Had a bit of ague over the weekend. Thought I'd whine a bit, as is my wont. I'm a male, you see and, by Jove's huckle, I'll vent splenetic to all and sundry my aches, pains, slights, disappointments and missed opportunities. 'Tis what we do! I had the flu, dammit!
Woman! Childbirth? My eyes are rheumy and my joints ache! I have an elevated temp! How can I recover worrying about other people?
With those wholesome thoughts, my umbicular vision curled natal-ly self-satisfying! Now to my Basketball Manifesto!
Due this weekend's endothermic mishap, I missed Friday's basketball game and hibernated away with Encore Western Channel Leo Sweats, toddies of Barry's Irish Tea laced with Lemon and honey, and a solid contemplation of my own
You see, early in my career as a Corinthian, a willful young colt was I, my dreams of becoming a 3-point dagger shooting, sky-high Prince-ling of Mid-Aire and backboard shattering hoop hanging Converse-All-Star Titan of the hard wood were dashed by one Coach Elmo Dolan.
We had "try-outs" in those halcyon days of yore and the twined oak branch coronas were doled out to not one and all, but those given the starting nod -A baker's dozen of 11/12 year old striplings adept with Naismith's leathery- orb.
Be-decked in T-shirt and baggy shorts and shod with Chuck Taylor Black High Tops I sprinted after a fashion ( dead last) and calisthenic-ly challenged my Temple of Christ with twists and turns and bends and stretches.
(Whistle) Line-up, Gents! Here's Five balls! They go in the baskets up there, Take these balls . . .one at a time . . .and run as fast as you can shile dribbling the ball. This is how you dribble the ball. Set your feet so you are balanced hold the ball even with your hip . . .drop the ball and pat it back down. . .. the length of the gym.
We lined up and counted off 1-2-3-4-5; 1-2-3-4-5;1-2-3-4-5; 1-2-3-4-5; 1-2-3-4-5 . . .I was in the first set of # 3's and each tossed a ball and asked to dribble the length of the court without fumble-tumbling or killing ourselves.
I took the leather orb and bounced it far above my hip and lost control of the ball and knocked two other guys out of their sync.
Use the hand you usually use, for Chrissakes!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Jesus, Mary and the Lather! Try again. Try again.
The set of three contained three of my peers who would not only make the cut, but go on to high school fame and glory, win basketball scholarships at Loyola, Loras and Illinois State and go ont to achieve acclaim as civic and business leaders.
After all sets of candidates had been tested and tempered on the hardbood griddle with feats of passing, catching and shooting the basketballs, it was annoumced that thirteen names would be posted on the gym door - the following day. Always, a ready welcome the good news, I immediately asked rhetorically, " So, the name Hickey gonna be on that list Mr. Dolan?"
Did you have polio a couple of years ago, Hick?
No, Mr. Dolan.
Spend a few weeks in an iron lung?
No.
You boinking Vicky Carr?
No.
Any more questions?
Did I make it?
Let's see . . .No Polio . . .Lungs Fine . . .No attachment to Vicky Carr . . . Nope.
Alas, it was not to be Vicky, or Hickey of the Hardwood and my interests require no hip or knee prosthesis, unlike the limber lads whose names adorned the list on the gym door at 81st & Honore in 1964. I have that going for me.
However, I has the ague this weekend and it was really awful and . . .
