De facto Manifesto

I play a sport. I'm not very good, mind you -- I'm only allowed on the floor because my cheques don't bounce -- but there are whistles and referees and scoreboards, and you could even find seven or eight seasons worth of stats on the internet if you should be so inclined. The entire league is basically an excuse to go for drinks after the game, and yet, since somebody's keeping score, it's bound to get competitive at some point. I don't think there's a person in the league who hasn't yelled at the ref, who hasn't had a bad game and then felt the dread of a long week before a chance for redemption, or who hasn't gone into work the next day hoping to get asked what you did last night, because dammit, you were a star and you gotta tell somebody.

Of course, even though every single player gets the juices flowing and everybody prefers winning to losing, I'm pretty confident that not one person would suggest that every single player is trying equally as hard as everybody else. That's just lunacy. You've got your ridiculously skilled guys who kinda float until the play comes to them. You've got your guys who miraculously find a fifth gear when they get the ball, when they couldn't find third when there was defence to be played. You've got guys in their 40s and beyond who see better uses for their energy than chasing down a kid with a 20 year head start. And, of course, you've got the guys who appear to share DNA with Jack Russell terriers -- "Is that a ball? Is that a ball? Go get it! Go get the ball! Good boy! Geez, aren't you tired yet?"

Now, I'm a big fan of effort. I have hands of stone, so the only way I can really feel like a contributing team-mate is to bring the legs of fury, every time. My favourite game ever happened a few months ago, when the top six or seven guys on my team couldn't make it, leaving us short staffed and under-talented to boot. Predictably, we got cranked, but everybody on my team brought the effort, played the full game as close to their potential as you could hope for. It was beautiful. We went home happy. I would play that game a million times. We still lost.

I swear, NBA fans -- or at least the Toronto Raptors fans that I am most familiar with -- have this same relationship with their teams. As long as a team scraps and claws, as long as you're willing to give it your all in a losing effort, we'll be content with that. Pops Mensah-Bonsu is well on his way to the fan favourite status once enjoyed by Jerome (Junk Yard Dog) Williams -- although Amir Johnson might be a better fit for the role, since he, you know, occasionally sees court time. Heck, somebody ask Vince Carter if Toronto fans are willing to let a little coasting slide. And I get it, I do. I would much rather cheer for Paul Millsap than for Carlos Boozer, or for David Lee rather than Eddy Curry, or for anybody in the free world rather than Ricky Davis. But really, as much as I love effort, it is but one skill taken from a whole host of others that make up your successful basketball player. Two offensive rebounds in five minutes of work is excellent, but when accompanied by two fouls and a turnover, it is less helpful than it could be. If your game is based more on basketball IQ than athleticism -- like, say, the majority of the Raptors roster -- then perhaps, instead of crashing the boards just to show willing, I'd prefer you save your energy for the things you are good at, like scoring the ball at an unholy clip.

In a perfect world, I'd have everything. I'd have Chris Paul and Kobe Bryant and Kevin Garnett and their inhuman talent and supernatural drive, and I'd be cheering for a team that would almost never lose a game, and would never ever lose a game because they weren't trying hard enough. In this world, though, I take what I can get. And, when given the choice between marginal-talent-exemplary-effort and superior-talent-acceptable-effort, well -- I admit, the hustle makes me happy, but I'm willing to trade a little of that for the wins.

Jerkitude

Well, I understand from the current literature on the subject that blogs are supposed to be a fairly of-the-moment sort of endeavour, that is, I should kinda be trying to record what's on my mind as of now. However, whilst I'm fairly new to this blogging thang, I do have a few old screeds kicking around on my computer, and rather than let them fade into obscurity, I figger I'll pop a few of 'em on here, as the mood strikes me.

This one stems from March of 2009, I think, should posterity be one of those things you're concerned with.

So, I played lacrosse last night, and the game has been rolling around in my head ever since. Through no fault of my own, I play on a team that can be pretty good if everything clicks, and this was one of those games. Nobody felt like they had to score a million goals all by themselves, everybody was passing the ball to the open man, and our goalie was fixing any mistakes we did make. On top of that, the goalie on the other team wasn't having a great game, so we were out to a 5-nuthin' lead pretty quick.

Then, early in the second period, when the score was probably 6-1 or so, a guy on my team had the ball in our own end, and one of their players was chasing him a bit. I was in the area, so I decided to help my guy out a bit by setting a pick. Now, if you're not the sporty type and you're not sure what a pick is, don't worry, that puts you in the same category as at least half my team. Basically, all it is, is when I stand still, and the guy on my team runs by me as close as he can, so the guy chasing him either runs into me or loses time by trying to go around me. Of course, the pick I set here was more of a token than anything, my teammate was pretty much getting free anyway. Also, it wasn't like this pick was going to clear my guy for a scoring chance or anything, it was just to try to gain a second or two. To further lessen the effectiveness, my teammate didn't have a chance to run right beside me, and the guy on the other team saw me standing there about four feet before he got to me, so the element of surprise was pretty much nil. Since all of these factors had combined to make this one of the lamest picks ever, the obvious play in my mind was for the other guy to run around me, which would have taken a fraction of a second longer than if I hadn't been there at all, and then he would still been part of his team's defense. However, this guy takes the other accepted approach of what to do when faced with a pick, and that is to run right through it. It wasn't like he lowered his shoulder and drilled me or anything, but his decision was to run into me.

