Ballin Part Two

Ballin Part Two

See Part One here

Being the winning team from the previous game, we had the first possession. At this gym, I usually play in the post as an underweight “4”, or power forward, due to the personnel. I almost never take any shots further than fifteen out. But, due to my match up with the modern-day Goliath, Ease, who outweighed me by a buck, I took position on the perimeter. The ball was reversed to me, and I took a quick three to as the opening salvo. It was dead on-line, but ran out of gas en route and bricked off of the front end. I took note.

On defense, I got ready for the brutality. Ease approached the low block, and I braced for impact. Ooof. I felt myself being forced backwards despite leaning on Ease with almost all of my weight. Quickly gaining desperation, I stuck a second forearm into Ease’s wall-like back. He could of called a foul, as this is illegal, but his failure to do so convinced me he couldn’t even feel the second forearm, much less the first.

His guard lobbed an entry pass into Ease, and he began to back me down. I got low, stiffened my frame, and strained to resist, all for naught. Fortunately, a double-team from my teammate came and forced Ease to kick out the ball, and his teammate missed a wide-open jumper. Got lucky this time, but you won’t last the whole game like this, fool. If you need a double to bail you out everytime, they’re gonna light you up with open threes. Do something.

My mind raced even as I made my way up-court in response to our defensive rebound. A makeshift strategy began to come together.

I cut hard to the rim, forcing Ease to keep up with me. I camped out beyond the arc for a second then set two screens before clearing the lane again. Come on, big man, show me something. I noticed a bead of sweat roll off of Ease’s nose onto the hardwood.

On defensive possessions, I began to pick Ease up right as he crossed half-court. I forced him to work from mid-stripe all the way down to the low-block, an agonizing stretch of the basketball court filled with punishing forearms, amputated routes, and overall attrition. In the post, I dug into my Nike’s and made every inch Ease wanted cost him as much energy possible. A couple of trips down the court this way had Ease breathing hard by the time he was in the post, but the toll on me was not promising. I was bathed in sweat, my eyes burning where the salt entered. Harassing Ease earned me bruising elbows to the sternum and ribs as he fought for position. More than once, his elbow caught me full in the throat as I blanketed him. I wanted to let up. NO! He’ll give before you, stay on him. Make him pay. A shot went up, and I took the opportunity to box Ease out, HARD. I threw a bony hip into him, low, catching him right above the knees. He grunted as he flailed over my back for the board, inadvertently clipping my head. I smiled.

Ease wanted to catch his breath when my squad had the rock. Not today. I called for the ball on the wing. Faking a shot that he bit on, I drove around him for a lay-up. The next time down, I jab-stepped left, then blew by him before dishing to an open cutter. After battling him on D, I raced down the court, trying to ignite a fast-break on every possession. I'll bring you down, big boy.

Ease began to back up, playing the drive, conserving his energy, daring me to shoot. Haunted by tentativeness to pull up from outside, I made playing defense easy for Ease. Every breath he gained equaled more pain for me on defense. He scored consecutive baskets as the hyper-pace I was attempting sapped me of strength while Ease conserved steam. By allowing him to crowd the lane and challenge my teammates' close-range shots, I let my team's offense degenerate into forcing up contested jump shots. We began to lose.

My body began to rebel against me. Thighs screaming in protest, arms relenting in a tired wish to rest. Don't give in. Losing hurts worse. Give MORE. Win.

Normally, I'm not much of an outside shooter. But, I saw that if I don't at least force Ease to defend me tighter so he can't patrol the paint, my crew would have no inside threat, and therefore, play a one-dimensional offense. So, I stepped out beyond the arc, got the pill as it was swung around, and put up a three. Cash.

The next time down, Ease was caught helping on a drive, and the rock was kicked out to me on the wing. I spotted up and drained a long jumper. Don't leave me alone out here, big boy.

On defense, I felt reborn. I hounded Ease with dogged intensity, pushing, bumping, colliding, crashing into this immense slab of man, making each inch he gained towards the rim cost him severely. Every shoulder I ate battling through screens, every hip thrown into my stomach, every elbow absorbed into my chest, it all made me fight stronger, quicker, harder. I'm not goin' away, man, I'm just gonna keep making your life hell.

The game was already over, but I was the only one who knew it. Wait, check that, I think Ease knew it, too, or he was starting to realize it. I took over on offense, taking whatever he and his team gave me. Open three? Thanks. Drive to the left? Have a lay-up. Double-team? Drop a dime for your mind. Ease guessed right on a baseline jumper, and I airballed it as I tried to rainbow it over his outstretched hand. But this didn't shake me. I drilled the game-winning three from the corner over the leaping Ease.

It was epic. The greatest exhibition of basketball I'd ever put on. In the coming week, I would wonder while limping around the office if the way I showed love to my own body is really the way I should love other people.