In my church it is a major thing to play basketball. All the men in the ward put their blood, sweat, and tears into winning the championship. There is no award given, no trophy or ribbon. But yet they all must WIN! They take it very seriously.
To me though I find it rather a comical event. Last night I showed up at the local church to find myself watching my boyfriend in the first game of the regionals. Yes, my boy helped them get there. I sat down in the stands next KC's best friends dad. We chatted for a minute and then the buzzer rang. The game had started...conversation over. The tall skinny man in his late 30's who still thinks he can where his tight, skimpy(and I mean skimpy short) shorts ran down the court and scored one for our team. When no points showed up on the score board, the crowd started to get angry. One man yelled across the court, "we want our two points.....two points!" After the score was set to 2-0 the game picked up again.
After the second half, we were tied at 31. This was the half of injuries. Both teams had decided to not play nice anymore. One man got knocked in the face, another stepped on the foot, and oh! no! one got scrapped by a fingernail. It was treacherous out there. AFter all their hard work, yelling, and fighting our team lost and no one was hauled of in an ambulence. My boyfriend was bummed out. I really did feel bad for him. He had showed up to every game and put his heart into the game. Well, we'll try again next year. Good Job, Baby!
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