After the Buzzer

Mitch plays basketball for a rec league a little bit south of where we live. We got to the gym - old hanging lights, fold-out bleachers, and a wood floor that gave way under the basket - early for his game. The teams playing before his were winding up and it was close, a four-point difference and only a couple minutes left.

Within seconds of the buzzer and at the three-point by the sideline, right where I was sitting, down by two points, this stocky little black guy - he was only around 5'5" - winds up to shoot.

Instead of having the elbow of his shooting arm directly under his wrist and hand, he had it out to the side a bit, and as he raised it up, the ball hovered right above his head, almost equally weighted between both hands. Hanging there like a big goose egg.

The other guy swatted it. The block was about as clean a one as you are ever going to see, it panged of flesh hitting inflated rubber. The buzzer. Game over.

It was pretty awful. The losing team's bench was also right in front of me, and as the block-ee came over to the sidelines, they made the requisite hub-a-loo about refs and bad calls.

The guy was quiet for a little bit, put away his tennis shoes, and then he got into it. "Hey, yeah, that was totally a foul. I can't believe this." He started surveying his teammates and the few spectators in the bleachers about it. He even asked me.

"Oh yeah, a foul."

Satisfied, he looked up the bleachers to his girl. She had long straight blonde hair, wore flip flops, and was enormously pregnant.

"Alright, now I can go enjoy my couch." He said."Come on, we'll go home and do some belly rubbing."

She came down slowly off the bleachers, and they walked out of the gym.

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