March Madness, Old Man Style

Monday evening was our annual faculty vs. seniors basketball game, and, as usual the old men ruled the day (or night) after, as usual, hearing a bunch of trash talk from the seniors for weeks. We whipped them 65-48, and the score could have been much, much worse if we had not turned the ball over about 20 times (the seniors must have turned it over 35 times). The only player on our team under the age of 30, by the way, was the one in the worst shape. So how do a bunch of over-30 has beens keep winning this game?

Well, here is the formula: first, no basketball players are allowed to play (though that might not have made a big difference this year), and no kids with poor disciplinary records are allowed to play either. So, we start by narrowing the field. Then, from the eligible pool of seniors, we encourage as many as possible to sign up so that they have a good 12 players, at least. Then we just let "The Lord of the Flies Rules" take effect, which are as follows: inevitably, whatever veneer of civilization these boys have gets stripped away by their greed for playing time and their adolescent egos, and team dissension will always set in. By halftime, they are usually sniping at each other over who has been playing too many minutes, who needs to shoot less, who needs to be the point guard, etc. Left to us, then, is only to make sure we play good team ball - passing, setting screens, taking smart shots, not griping over playing time - and the game is always in the bag.

Of course, we don't gripe about playing time because, frankly, we are thankful for whatever rest on the bench we can get.

My line, by the way, was 9 pts. scored, four rebounds, four assists, and two fouls. Not bad, but could have been a little better.

After I got home from the game and strutted around for a while, the good wyfe rhetorically asked, "You just think you're a bad-ass, don't you?"

Why yes, dear, I do. In fact, I am a bad-ass, thank you very much.