Funny Guy Friday... We got next!

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So, I married a funny guy...
     When we were growing up, my brothers and I played three sports... baseball, football, and basketball. We played baseball during baseball season and football during football season. But basketball was a different story... we played basketball all year round. Besides playing on our organized teams, we would play a lot of pick-up games in the summer.
     Two of my fondest memories were summer basketball-related.
     The first involved games played during the summer months on the eight-foot baskets at the local elementary schools.
     The schools would place permanent low baskets on their blacktops, so the little kids had a chance to shoot it up and into the basket. That also provided opportunities for the bigger kids to kick the little kids off of the court so the bigger kids could dunk... and ultimately tear down the eight-foot baskets.
     It was the little guys' first life lesson and first basketball lesson. The life lesson was survival of the fittest: the bigger, stronger kids always prevail. The basketball lesson was don't bring that weak stuff into the paint, or it, too, will get rejected... Shorty!  
     Obviously, the eight-foot summer basketball season was a short one, lasting only as long as the basket remained on the backboard. Since the schools were not in session, they did not fix the shorter baskets until September.
     My second great summer basketball memory was playing ball at the pool.
     Play three or four games, and then jump in the water. Dominate the paint... dominate the pool.  I am sure all the moms appreciated the large school of stinky basketball-playing fish jumping into the water in lieu of taking a shower. Kinda gross, but on the other hand... kinda awesome!
     So, when I recently received an e-mail from a friend trying to organize a group of guys to play some weekly summer pick-up games, I must admit, I was intrigued by the idea. The typical trash-talking emails ensued. I hate getting fifty emails on one topic going back and forth clogging up my inbox. On the other hand, I don't mind sending clever retorts to the fifty emails clogging up my inbox... but mine are pithy and funny. None of these other losers offer the same clever responses as I, and they offer even less to the stream of smack talk.
     Anyway, one of the guys has a beautiful backyard... with a nice court... and a pool... so the idea was to play some three on three and then jump in the pool... in lieu of a shower?  Still kinda gross, but on the other hand... still kinda awesome!
     When the email went out, the temperature outside was a balmy 81 degrees, and it seemed like a great idea. On game day, it was a horrific 95 degrees with 100% humidity... and it seemed like a heart attack waiting to happen.
      No problem... Game on!
      I arrived at 7 pm, mistakenly thinking that was our start time.
     They had been playing since 6:30.
     Now, I must admit, I watched with great trepidation. First, I had not played basketball against anyone over the age of twelve in more than fifteen years, and these were grown men. Out of shape grown men, but still grown men all the same.
     But worse than my hesitation to play against stiffer competition was the fact that everyone was just so sweaty.
     I have heard people say that they were sweating so much it was like they just got out of a shower. Well, these guys were wetter than that. Did I really want to get involved in something like that?
     Of course, the answer was yes.
     Once I got into the game, it was clear that I had been the latest to arrive. I was a little bit quicker than most, and by far the least winded... for, oh, about ten minutes.
     After ten minutes, I was equally slow and equally winded. Funny thing about being out of shape, you get this pain in your chest and your body refuses to respond to your mind's commands. You would think that a ten-minute rest would solve the problem for at least a few minutes, but you would be wrong. The moment that you get back on the court and make your first move to the basket, the chest pain returns and your body remains belligerent.
     Personally, I have decided I need a complete 24-hour rest period in order to fully regenerate. And by regenerate, I mean getting back to the point that I can play comfortably without chest pain... for oh, about ten minutes. So my personal playing rotation is ten minutes in the game, twenty-four hours of rest, and then ten more minutes in the next day's game.
     If NBA players had similar requirements, each team would require a fifty-five man roster.  
     When I played real basketball back in high school, the coaches would always say... Don't rest on defense, take your rest while we are on offense. That was great advice when I was fifteen. At pushing-fifty, I just want to rest on both offense and defense.
     In fact, five minutes into the second game, guys were shamelessly working their way to the corner of the court that had shade and waving off the ball yelling isolate on the other side and take him to the basket, you can take him!
     I know this because, I, too, was shamelessly working my way over to the shady corner and waving off the ball and yelling isolate him on the other side and take him to the basket, you can take him!
     We weren't basketball players, we had become hot, sweaty, and in some cases, large-breasted cheerleaders.
     *Author's note... There was a day when that last sentence would have elicited a completely different response than "Eewww yuck!" 
     As we wrapped up the third and final game, we took inventory. Not of who won or lost, or how many points we scored, but of who was injured. One twisted knee and one twisted ankle.
     Not too bad of a night.
     Next Monday. Same time. Same place.
     We got next...
     I'll bring the first aid kit and the defibrillator.