The Time I Whooped a 14-Year-Old Kid at Basketball
"What's the matter? You're scared?" (I'm the bad guy in a Disney movie, apparently.)
"You don't even have shoes on," he pointed out.
"Fuck you, bitch. I left 'em next to your mother's bed, what the fuck do you care," is what I thought.
"l'll be fine," is what I said.
So we played. And it was like the goddamn basketball apocalypse.
I destroyed him, offering no mercy or abiding by any wartime restrictions.
When he tried to dribble, I'd get in his chest, clipping his lateral movement with the knobbiest of knees. When he tried to rise and shoot, I'd slide under him, daring him to land on one or both of my feet and twist an ankle. When he tried to turn and back his way in, I'd slap haphazardly towards the ball, leaving his wrists pinked and angry. He wilted. Eventually, his game plan consisted solely of picking up his dribble, spinning around in place for a second or two, then chucking the ball up blindly.
On offense, I was even more obnoxious.
If he tried to get close, I'd either wiggle around him and dunk it on his head (he's a long kid, but he can't weigh more than 90 pounds), or I'd turn and pile drive my way towards the goal, turning when I'd get close to the rim, jumping, then attempting to rip the rim from the backboard. Whenever he'd back up, I'd shoot over the top of him. If the ball went in, I'd prance around, high fiving my sons and shouting "OHHHHH! DID THAT GO IN? T, DID THAT GO IN? I DIDN'T SEE IT BECAUSE MY EYES WERE CLOSED! I'M LITERALLY BEATING YOU WITH MY EYES CLOSED!" If the ball didn't go in, I'd crash into the paint like Karl Malone, snatch the ball from him, then slow motion dribble it out and start the whole process again.
He never scored a point. Halfway through the trouncing, he had that same "Do I Even Exist?" glossed over look on his face that Fiona Apple thinks is interesting.
When the game was over, I celebrated like LeBron. The smaller boys were uproarious. T went home without saying anything to anyone.
Sure, I understand the irony in doing to a kid exactly what I get mad at him for doing to other kids.
But fuck that. Sometimes it has to be done.
Dads do that too.
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