Bad Blood

The Monday/Wednesday pick-up game I regularly play in hit a new low last night, and I'm embarassed to say I played a part in it. There's a fellow I call "Curly" who also plays in that game, and between the two us there is little love lost. I find him annoying because he has a big mouth and an exagerated sense of his own skills, is a bit of a ball hog, has shitty fundamentals, doesn't play good defense, doesn't understand the game, and doesn't really know the rules either. But mostly I dislike him because he's a cry-baby with sharp elbows, who routinely clears out defenders with his off-hand in order to make space for himself, but hollers "foul" if a defender breathes on him too hard. I'm not really sure why Curly doesn't like me, but I have two theories. The first is that he knows I'm a better player than him, and resents it. The second is that he knows I don't think he's as good a player as he thinks he is, and resents THAT. And of course, it probably doesn't help that I tend to guard him pretty aggresively whenever I get the chance, and he finds playing against someone who actually plays good defense more than a little frustrating.

But mostly when we're on the floor together I just try to stay clear of him. After all, it's just a pick-up game, and who needs the aggrevation? But last night I ended up rotating to him on an open Jump shot from the corner: he took the shot, and well after the ball was on its way to the basket followed through and hit a (now set and stationary) me in the shoulder and the side of the head with his shooting hand...and cried foul. I said somthing about the call that he didn't care to hear, then walked away figuring that it was best just to let it go. But like I said, Curly has a big mouth, and kept up a pretty much constant trash-talking mutter for the next two or three minutes...until a few plays later when he came driving down the lane and threw up a wild, off-balance shot, and I held my ground and one of us (not me) ended up on the floor -- a not-quite-so-irresistible-force-as-he-thought meeting a truly immovable object, and coming off the worse for it.

Turned my back and walked away from that one too, knowing full well that I'd made my statement, and that anything I had to say about it would only make things worse. I'd had my Danny Ainge moment, and was actually a little ashamed of it. This isn't some playground pick-up game; we're all middle-aged guys who ought to know better. But I'm not about to pull a rule book out of my back pocket and argue the finer points of "established position" and "act of shooting." And I'm certainly not too inclined to sit back and listen to someone I don't respect too much as it is disrespect me.

Of course, Curly did get to make the final statement of the evening -- knocking down a game-winning three from the top of the key when I got stuck down below the foul line and couldn't get back through the high screen. It was a nice, clean look taken under pressure and drained "nothing but net." So good for you Curly. Maybe I'll see you again Wednesday night.