Wednesday Night Hoops

Tonight, I again had the pleasure of holding my post as the clocker for a high school bball game. My last job was for the Varsity boys in perhaps the best high school game in recent memory, between two top ranked teams who battled to a last minute finish. Each team showed players of all star caliber hit big shot after big shot in an environment fueled by a raucous crowd. That was an enjoyable 50 dollars earned. That kind of game is why I love basketball.

Tonight I earned a painful 50 dollars. This was not the varsity boys, this was the freshmen girls A game. I guess for my sake, thankfully it was the A game.

Let me begin by saying, these girls played extremely hard. In fact, I would go as far as to say that they left it all out on the floor. There was hustle. There was teamwork. There were screens, and cuts. There were two intense coaches who wanted to be successful. There were a lot of things that make up a good bball game. However, there wasn't a lot of SCORING! Final score 22-10. A low scoring football game, or even a high scoring baseball game, but not a basketball game.

I truly feel for the girls because they do try. But if you watch basketball on TV, you take the little things for granted. You expect layups to be made. You expect SOME outside shots to fall. Even more importantly, you expect people to handle the ball and make passes. In the game tonight, none of these things were guaranteed. My the game of bball loses it's beauty when a 2 foot shot has less then a 50% chance of going in.

Good defense has something to do with it, but my god is it painful to watch a team play a whole half, 14 full minutes of bball, and manage to score only 1 point. A freethrow was the only thing that kept the second half goose egg out of the book.

SO....as a coach of girls bball, I hope these girls continue to work at it. Continue to get stronger and more comfortable on the floor, and maybe, just maybe, I will be able to watch them play in a year or two from now, and this time say that my 50 dollars earned was no longer painful, but was pleasantly enjoyable.

The Clocker

Alright, I started this blog by saying I would do it every day. I'm sorry faithful readers/fans, I just cant do it. However, I promise to do it as much as possible. I don't want to anger the public.

Being gone for several days, there's so much to say in so little time. My weekend was jam packed. My Saturday was spent working high school basketball games. Yes, it is as exciting as it sounds. What exactly do I do? My job is to run the clock. Which I feel is a very important job. In fact, I'm going out on a limb here, and saying that it's the most important job of all the people working that day.

Before I delve into the intricacies of clock working, let me tell you some things about our school district. Our district claims to be hurting for money. However, they are able to pay an ungodly number of people to do meaningless jobs. I mean seriously, freshmen girls basketball games don't need to have 3 chaperone's for a crowd full of parents of the players. So, our money hurting district, shells out close to 50 dollars an hour for meaningless jobs.

But, my money, on the other hand, is well earned. I'm the only one who has significant impact on the game. If you forget to stop the clock, or you don't get that one free throw up there quick enough, believe me, some fan, who must look at the clock every other second, will holler out the infamous, "start the clock" or "scores wrong". I pride myself on perfection. I make it my goal to not make mistakes. I would be willing to say that when I am asked to do the clock, I bring my A game. I laugh at the mistakes of other clockers. Amateur's.

Now, there is another underlying story in all of this. You may be wondering why the hell I work 4 games on a Saturday instead of enjoying my weekend. Well, I'd have to say, it's the same reason that I volunteer my entire winter to help out with girls bball, I am clinically insane. I can't get enough of my school. I am a cougar. Proud to wear scarlet and blue. Proud to spend my weekends in the gym cheering on my teams.

Wow, that sounds pathetic. Is it summer yet?

The Little Things

This afternoon, I was reminded about some of the little things in life that I would call annoying. Now, before I start, friends of mine would probably say that I'm a whiner, or a complainer, but let me say this, I may complain, occasionally, but while these little things are happening, you wouldn't have a clue that I was bothered. I would say that teaching teenagers, if nothing else, has taught me patience.

It started on my drive home. I purposely left practice early so I could get a jump on traffic. Yesterday I left almost an hour later and the traffic was pretty good, so I figured I would leave even earlier and just fly home. As soon as I got on the highway, I was greeted by an endless sea of break lights. Apparently the 3:30 rush hour was in full effect. Who gets out of work that early? Apparently a lot of people. Already impatient, and annoyed, I immediately got off.

Now, any experienced highway driver, something I would consider myself, knows that this is a mistake. Unless there is an accident blocking all lanes of traffic and even the shoulders, getting off the highway usually means a longer trip. Being the gambling man I am, I rolled the dice. There is nothing more frustrating then sitting on a side street, next to the highway, and watching the cars up above zip by. I had made a mistake, and I was annoyed, with myself, more then anything else.

When I finally got home, I decided to work out at the gym that I pay 50 dollars a month for, and have only gone once in the last 3 months. Being a math teacher, I know that's A LOT OF MONEY per workout. On the walk over, I realized that during my 150 dollar one time work out, I was also nice enough to donate my lock to the gym. For a moment, I took this as a sign and almost headed back for the couch, but instead, I hooked a left into the corner walgreens.

