Thursday, January 18, 2007


Welcome to the bench.

It's the uncomfortable pause between the third and fourth quarters, and the good guys are down by 25 points.

The team looks downtrodden. We've been getting humiliated out there; we haven't done a thing. I know it's time for a morale boost, so I prepare to bust out the big guns.

Whipping off my sweat-band, I motion to the girls across the court to watch this mad action. Excitement builds, the wringing of the absorbent forehead decoration is a glorious sight to behold. I fold the band once, then twice. I place my hands.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out. This is going to be intense.

Deep breath in.





Twist again.



Grunt, twist.

Twist, twist, fold, twist, grunt, twist, grunt, twist, twist.


Barren, that's what it was. The thing was freakin' dry. Not a drop; not a swig. It was the dryest sweatband in the entire gymnasium.

I was embarassed.

It was then, in that crestfallen moment that I realized why we were losing so hard.

We were not being ferocious.

And ferocious was what we should have been being.


All my life I've been me.

Being me, I've been blessed with many talents, characteristics, and abilities. Throughout my life these have come in handy. Be it dominating the national nerd tournament or running nine miles one Monday morning, I've got the tools to accomplish certain tasks.

Basketball isn't one of those adventures that I'm cut out for.

A wrench can't be scissors.

Why should it try to be scissors? It's not designed for that kind of labor, it's built to wrench-ify things.

By all means Mr. Wrench, stick to wrenching, for all of our sakes.


I am not a baller. I am not a big black guy with a name like Jamarcus and vertical hops like a freight elevator. I am not huge; I do not have post moves. I do not have streetball skills. I do not have churchball, schoolball- not even tetherball- skills.

But I'm tenacious, and I'm pretty sure I've got them on distance. I woke up every morning last summer and ran my heart out. My calves and quads got huge; my determination factor needed its own zip code. I went through a gallon and a half of water a day. I got sweat rings down to my belly button six days a week.

Fast, that's what I am.

Tired? I don't even know what that word means.


This Saturday, 3 PM, we take the court one more time. We're 0-2. We've got nothing to lose.

And you know what we're going to do? It's so simple; it finally clicked.

We're going to play to our strengths. We're gonna run the bad guys. To death.

I can't outplay them. I can't outjump them. The chances of me scoring a date with their sisters is slim to nill.

But you know what? I can outlast them. I can run up and down that court for a week after they've fallen over and been forced to eat their shoelaces for sustenance.

Ferocious. That's what we're going to be.

Sweat. That's what's going to be everywhere.

Bultimate's legacy lives on. I will never give up. I will run the bad guys every single play. I will hustle them up and down the court until they can be hustled no more.

I am not walking away empty-handed. I can't beat them on skill, but I refuse to be defeated on speed. I'm going to go down fighting; their only chance is to hope for an early-game knee injury, otherwise they're gonna be awfully embarassed when the nerdy kid is racing it all up in their grills.

Saturday, 3 PM. Game time. I will not slow down. I will not pace myself. I will not give up. I am Christopher Thatcher, I'm taking it straight to them.


M-smash said...

It's go time.

I'm so there its insane.

Kortney said...

I'm ready to watch.

Domination for sure.