Yes, I’m back to refereeing little first and second grade shits… Last year was interesting because at the first of the season I was literally “blind as a bat”… then, I had my (“Now exactly how old are you?” the eye doc said in amazement during my first trip ever at age 54 to the the eye doc) cataracts corrected, and I then could see bright, vivid colors, fine print be it newspaper or computer, close calls on the court, and a fine, fine derriere from 50 yards away. Victor, that was a long sentence. Yes. Yes, it was.
So this little shit dribbles up to half court... The defense, by the rule of this age group, can’t cross the line.. They must wait on him to dribble across, then it’s free game…
He’s stopped in place… but continues dribbling… his coach has given him 5 options of plays to call, signified by the numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5... And he thinks… and thinks… and thinks… and continues dribbling without moving forward.. . “CALL THE PLAY JIMMY!”… “HURRY!”.. (You got ten seconds, in a 'real' game, to cross the line, but we don’t get to calling that one until mebbe 5th, 6th grade.)… It’s getting a bit uncomfy for us, the refs... It’s kinda tyring on the audience, a mixture of parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts and uncles, and friends…
I tried placing myself in his shoes… was he worrying he might make the wrong call? I mean hell, he didn’t design the plays, his coach did… Did he forget that all he had to do was yell a number between one and five? Was it just a brief test of intestinal fortitude?
Then, I related. I’ve dribbled right up to this house in so much need of repair.. . Stopped and continued dribbling… afraid to cross the line..
I’ve dribbled right up to the want ads, to the tele… to make that call about a second job I find myself fairly strongly needed.. And I just stop and continue dribbling…
I’ve dribbled right up to a “potential”.. and I stop and just continue dribbling.. CALL THE PLAY! CALL HER! ASK HER OUT FOR CRIMINY SAKES!.. HURRY!
I’ve dribbled right up to “Resume‘-Master”… ah hell, who knows one’s worth on the market - could be they’d scoff at some old fitty-five year old… giggle whilst they read the resume.. Make fun'a me in their best Walter Brennen impression..… then again, ya never know… Just by virtue of age and working in this arena for awhile - mebbe I could attain more.. Then I just stop and continue dribbling..
Hey hey hey… “yes ma’am… here’s a check that has my routing number on it… now, if I understand right.. You’ll take out $23 a month.. And I can come ANYTIME/ANY DAY you’re open and workout, swim, bask in the sauna, relax in the Jacuzzi, lift some weights, light up the elliptical?”… and then I stop at the half court line.. And continue dribbling… Not crossing…
There are some things, I simply have a hitch in the get along.. I mebbe am intestinally fortitude challenged.. I am reasonably creative at work finding the least damn expensive way to move a Household Goods shipment from Miami, FL to Tacoma, WA.. Or from Searcy, AR to Rancho Dominguez, CA.. I can tease, joke with the Port Agents I work with - treat them decently, and man when I need a favor it’s “Vic, you got it!”…
I can be a pretty damn good chauffuer, cook, counselor, pal, father to Maynard…
There are just, at present, certain areas in my life where I dribble up to the line... And I have the hardest time yelling 1, 2, 3, 4, or 5 to start “the play.”
Hell, tonight I even started this sumbitch four times on subjects other than this. (Victor I’ma think one or tanother of them other ones mighta been better!)… Am-scray…
I love basketball. I love doing remodeling crap. I love women. I actually even love the challenge of job hunting… I love that feel of sitting in the sauna as reward after a one-hour combined aerobic/weight lifting workout.
I’m just having baby problems crossing the half court line…
The kid ultimately (way past ten seconds) hollered out “ONE!”… which sent four other first graders scurrying, three of them for sure not knowing whatinthehell they’re supposed to do when “ONE” is hollered out… but they sprinted so they wouldn't be "thought" stupid.
Seems “ONE” was a “Pick” designed to free up the dribbler... One of his teammates comes up, sets the pick on the lil feller guarding him... And lo and behold.. A straight path to the basket… an easy layup… jubilation… no one is upset or frustrated with Jimmy any longer…
Call the play Victor. Hurry! it’s a bit uncomfy… kinda trying…
I hope me and that little shit are the only ones having trouble crossing half court… May everything u desire in life… may all ur dreams… may all your chores… your hopes… be reached…
ONE worked for this lil tugger… One is the loneliest number is a pity party that made Three Dog Night rich… The weirdest shit one remembers… It was Three Dog Nights “Easy to be hard” that played, hell, hella years ago at the Courtwarming Dance where I had the honor of dancing with the Courtwarming Queen. I wonder if I dribbled across the line that night?
You perverts. The Courtwarming Dance is after the basketball game I'd played in. You need to git ur minds outta the gutters… and whilst u do... I promise to work on crossing that line.. feel free to set a pick eh? I'm due for a lay... up.
Dribbling love to you, Victurd.
1 comment:
*I* heard there was a ref at one of those games who called a little boy out of bounds, when this little boy was being fouled by another little boy, and had not choice but to go out of bounds.
HA HA HA
I have to tell you...I got the biggest giggle out of that. And for the record, Mikey thought it was cool that Uncle Vic called a foul on him! He told EVERYBODY!
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