Now, again, I get that this is what you're taught to do when you're a kid learning the game, but we're in a non-contact league, and it actually took him out of the play to do it. On top of that, if he was trying to teach me a lesson about not setting any more picks, well, geez, don't be such a pansy about it, actually hit me, don't just bump me. Really, I think he was just ticked that his team was losing, and didn't feel like playing nice anymore. God knows, I've been there myself, so I understand the impulse -- but my team was winning at the time, so I was in a totally different mental state. If somebody on the other team wants to be angry, well, I'm gonna do my best to help him out. I kinda chuckled, and turned around and started running to catch up to the play. Here, strangely, is where I turned into the most hated guy on my team.

The guy who'd bumped me asks, "What are you laughing at?" I don't really know what to say -- I've been known to be reasonably funny on the page, but when I'm on the spot to say something witty, I tend to be less so. I think I wanted to say something like, If you wanted to hurt somebody you have to hit a bit harder than that, Nancy -- but what came out was, "Intent to injure...," in as sardonic a tone as I could muster while running. Very lame, but he didn't seem to pick up on that, I believe he may have had his own agenda. He says something about how that's lacrosse, buddy, it's part of the game, and then the play evolves a bit and we don't have time to continue our repartée. Not much later in the same shift, however, I end up guarding him again, he's got the ball in the corner. This is where I have a chance to take the high road -- but instead, I put my stick as close to his face as I can, and say a couple of times, "Come on, you better beat me, you're better than me! You're better than me!" You'd think denigrating your own abilities wouldn't annoy the opposition, but no, I have found it to be highly effective. He ignored me as best he could and made a pass that a teammate of his dropped. This pretty much marked the end of my shift, and I headed for the bench. He stayed on the floor, and it's possible he was a little tired, because it wasn't much longer after that that my team scored again.

Again, I'm on the bench and totally removed from the play, so I had the chance to take the high road and keep quiet, or even just to loudly congratulate my teammate, which would have been insulting but not necessarily confrontational. However, as you may have guessed, I'm a bit of a jerk. I try to keep it under wraps, but when push comes to shove, what comes out of my mouth is, "I bet that pisses you off, huh." Those seemed to be the magic words, and he started yelling at me, "Look buddy, there's no need for you to chirp, you're winning and you have no skill, so shut the hell up!" I wasn't all that upset about the crack about my skill level -- really, he'd been batting a thousand on how do things wrong thus far this shift, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then -- so I just kind of smiled and saluted, aye aye cap'n, I'll follow orders, at which point the referees told us both to knock it off.

I generally do what the authority figure tells me to, so I shut up, and I didn't say anything to the other team the rest of the game. I yelled encouragement at my own teammates a lot, but that's no different than any other game I play. I actually played pretty passive, I didn't feel like stirring anything up. I had the ball a few times, and it definitely felt like people were whacking me a little harder than was absolutely necessary, but again, if it doesn't really hurt, no big deal. On one particularly crap shift, I managed to pass the ball directly to the guy I'd been jawing at, and he got a pretty good scoring chance out of it. The guy who was guarding me, sensing a prime heckling opportunity, told me it was a nice pass. Short, simple, should have been effective -- but really, if I know somebody's trying to piss me off, why give him the satisfaction? I replied with, "Yeah, those are my specialty," (which, unfortunately, they are, I wasn't kidding about the lack of skill thing), and just kept on running.

Then, with just over three minutes left in the game, when we're winning about 11-4, a loose ball rolls my way, and I have to run towards the boards to get it. The guy on the other team who's chasing me (a guy who has cut the sleeves off of his jersey, either to lessen wind resistance or to make it easier for people to admire his triceps, I'm not sure) has apparently also taken offense to my transgressions from half an hour ago, and decides to teach me a lesson, whacking hell out of me and saying, "Laughin', huh?" as I'm turned around running for the ball. He does actually hit my stick harder than he hits me, but even when he knocks my stick out of my hand, he doesn't seem to actually want the ball, just to hit me. Again -- if that's your goal, then geez, hit hard enough to hurt, for cryin' out loud. He seemed genuinely nostril-snorting angry, but all he did was get called for it, and then after the whistle he just stared me down until the ref told him to go to the penalty box. I didn't say a word, I wasn't angry or banged up, I was mostly just kinda bemused that I'd inspired this level of animosity in an only-sorta-competitive league. I mean, I suck. If you want to get angry at somebody on my team, get angry at the guys who scored all those goals.

So the game ends, and the post-game handshake goes without incident, and I go home and the whole thing rolls around in my head on crazy loop, like it always does when you think of all those things you should have said. Like, when it's pointed out that I have no skill, I could helpfully suggest that pissing people off and drawing penalties seems to be a pretty valid skill. Like, when somebody asks you, "What are you laughing at?" the best answer is probably, "Scoreboard." I've had some great conversations in my head, saving all the best lines for myself, all designed to inflict maximum jerkitude. What I keep coming back to is this -- those guys play on a bad team, they've been looking to get angry for a while now, and I was just the guy who happened to be in the right place at the right time. I'm usually not so into the trash talk -- but if you're gonna start something, I'm totally allowed to finish it, and I'm okay with that.

But you know what really pisses me off?

I'm starting to feel guilty about the whole thing.

Geez.