I think I've blogged about my basketball crew before but that won't stop me from doing it again. My mother was in town last week for our weekend cabin extravaganza in West Virginia, and she asked me more about the gentlemen I play street ball with a few times a week. It got me thinking about our origins...
Similar to the X-Men, it all started when I had a dog last Summer, Maggie, and ventured to the nethermost regions of my neighborhood in search of a new walking path. I was getting sick of the normal people I passed asking me repeatedly if my dog was pregnant, if I was interested in enrolling my dog in fat camp, or how it felt to be walked by a wholly mammoth, so I ventured off the beaten path and engaged in more adventurous, rugged routes. While walking on streets like 'Gastronomical Way' and 'Stomach Street' I found a basketball court tucked neatly away behind a sign that read "Arlington County Basketball Court. All are welcome. Crews are encouraged. Don't keep it a secret, tell your friends." Thinking the invitation was for boaters (ie a crew team) and not ballers, I returned the next day in my swimming trunks and was sorely disappointed to learn that the closest body of water was the drinking fountain at the corner of the court. I made a paper boat out of my gum wrapper and called it good. However, there in my skivvies, I did notice some basketball players. I remember well the man named Fork who asked me if I wanted to join the email list of available players in this nethermost neighborhood near nowhere. I had no idea the repercussions this acquiescence would have. (For example, when I returned from my three day trip to WV last weekend I had 60 emails- all from ballers.) I began responding to the emails as quickly as my basketball game respawned from its deathly state, and before long I was a regular. I was on a first name basis with all the guys, except that I had them call me "Mama's Window Breaker" because at the time I wanted a cool nickname that sounded tough, and that was the best I could do. It was a step up from my other nickname, "Water Fountain Boat Boy." No one even knew my first name until the fateful day when I opened up my the sack dinner my aunt made me to eat between games, and there fell out the note, "Have a great game, David! We'll be praying for you to be safe! XOXO Aunt Jeanine." That's when I had to confess that truthfully my name wasn't Mama's Window Breaker. I was quite surprised that I hadn't actually been fooling any of them- they all knew it was a nickname. Who would have thought these guys were so smart?
Similar to my autobiography, here we are half way through the allotted page limit and the only people I've mentioned are myself and Fork. You'll just have to wait for the next installment.
Go BRUINS!
4 comments:
"Mama's Window Breaker" reminds me of "Mama's Boy"-- not a brave connotation. How about the nickname Knife-- it sounds "tough" and Fork et al would like that name? Even better, just have everyone have nicknames of utensils. Go Team Kitchen!
An Independent Mormon Angkor
PS: it was a good idea to take Maggie to a different path, particularly when "normal people" don't understand that dogs like any animals have feelings. My dog tends not be friendly with people in general, normal or not. He's friendly with family, though.
PS II: My comment above is all in good humor, as always. Keep writing...
Your Friend,
An Independent Mormon Angkor
When Matilda saw your instagram picture from your last post, she asked me why you were so sad. I told her I didn't know and asked why she thought you were sad. She said, "Because he misses his mommy so much!" I am glad you were able to see your mom and that you are, presumably, no longer sad.
I love hearing about the ballers.
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