That's One More Knotch On My Dumb'o'Meter

Basketball? How hard could it be? Sure I've never played a real game of it before... heck, I don't even know the rules... but I'm sure it can't be far from the version my brothers and I used to play in our own little court growing up. Oh and we liked violence... yeah, the bloodier the better. Why by the time we had finished working out our own set of rules, none of us WANTED to be in possession of the ball... we all knew it meant immediate, numerous, and savage karate chops to the wrist or any other part of the arm. It was a daring game, our version of basketball, and we were such cocky ignoramuses that even when the neighbor kids PLEADED with us to let them teach us the real way, we simply told them our way was better and if they wanted to play with us they had better learn how. I remember, now with guilt, the expression of frustration and defeat on our neighborhood friends' faces. Well Karma has finally come full-circle and kicked me a swift one in the face. As some of you may know, our ward recently sent around a sign-up sheet for women's basketball. I, along with five other women, signed up. We've been combined with the 11th ward so we would have enough players. Good thing, too, since I'm THE ONLY ONE who showed up from our ward. Thinking myself humble, I asked Dave if he would explain some of the main rules to me before the game. He, thinking that the refs wouldn't call anything because that's how his games have been, only gave me the bare minimum. The 11th ward had a GREAT turn-out so there were four or five women sitting out at a time. You know how some teams have a "secret weapon" player who is so profound that the team can't lose? Well even if we had one of those on our team, I'd still manage to destroy any of our chances. I'm the "secret weapon kamikaze" player. The first several plays of the game, I felt very pleased with myself because I found I'm really good at getting the ball away from other players... then as the game progressed, to my dismay I found it's everything else I suck at. So I'd either be dribbling toward the wrong basket, or I'd be blocking one of my own players and paving the way for the wrong team. I lost count of how many penalties I got. To make matters worse, Dave didn't think to mention the 3-second zone rule (when you're playing offense, you can't stay in the basket's zone for more than 3 seconds... or at least that's the last understanding I came away with). The first five times the ref called me on it, I thought she was giving me a penalty for knocking someone down and I have bad hearing, so I heard something like this: "penalty... you have to stay in the box for three seconds". I would dumbly nod my head and say "okay" and obediently stand in the little box... feeling like I had been a naughty child and being punished so everyone could see. At this point I was feeling very nostalgic for my childhood bloody basketball. The best player on my team would yell at me from across the court, "Nikki, get over here and cover your area!" To which I could barely contain rolling my eyes at her as I yelled back, "I Caaaaaan't. She said I have to stay here for 3 seconds!!!!" My eyes were diverted to the stage by the stifled giggles of my own teammates who had earnestly been trying to be supportive but this was just too much for them. This happened probably a total of five times before the ref FINALLY took some time to walk up to me and explain VEEEERYYYY SLOOOOOOWLY that I simply couldn't be in the box for more than 3 seconds while guarding the basket. Ding!Ding!Ding! I felt a sweep of triumph at FINALLY understanding, but that was immediately squashed by the deep humiliation as I realized the depth of my blunder and the reason for everyone's half-cocked smiles and stifled giggles. I'd never felt so much relief than when it was time to switch out of the game.

I left the game tonight with a good work-out and a shattered self-confidence... no, self-revulsion, and one more knotch for my dumb'o'meter.