playoffs

The game got interesting very quickly. This was the first team against whom our team had to actually put in an effort to beat, but they'd walked onto the court cocky and lethargic, and the opposition was quickly up by 7 points. Daniel and I watched as our team's faces fell, and then set, as they set out to catch up.

Late in the game, the opposition suddenly began fouling all over the place.

"Would you like some stuffing with that?" Daniel muttered under his breath.
"Huh?"
"You know, with your fowl!"

Groaning and giggling, we applauded as our guy sunk two baskets, and play moved down the court. But soon enough, they were back on our side, more free throws taken from increasingly dirty fouls.

"I don't understand this as a strategy," I said. "If they let our guys play, we wouldn't necessarily score; but we have a much better chance of scoring off a free throw. Why all the fouls?"
"'Cause they're chicken?"
"I set that one up for you."
"Maybe they're tired. They're getting lazy."
"They're from the policy school, aren't they? Just getting the job done. Don't they know it's all about beauty?"

Further giggles, and further fouls. We had some elegant set-ups go awry for clearly selfish reasons. Who cares if you lose a point if you get to see a truly gorgeous play?

"Come on!" Daniel yelled, as the ref blew his whistle against yet another foul.
"This is ridiculous," I said. "I come here to relax on my study break, but now I'm even more tense. I mean, it's basketball. Next I'll be screaming 'cowboys suck' every Sunday afternoon. I need to go home. And by home I mean, a country where they don't pay attention to tall guys in absurd shorts yelling 'D-up' all the time."

This, apparently, is what crunch-time stress does to me.