Lend Me a Hand

When the University of Arizona played the University of Illinois last season, the Fighting Illini fouled Arizona players a record 56 times, or somesuch number. I should have seen this coming.
Wearing a pair of grey shorts with Arizona boldly emblazoned on the side I headed to the local basketball court. There was a large Caucasian wearing an Illinois jersey. After a short round of shooting we proceed to the normal pickup game of two on two.
Barely twenty minutes into the game it happened. I got the ball, dribbled it once and went up strong for a left handed layup. The Illini (whose name I do not know) decided to block my shot, the only obstacle between him and the ball being my entire body. He decided to phase through my body ala Kitty Pryde (X-men #something).
In what seemed like an eternity, bodies flew in the air and I was thrown under this rather heavy individual. Bearing the weight of us both was my hand, which already had been injured years before by an unreasonable army sergeant. It snapped.
Couldn't move it. Tried shooting. Nope. Oh whaddaheck. We were up 8-1. There's still the left hand.
Arizona 11 Illinois 1.
A silly grin on my face, I beam at the moral victory. Male stupidity has triumphed over good old common sense.
I put the pain aside and played two more games.

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