Nothing Feels Worse

So the evening began as an attempt to relieve a little stress, after what's started off as a not-so-great week. Basketball has usually been my outlet for stress and one of my best ego-boosters. Considering mine was about as sturdy as a swaying Jenga tower, I figured it'd be a good thing to do.

I ventured through the UTD athletic center parking lot to the outdoor basketball court and was confronted with a group of guys who, clearly, where bigger, faster, and better than me. Undaunted (at least, that's how I tried to present myself), I began warming up as the half-court 3-on-3 match at the other end was wrapping up. I felt pretty good...it was a cool (relatively) 92 degrees outside, I swished about 5 or 6 shots in a row. Things were looking up.

Until the game started. 5-on-5, full court. A pass goes sailing over my head...if only I were 6' 6" like my teammates. Oh well, not my fault.

I make a good interior pass to a cutter, who lays it in. Alright, maybe we're on to something.

But that's when it fell apart. I missed several wide-open looks (including one that got sent back to the parking lot by who I think was Dwight Howard), one wide-open lay-up, and bumble a few passes out of bounds and another that careens off my forehead. The guys heckle me, saying things like (1) "He too scared to make it." (2) "Play off of him, he can't shoot." and my personal favorite, (3) "Man, your hair says you're Steve Nash, but your shot says you're Danny Devito." Great. There's no worse feeling than when, on defense, nobody's guarding you, so it's essentially 4-on-5. And they're right to do so.

We lost. And my teammates wanted nothing to do with me afterwards. What do you do in that situation? Walk off the court, head down, trying desperately to convey to anyone who may be watching that you're just off your game this one night. I felt like those warriors in The Last Samurai who, rather than fighting till the end, would rather acknowledge defeat and let the opponent finish you off. (Metaphorically. I could do without the katana to the head.)

It's all so frustrating, because you grow up spending countless hours in the driveway as a kid developing your game to the point where you know you can be consistent. But those guys on that court tonight didn't know that. To them, I was just some rookie who folded under pressure, and probably just got really lucky when I did make a few shots in a row while I was warming up. For every night that I'm a skinny little white guy who dominates (if that) the court, I have at least five nights like tonight...but I guess it's worth it.

Oh well. There's not much that can pick my spirits up after that, but "The Office" night on TBS will help. Speaking of...