Let me preface this article by stating three facts. First, I enjoy the company of women. (Hell, I even enjoy the presence of my wife on occasion.) Second, I am no Handsome Pete or even Speedway Williams when it comes to playing pick-up basketball, but I can hold my own. In fact, I may even be considered a “go to guy” when I play Sunday-morning hoops at the local JCC.
Lastly, here's what I've recently learned: being in the company of women and
pick-up basketball should never, ever coincide. And I learned it the hard way.
This past Monday night, I encountered a situation I never thought would happen.
At the weekly Flipside-sponsored OBA ("The Best in Rent-a-Gym Basketball!"), our Monday-night hack-fest was intruded by a female. Named "Dottie." Granted, Dottie is not your typical “girl-playing-basketball.” Dottie played in college and was the best player around in high school. Nonetheless, she’s a girl, and I’m Willie C.
After haphazardly splitting up the teams, I saw that Dottie was on the opposition. Alright, that’s already an advantage. Let’s hoop! We got the ball first and everybody on the other team pointed to the respective person they would be guarding, with people instructing others as if they were coaching in the Final Four. Suddenly I felt dizzy…lost…completely and utterly distressed.
Dottie was guarding me.
Wait, hold on…I’m 6’4, 215 lbs, and I all but destroy old men in jean shorts at the JCC. Been doing it for years. Dottie can’t guard me. Maybe nobody is seeing what's happening. I considered calling a timeout.
But here’s the kicker: not one—not ONE!—of the other guys in the gym said a word, as if nothing was amiss. “Ball in,” someone shouts.
Shit, are you kidding me? Dottie is guarding me and everyone is comfortable with this? Please, everyone look around. Are you sure?
I didn’t know what to do. I literally stood there for the entire first possession not knowing whether to play hard and post her up, play passively and wait for an open jumper, or simply ask her if she had a mirror in her pocket because I could see myself in her pants. I was sweating profusely. I was in a no-win situation.
As I stood there on the perimeter praying to Allah that someone would stop the game as everyone starts laughing and explaining how they were only kidding, I suddenly found myself on the receiving end of a pass from Roy. Damn him! Before I knew it, Dottie pounced on me in a perfect defensive position—one hand on my jiggly belly, the other hand up in my face. Not only that, she was screaming over and over, “Ball, Ball, Ball, Ball!” I was scared. I froze. I mean it. I didn’t know what to do. I quickly passed the ball back to Roy like I was Chubs from Teen Wolf. I then ran underneath the basket where no one could possibly find a passing lane to get me the ball. Thankfully, we made the basket and I could go play defense.
Alright, how does everyone want to match-up on defense? Wait...come on, you mean nobody sees the need to switch with me? Everyone is comfortable with this match-up?
Not a word was spoken. Dottie was guarding me and I was guarding Dottie. Alright. As the game progressed, I angrily took more and more shots, proving my manhood in the process. I actually played fairly well, but that’s not the point. I made a quote in the last Roundtable in response to the question, “What unwritten rule of open-gym would I like to see abolished?” I stated:
Forget I said that. It is irrelevant whether or not you play hard when a girl guards you. The only thing that matters is that when the girl is assigned to guard you, whether or not one person blinks an eye. Didn’t happen. Did Sir Terrance announce to everyone when he saw the match-up, “Hey, look for Willie, we’ve got a mismatch”? Hell no. Did Speedway give me that look (no, not that look, Speedway), the one that said “post the chick up, we’ll teach her what it’s like to play with dudes”? Absolutely not. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, Sir Terrance and Speedway looked at each other, as if they were worried about the match-up and were trying to figure out which one was going to help me out on defense.
That is when I realized that this was the ultimate reality check for an aging, past-his-prime pseudo-athlete. Sure, you may look like a dick for playing too hard against a girl, but people get over that before the next game begins. But how do you get over the simple fact that a girl was guarding you and it wasn’t even a big deal? You don’t. I haven’t. I won’t.
And here's the point: every open gym has "That Guy" who everyone knows is better off just getting out of the way. And if a girl happens to show up some night? Well, we’ll put her on That Guy and consider it 4-on-4. The problem is, I just never thought I would be That Guy. |
