This one time I played basketball

I started my new job and had a great first week.  I memorized everyone’s name, told a classy joke, played several rounds of WWE All Stars and impressed people with my basketball skills.  I should say that I haven’t played basketball in years but back in 5^th grade I was the only girl on an all boy’s team and was the worst player.  I had one amazing moment where someone fouled me and I scored a point (my only point) for the season by tossing the ball through my legs called a granny shot.  I attended basketball camp one summer with my sister and learned a few things that stuck with me over the years. 

Fast forward to this past Friday where I tell a couple guys in our QA department that I want to join them in their pick up basketball game.  They asked me if I knew how to dribble and I said yes but I knew they had very low expectations.  I show up on the court with my purple water bottle wearing gym clothes and my hair in a ponytail.  Everyone introduces themselves and they spare me the agony of choosing who they want on their team with a game of rock paper scissors.  The winners are on one team and the losers on another.  I beat my co-worker Romel with a rock against his scissors and am on the winning team. 

The game begins and I am over eager, sprinting from one end of the court to the other as the ball exchanges hands, careful to be open when my team is on the offense and guarding my opponent in the defense.  I should have paced myself better since I got exhausted the more the game went on, my face red with exertion.  I can tell that my team is hesitant to give me the ball initially and when they do I shoot and miss over and over again.  Despite words of encouragement I know I sink to their low expectations.  Even in the defense position, I run into two guys in my attempt to guard my opponent and fall to the ground like a girl.

Finally, the knowledge from years earlier and training sank in and I finally made contact with the backboard, scoring a point.  I can tell that the guys are surprised and beef up their defense against me.  Instead of being wide open I had two guys plot to block me.  My teammates slap me some skin and say “good job” or “nice” and even I am impressed with myself after scoring five points in a row.

We run across the court listening to old 1990’s rap songs on an iPod and I say out loud, “I wish I was taller,” and my teammate Dan responds, “I wish I was a baller.”  I think back to the rest of the lyrics from Skee-Lo from the song I wish and say, “I wish I had a girl who looked good I would call her.”

At the end of the game we all said, “good game” to one another and gave each other five just like when I did in 5^th grade.  Only this time they meant it.