Originally Posted: 2003-10-06 11:36pm
Spudnuts #1: "To the Foil-Hatted Paladins Who Befouled My Temple..."
Tonight I went looking for a little night hoop. As I am typically wont to do. It was raining and therefore I decided to look for a covered outdoor court and found myself driving to the rec center in Multnomah Village (the place across from the bento shop... yeah, that one).
The scene of the crime.
At about 7:30 p.m.
Upon pulling into the lot I was horrified to behold some half dozen foil-covered foam sword-wielding knights of the Round Table (pizza) battling in earnest upon the basketball court I had intended to use for my nightly meditation of layups, free throws, fall away J's, and just all around fancy ass ankle-breaking crossover streetball.
I cannot begin to communicate the rage which welled up deep within my heaving man-breast. How DARE you conduct your jiggly D & D geek-play on MY court?! A court made for basketball. For the holiest of holies?!
Basketball is a religion to me. I pray as I dribble. I meditate upon the teachings of the Honorable Darryl "Chocolate Thunder" Dawkins, I quietly contemplate the gestures of the Prophet Hornicek, and the meaning of each of the tattoos of Allen Iverson.
I wanted to rage into the temple and cast aside your tables and stools and knock over your 2-liter Jolt bottles and scream: "This is the temple of my father! Begone, debased scum! Besmirch not this place of worship!"
But I did not.
You fat motherfuckers had SWORDS.
Okay, maybe they were just foam swords, but all I had were my Chuck Taylors and a Spaulding Indoor/Outdoor. Now, I'm pretty fucking confident in my ballhandling skills and I do know how to post a motherfucker up, and Lord knows I do have a tendency to go 3-on-1 or even 4-on-1 (often with mixed results), but even I (longtime streetballer that I am) have never posted up SIX foil-covered paladins deep in the paint.
I'm not saying I couldn't take all of you sons of bitches, but mostly I'd feel bad fucking you up, seeing as how you put so much work into styling your foil helmets into all kinds of frilly elf crests and shit.
I got no problem with you doing your role-playing sick, sick, SICK-SICK-SICK (alright, I do have a problem), sad, sick (did I say "sick), SICK little He-Man, Master of the Man-Breasts run-around hack-and-slash, but do NOT do it on my basketball court. Or indeed ANY basketball court.
Do it on a tennis court.
You can put some guys on one side of the net and some guys on the other and pretend that the net is some sort of... fence... thing running right down the center of Middle Earth. You can fight and boost each other over the net and have at it. No one will care if you do it on a tennis court. Nobody respects tennis.
And rightfully so.
But if I EH-VER catch you doing your thing on my basketball court again, I am raising a vigilante Sliwa-esque hoop-mob on this very PDX craigslist to drive you kicking and screaming back into your momma's basement where you can lick your wounds and gently apply marshmallow nut-butter as a healing salve.
Your Angry New Friend,