Hoopin' it Up (If You Can Call it That)

Well, I just returned from another evening of torture, I mean playing basketball, at LIFETIME Fitness. I do not use the word torture in a physical sense (though a fat guy playing full court ball is not easy on the body), rather in a mental sense. If I am going to be specific, I think maybe it is more of a masochism because no one is inflicting mental anguish on me; I am simply doing it to myself.

You see, in my head I play ball like I did when I was in high school. My mind makes crisp passes to my teammates, boxes out for monster rebounds, posts up strong in the paint, even drives to the hoop for the occasional dunk. In my head, I am a force to be reckoned with.

But then I get the ball in my hands and, for some reason, my brain disconnects completely from my brain stem. The grandiose images of me implementing my "skills" come face-to-face with the harsh reality that even the nerve endings in my body have become fat and lazy.

My brain tells my body, "There's Darius streaking to the hoop. Let's zip a pass to him and give him an assist!" but my nerve endings only receive, "There's Darius streaking. Wouldn't that be funny if he really was streaking? Wonder what's on CSI tonight?"

By that time, someone has stripped the ball from me and made a layup on the other end of the court. Darius is looking at me like I should probably be in sculpting Play-Dough snowmen with the kids in daycare. All I can do is say, "Sorry man, my brain stem is not fully connected to my brain." That usually doesn't inspire much confidence in my teammates. They don't pass me the ball much after that.

As you can see, the mental anguish is quite a hurdle for me. I'm going to keep at it though. One of these days I'm going to whip the ball to Big D and he's going to soar in for a layup, and when he turns to head back down court, he's going to point to me and say, "Nice pass Big Dawg."

Then I will know that my brain stem is making a comeback.