sorta dribble too, but from aanudder body part. Holy crap no wunder they want the lid up. But, hey, with it down, it's kinda sorta akin to shooting a free throw! Ooops, hit the rim, sorry. Next time. No one shoots a hunnerd percent.
Inflation - holy guacamole. I ain't talking about the kinda inflation they argue about until they're blue (or red) on CNN/FOX. I'm talking about the bassiball. Under inflated, ya start down court, the ball don't keep up. Hard to play. Over inflated, you're liable to take it on the chin like maybe a superball back in the day.
The lane. This is kinda like parking spots. You can only stay so long. There also be more congestion, fender benders, thrown elbows, and points made from the lane.
Points? DOW Jones baskeball Jones. Score, as in Paradise by the Scoreboard Lights. Oh baby oh baby, what a play! We got winners, we got losers, but I love this (Court) bar.
Fast break. That's like chasin' a gal at recess. Mebbe going from zero to sixty on the onramp, or, the feeling of an inlaw at a family reunion. We gotta get outta this place.
Ball hog. The obsessive coworker who will not shut the hell up in a meeting that shoulda been over and hour ago. Children who say "NO!!!!" when you want just one little baby Snickers from their Halloween basket. Ain't it wunnerful kids go to bed so early? (And one: Oh hell, eat two, 7, all but one.)
Benchwarmer. It takes a village of ten to practice 5 on 5. Ain't everyone in life so vely vely gifted. Many of us don't shoot nuttin' but net, we clank it off the rim, lay bricks or worse, air ball. Life, we, basketball teams, need benchwarmers.
Floater. This is a wonderful shot to see.... usually a much smaller player dribbing toward the hoop and at bigger player, and he/she shoots it at such a trajectory that it's impossible for the big'n to block and funnels thru the net with ease. In real life, a floater means it's time to get outta the baby pool for awhile. Charlie grab the net wouldya?
Full court pressure. Rush hour. Claustrophobia in a SRO crowd. More bills than money. A year of parenting a terrible two. A final exam. QUICK! PICKUP THE BEER CANS, MY FOLKS JUST PULLED INTO THE DRIVE!.. The want, need to Spotify slow down you move too fast Feelin' Groovy by Simon and Art.
Foul. BO comes to mind. An F-bomb in the wrong crowd. Running a yellow light when ya shouldna. Trash day on Tuesday and your empty bin is still curbside Friday. No, or, a 10% tip. Hanky panky when ya shouldnt oughta. A family feud on Facebook.
Halftime. That's 39.5 years according to the life expectancy of a chicky, 36.5 for roosters. "Dang it, I think the kids heard us! More later honey?" Noon, lunch hour.
Pivot. A nail in one's shoe. Born again. A wishy washy Senator. A severe bonk on the head that turns one from introvert to extrovert. When GPS says "make a U-turn." The transfer portal.
Rejected. "No thanks, I'm really not in the mood to dance." But, but, but... I gave her THE BIGGEST Valentine I got in my packet. Thanks but no thanks, back to Indeed, LinkedIn. Life with a cat.
Technical foul. Inappropriate. Honey, us guys are going to the Lake for a weekend fishing trip. An inlaw badmouthing 'blood'. Pink slip, red card, 15 yards. No soup for you.
When the ball gets stuck between the rim and the backboard, WEDGIE. Of course, the underwear thing. A flat tire. Dead battery. Where the hell is a tall guy whenya need 'em?
Switch. Corporal punishment back in the day. Career change. When one decides they no likey Bud Light. Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice. Oops. Honey, hand me that paira undies that are in the glovebox.
Assist. Carboard signs. Mom can I borrow 5 bucks? Piggyback. Walker with tennis balls. Me in a powerized cart at WallyWorld. Advice. Friends. Volunteering. A spoonful from a baby jar. Training wheels. When it takes a village. A boost up. The fat guys that push on a Philadelphia Eagle ball carrier on 4th and one.
Overtime. Big bucks, time and a half. Retirement, Social Security, Silver Sneakers. Extra extra, read all about it. Our coach is brilliant. WHAT A BONEHEAD. Frenetic. Hubba hubba. You're too young to be tired. Mom and dad lemme stay up until midnight on weekends.
Layup. Big Chief tablet. Googling trivia. Remote start on a winter day. Microwave ovens. That's a gimme, ya ain't gotta putt it.
I know basketball ain't for everyone. I love me some basketball. Dribbling the ball 4 blocks to the Catholic school playground. Whites, blacks, skins, shirts, fun. Getting along. Getting serious, but, walking home together, friends, always.
Cheerleaders, pep bands, alums, little kids with big eyes, we've got spirit yes we do, we've got spirit how bout you? Wins, losses. Like life. Heart palpitations, yum. Swish. Clank. You gotta call it off the backboard! Awwwwww COME ON REF!!!!
When coach calls your name. Oh baby, yes! Nerves. Fun, funny happens. I recently attended a game, the obvious star of the team 'blew a sneaker', ie, his socked foot was sticking out the side. Coach hollers "Manny, C'MERE!" Manny jumped up shockedly, he appeared to have never entered a game in such a critical moment. Makes it to coach's spot in a millisec though, only to be met with "What size shoe do you wear?" Aye yai yai, that'd be my luck.
I was a gym rat. That's fancy for, I suck, can't make the team, but I live here, love here, play here, shoot funny, shoot a lot, practice, play, occasionally get serious when an elbow flies. I love it all. Even the time when I was coaching.... asked the team manager to enter the names/numbers in the books. Did. But. We were at home (we have odd number jerseys for home). Entered were the road numbers (Even numbers.) UH OH, my fault though for not double checking. Before a second ran off the clock, the other team got to shoot 5 techinal free throwns. And, each time I put a player in to sub that hadn't already been in the game, uh huh, technical foul, free throw AND the ball. Oh well. I've said before, Fleetwood Mac's Oh Well is onea my favorite songs ever.
Basketball Jones... I gotta basketball Jones......
Hoop, there it is.
Love, Victurd
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