The Lament of the Ex-Athlete

I used to be quite a ballplayer in my day.

Yes, yes. I know what you're thinking. "But Toby! What about that loophole in Iowa's inheritance tax statutes?" Now, now -- I realize we're all concerned about that. But as another basketball season gets underway, I just can't help remembering my glory days.

It was 1992. I was the backup point guard on the Forks High School basketball team in Forks, Washington. I didn't get to play much. We had this hotshot dickweed starting at point. He got all the girls, even after I spread a nasty rumor that his mom was a spork. Nothing I did worked -- the chickies kept gravitating to him, and me? Well, let's just say my girlfriend was my right-most prong. Those were dark days.

You know, the thing about women is, they don't care what kind of person you are. They just want the situation that's going to stroke their ego the most. If they dated the backup point guard, well, they could do BETTER. So everyone piled on Chip, the big fork on campus. Bitches.

Ahem. Anyway, back to my story. It was the first round of the playoffs. We were losing to Utensil Academy by a hefty margin. Suddenly, Chip got a chipped handle (oh, the irony) and it was all up to me. Coach put me in, encouraging me to do my best, cheering me on. "Try not to screw up, moron," he cried. I was pumped!

On the first play, I received a pass. The ball hit my prongs and deflated. The game was delayed 15 minutes. Coach called me an imbecile and put in the gay kid to play point. We lost by 35 and I went home to yet another date with my right-most prong.

If coach had just left me in, we woulda won State. Maybe I woulda made the pros. Gosh DARN IT!