Last weekend I was at a neighbor's Independence Day party. Beer was being drunk, children were running around with sparklers, mulleted rednecks were playing terrible terrible terrible basketball on a hoop placed in the packed dirt and grass of this guy's yard. I was sitting about twenty yards from the hoop, talking to an older gentleman about his days as a machinist. The ball rolled toward me, so I scooped it up, continuing my conversation, beer in hand, and chucked the ball at the rim with that sweet little rotation you know is a part of my shot.
Nothing but net. I sat back down with supreme nonchalance as the crowd erupted.
I won't pretend I didn't love it.
A few days later I was at a construction site with a basketball-loving co-worker. There was another basket on the grass of this house's yard, and a ball lying about ten yards from the hoop. I picked up the ball, related the above story to this friend of mine, and as I described taking the first shot, I chucked the ball I was holding at the basket. I had to keep the shot low to get through the branches, but there was never any doubt. It rattled in.
I was sure to remind my friend a few more times that day that I'd made a shot while talking about making a shot. That, to coin a phrase, is so meta.
So as we headed out of the house this morning I picked up one of our basketballs and called out to my wife. I told Kimberly the story of the first shot, and of the crowd's glorious reaction. I told her how I'd cold-bloodedly hit a shot while talking trash to my friend. And as I told her that I'd "made a shot while I was talking about making a shot", I launched the ball at the rim without a shadow of a doubt that it was going straight in.
It slammed into the front of the rim.
Why am I never able to impress my woman?
Nothing but net. I sat back down with supreme nonchalance as the crowd erupted.
I won't pretend I didn't love it.
A few days later I was at a construction site with a basketball-loving co-worker. There was another basket on the grass of this house's yard, and a ball lying about ten yards from the hoop. I picked up the ball, related the above story to this friend of mine, and as I described taking the first shot, I chucked the ball I was holding at the basket. I had to keep the shot low to get through the branches, but there was never any doubt. It rattled in.
I was sure to remind my friend a few more times that day that I'd made a shot while talking about making a shot. That, to coin a phrase, is so meta.
So as we headed out of the house this morning I picked up one of our basketballs and called out to my wife. I told Kimberly the story of the first shot, and of the crowd's glorious reaction. I told her how I'd cold-bloodedly hit a shot while talking trash to my friend. And as I told her that I'd "made a shot while I was talking about making a shot", I launched the ball at the rim without a shadow of a doubt that it was going straight in.
It slammed into the front of the rim.
Why am I never able to impress my woman?
Pride goes before ...
ReplyDeleteThe great part is that we don't need to impress our wives. We've already done that enough to "get" them. Now, we just need to nourish & cherish.
Joey, as a wife, I sure hope you husbands DO keep trying to impress. And on behalf of wives, I promise, we will keep trying to look pretty for you.
ReplyDeleteIf anyone must speak for all wives, Erika, I'm glad it's you.
ReplyDeleteOh, I do try to impress my wife. But I'm glad it's not based on any remaining athletic skills. (Spoken by a guy who pulled his hamstring playing with kids 2 weeks ago.)
ReplyDelete