Johnny Cool Pants and the Basketball Game

This blog is worthy of posting on both Leave of Absence and the Blog Alliance.

I went to play basketball today with Dustin and two of his friends. We ended up at the new community center in Flat Rock, which is very nice and not too expensive either. I recommend playing there for anyone in the southeastern Michigan area.

As we walked on to the court Johnny Cool Pants (that wasn’t his name, but it is now for confidentiality purposes) asked if Dustin, Al, Jackson and I wanted to run fours. “Our four versus your four,” Cool Pants explained. “Okay,” we all replied. Interestingly, the Cool Pants’ four consisted of his younger eleven year old brother.

Guess who got to guard him? Yeah, me. How do you guard an eleven year old? I’m not gonna post up the little tyke of offense and I’m sure not gonna block his shots on D.

Things went okay in the first game. Cool Pants’ team won 12-10. I played well in game one. We were down 6-2 and then went on an 8-3 run. I had 3 points and 2 assists in that stretch. Not bad, I was feeling good. (The eleven year old wasn’t guarding me, Cool Pants came out on me for the most part).

Game two was a lot different. I played well. Five points and a couple of dimes and we destroyed Cool Pants, 12-4. During this game the young Cool Pants (eleven year old) was yelling, “You suck!” every time anyone on our team shot the ball. He was also elbowing me and punching me while I was just standing around.

The game ended on a lay-up by me and I felt a little something in my kidney region as I jumped. I thought, “Damn, what was that?” I turned and looked and it was the young Cool Pants. He had tried to give me a kidney shot Zeithlow style.

I turned and look at him and in a very pleasant tone (I remembered I used to like to play with my cousin’s older friends, so I could sympathize with his frustration), “Hey dude, I know I’m bigger than you, but don’t punch me in the back.”

I was standing around in between games when I heard, “Hey mother f**ker! Yeah you in the yellow.” (I was wearing a yellow shirt). “You feel big talking sh*t to an eleven year old? You gonna swear at my little brother. (At this point Johnny Cool Pants was in my face, perhaps five inches away). Look at him he’s in tears because you swore at him. You got a f**king problem?”

I have several f**king problems, but I doubt he was interested in them so I calmly replied, “I didn’t swear at your younger brother. I told him not to punch me when I went up for a lay-up.”

“That’s not what he f**king says,” Cool Pants said as he stared me down.

“Well, that’s what happened,” I replied, now somewhat scared that this dude was actually gonna kick my ass. I know I’ve put on a lot of weight since my high school days, but I’m still the same ole pansy.

Cool Pants stared at me some more and then said, “Whatever.” “F**K!” Cool Pants then exclaimed as he turned and walked away.

Cool Pants tried waiting around until our team lost again and he could get in my face. But, our team didn’t lose again. I played awful in the next four games. I think Cool Pants had gotten in my head. When I realized that’s probably why I was playing so poorly I got even more upset at myself, because I let that dirty douche get to me.

Johnny Cool Pants obviously proved his penis is much larger than mine. I guess next time if I’m gonna get threatened by an American Badass I might as well beat the sh*t out of his little brother.

Yep, I think that’s what I’ll do. Watch out eleven year olds.