This past Sunday was a long day for me–10:30am PFBL 38 and Over League game, 5:30pm SBL contest, then a two hour DJ set with Tony Touch at Drom after midnight. Not complaining one bit, in fact feel blessed to have that much going on in the Fall, but there was one moment that will forever be frozen in time for me from this wacky 24 hours . . .

I’ll keep it real with everybody–Bounce Magazine got smacked in SBL by 33 points. Yeah, it wasn’t a cute one. We cut it to eight with 10 minutes left in the 2nd, but didn’t have much more juice to squeeze any more pulp out. You know how a team up by that much will start laughing and feeling themselves, knowing that a missed attempt to get freaky will mean nothing towards the outcome or even a coach’s substitution. Well, when you’re on the losing side it’s downright annoying.

Our D was slow. With about five minutes left, their guard penetrated, kicked it out to their small forward 12′ out on the wing. Our big shifted, but took his eye off the cutter behind him. The ball got lobbed, and then everything went in slow motion from there . . .
I was in the paint to help . . . their slasher took off from the dotted and caught the ball with two hands . . . our big was directly under the basket and finally turned . . . it was waaay too late . . . the high-jumping kid cuffed it OD hard and his body seemed to have suspended in the air, or maybe he was hanging on the rim but I doubt it . . . my teammate, whose name I’ll leave anonymous to protect him, absorbed it all, including another man’s crotch saying hello to his face . . . it was downright mean . . .

I’ve never thought this in my life, but it was so embarrassing that for a second when we inbounded, I thought to tell the ref to just call the game. But nah, never that, I dribble down court determined to save face for my homeboy. I was about to hit their little guard with a whip whop behind his back, but he didn’t bite, content that he didn’t have to play D since they were up by so much. It was anti-climactic and super garbage time so wouldn’t have meant much anyhow. There was no comeback to what happened I supposed. Just let it live.

After the game, my little man Andre a.k.a. NCAA Dre and I talked about the boof for 20 minutes. He said, “Yo Bob, when _______ got dunked on, did you see his face? His whole body and arms crawled up like he was trying to protect himself from getting punched, and his face . . . his face looked like he had a permanent sneeze on it! Hahahahahahaha . . .”

I was grumpy for an two hours after the loss, but hearing about the official sneeze face gave me a wonderful temporary reprieve.