— Fairy-Princess Union Leaders Express Dismay, Outrage and Love for Ponies —
By Roaming Reporter Jeffxa, Defender of Jujubes.
In days of yore, basketball – or Duck on a Rock as my abuse-loving forebears liked to call it – was a sport played by gentlemen and gentlewomen, with an oblong ball and using leisurely-type rules that were more akin to 9-a-side peach picking than to the basketball that has recently been popularized by such 8-foot-tall gastropods as certain un-named muscle-tension-heat-pad-magnates whose names rhyme with Schnakeel O’Real.
Why is this important, you ask? Just simmer down, lest I call you a demeaning name such as “gastropod”. Also, please note that I will cease and decist with the faux old-timey writing which, to be frank, is more awkward than funny.
Well, for the first time in two years (ish), I laced up my And1’s and hit the courts in the Milton Basketball League, located in scenic Milton. Those expecting a funny non-Milton location such as Malton or Halton, shame on you. Anyhow, my status this morning can best be described as “Tuckered Out — Level 3”. This obviously has nothing to do with the fact that I’m a) older and b) flabbier, nor with the fact that our team had 1 spare, in contrast to our opponents who had 6 spares. The whole issue is that basketball as I know – or rather knew – it, has changed. Long gone are the days that I could tiptoe around munching on jujubes, uttering witty remarks and winning championships handily*.
The lesson for us all? Beware anyone proclaiming recreational sports endeavours as being “just for fun” – these people will club you over the head and steal your jujubes and dose you heavily with Lactic Acid.
*Number of “championships” won over past 13 years: 2, all of the recreational level, consolation variety. *DYNASTY*