It's 11:54 a.m. and I could really use a substantial meal right now---probably because I had basketball practice til almost 11 last night and now all I want is some heavy pasta. or a steak. or some steaky pasta.
I got checked into the Smackdown by my "coach" last night. I use that term loosely because, well, I don't really know how my teammate's boyfriend ended up as our coach. Last night he stopped play to come over to me in front of the team and say, "What happened on that, Marcy? Did you not play the release?" I was very polite to his condescending tone and told him I would do better next time. After this, he demonstrated to the team what I should have done.
In our game on Saturday, I was going for a rebound when a player from the opposing team practically ripped my arm off. The ref blew the whistle and he called it our ball. The arm ripper argued the call and said I touched the ball last, which is true. I did touch the ball last during the attempted arm-rip-off. The cowardly ref did not stand up to her and stick by his foul call, but looked at me and asked if I had touched the ball last. I looked at him in disbelief and finally said yes. Maybe you think I'm a coward like him for not standing up for myself there, but I'm just so tired of the attitudes and arguing that are going on in church basketball. This is not a serious league, people. We are just trying to have some fun here.
Anyway, I heard the arm-ripper tell the ref that she couldn't believe that I was being dishonest by not coming forth and admitting that I had been the last to touch the ball. Luckily, the ref then got annoyed with her and told her to lay off it. A couple of minutes after this small drama, I made a basket and she looked at me and said "Lucky." So after the game when she was trying to avoid me, I followed her so she had to say "Good game" to me. One of my teammates congratulated me on being such a good sport, but I told her that really my intentions were not good at all. The only reason I went over to the rude arm-ripper was because I could tell she was avoiding me, and I wanted to force her to say it. A fairly harmless revenge I think.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
7 comments:
Sometimes I just close my eyes and dream about steaky pasta the way mom used to make it . . .
Hey, Iverson! That was NOT your mom that made steaky pasta. That was MY momma.
Shaq
Shaq, you know I love you. Let's not fight. Let's stand up for Marcy, who almost got her tender arm ripped off . . .
~Iverson
Oh don't get me wrong, I feel for Marcy and her arm. I know exactly what it is like to have an arm get ripped off. Oh wait, that was me ripping off someone else's arm...
Allow me to be the first GENUINE commenter on this post. Your story fills me with rage, Marcy. I don't like to hear about peeps dissing your game like that. They are just jealous because you got game, by the way. And steaky pasta DOES sound really good right now. Peace.
My husband ordered "steaky pasta" at the Olive Garden on Saturday night just before we went to (get this!) an NBA basketball game. It was was called Steak Gorgonzola Alfredo .... MMMMmmmmm!
Why is church ball so competitive? It's strange don't you think? When I was growing up our Stake Patriarch quit going to church games because he didn't like the way he felt when he was there. And one time I got cut from the team. How is that possible?
Post a Comment