In a hurry to get to my workout, I grabbed the lock and proceeded to the counter. The line was 6 people deep, and the checkout lady was in no apparent hurry. This annoys me. Ok, you're miserable, why bring everyone else with you? Anyways, I waited patiently, for the barely moving checkout lady to pout through her job. Finally, I got up to register, with just the lock in my hand, and what did she do? She decides to refill her bag rack. I mean, come on, couldn't that wait for someone who needed a bag? Several minutes later, she checkedme out, and asked me if I needed a bag. With a smile, I politely said,"no". After she gave me my change I thanked her, and she said.... NOTHING!

Traffic and unhappy check out people annoy me.

My Underwear

Well, my roommates and I had an interesting conversation the other day. Politics? No. The latest issues facing the world? No. The bears in the Superbowl? Not even that. Our conversation focused on one thing: UNDERWEAR.

Ok this might not seem like that unusual of a topic for a bunch of guys in their middle twenties to talk about. I bet you could see us sitting around talking about crazy women's underwear like thongs and what not, but that wasn't what where it was headed. We were talking about guys underwear, and no, don't worry ladies, not in a gay way.

You see, there's something about me that is a little different for a man my age. Ok, maybe there's a number of things, but specifically related to this topic, I can say with confidence that I'm in the minority, because I still wear tighty whities, or whitey tighties, or however you say it. The sight of my underwear laying on the stairs sparked the conversation between my friends and I.

Now, I cant really explain why this is the case. I must say, I was raised on the whities, so really i'm blaming my mom. Before you truly start to worry about my sexual preference, in my defense, I don't wear them all the time, but only when I work out.

I guess the main reason why I LIKE the whities is because they are comfortable to work out in. As much as I'd like to say that they're comfortable because they help secure my manhood, that's not really the case. I just like em because that's what i'm used to. I will admit, I have what doctors call, a bit of a sweating problem. Without getting to graphic with the details.

Sweat + boxer briefs = NOT COMFORTABLE

I would like to consider myself a large part responsible for keeping briefs around, and I'm proud of it.

Wearing the whities definitely has it's perks. I mean honestly, the t-shirt tucked into the waistband of a good pair of briefs is an instant seducer. At least, if anything else, it gets a good laugh.

So, with pride, I can say, whities will continue on, through yours truly.

Unlucky

Alright, so it has to be said early. I like to gamble. I really don't think it's because of the money, I just like to say that I have won. I am super competitive and I hate to lose, and this is precisely why I get ridiculously angry when I lose to my 3 shit talking friends in Silver Strike bowling, a game that consumes way too much of our money, and even more of our time.

Anyways...If i just gambled on my own and risked my own money, and lost on a consistent basis, that would be one thing. If I lost a ridiculous amount of money on my own decisions, which I usually do, and heard about how bad I am at gambling, I could accept that. However, there is something that I have to deal with, which I think is absolutely ridiculous......I get BLAMED by MY FRIENDS, for their losses. If I ever am gambling with people who lose, I get the finger pointed at me for the loss.

Can you believe how ridiculous this rationale is? The claim that my 20 dollars wagered, sparks a chain of events, which changes the outcome of a given event to become the exact opposite of what it would have been prior to my bet, is insane. Being a mathematician, dubbed mathlete by friends, I know that this statement is ludicrous, and is merely the product of people trying to get under my skin. However, it bothers me to be known as "the curse." Nobody wants to accompany someone with that nickname walking off the airplane to Vegas, or sit down next "the curse" before the big bears game, knowing full well, TC (short for "the curse")has money on the bears.

So....What do I do? I continue to bet on my own to prove the doubters wrong. Not wanting to be TC fuels my addiction. As I write this, I'm watching one of the best college bball games of the season come to the end of the 3rd overtime with money on the longhorns, up 1 with 10 seconds...hoping to reverse the curse....I lost on a last second shot, by that bastard hanging on the rim up there...maybe they're right.

Opening Day

So, I decided to follow in the footsteps of my computer savy friend, Derek, and created my own blog. I feel like I experience enough craziness on a regular basis to share those stories with the rest of the world. So, away we go......

Today is sunday. Sunday's are made to watch football. Especially this sunday, the day the bears will hopefully show the world that they are the best team in the NFL, despite the recent critics and the masses of pessimistic fans.

So, my sunday started the way it should, watching the bears. As kickoff neared, friends started to filter in the door. The before mentioned derek walked in with a story. A story that can be described by one word: UNBELIEVEABLE. He claims that last night he was walking home from the club, somewhere we NEVER go, and he was approached by a large black female. At this point, I start to wonder where this story could go. It actually crossed my mind that he is going to tell us he got mugged by a chick, something that most guys would never admit to. He goes on to tell us that she was a lover and not a fighter. Her intentions were sexually driven, at least so they seemed. As she continued to try and get derek to go home with her, using his better judgement, derek denied her advances. Long story short, derek woke up this morning and found his wallet missing. Yes. He got robbed. By a LARGE pick pocket. Crazy stuff.

Anyways, I had to cut the game short, and run to my indoor soccer game. This is something that I should have retired from a long time go. Today, my age caught up with me, and now im injured. Mostly pissed off, but a little happy, becuase there is a chance that I won't be able to play next week, which will allow me to watch the bears win again. Ahh...the things sports make us do.

Now, im back where I started, on the couch, leg hurting, hungry, and a little tired. Man I love sundays.