BitterSweetLife

Lately I’ve been enjoying the sweet luxury of hoops on a regular basis. Once, sometimes twice a week, Lindsay turns me loose and I cruise down to the local metro university, UMKC. Adrenalin flowing, spirits ridiculously high, I play pickup basketball until my hoops-lovin’ heart can’t take any more. Aah. Basketball is one of God’s better creations.

But far be it from me to head into the fieldhouse and forget the blog. In the course of my recent hoops trips, I’ve come across a strange (to me) phenomenon, one worth mentioning: someone who dislikes me for no apparent reason.

I don’t want to come off as an egotist. So let me say that there various people who have disliked me for discernable reasons. Nothing worth commenting on there. But someone who doesn’t even know you, and still gives you the cold shoulder? Surely, this bears looking into.

Let’s call him “John.” He’s about my size and height, and roughly twenty years my senior, judging by his hairline. Our games our similar, but not identical. If John gets a pick, and you might as well count ‘em. He’s deadly. Outside the arc or in, no difference. (Wish I could say the same.) His offense is an unconventional set shot (mine is textbook, a source of some pride), but that seems besides the point(s). John’s a crafty, sinewy, middle-aged marksman.

And he hates me.

It’s not as if I’m hard to work with on the court. I’m quick to distribute the ball, I call my own fouls, and I don’t talk any more trash than the situation warrants. Aside from those admirable traits, all I do is hit 90% of my jumpers (inside the arc, *sigh*). What’s not to like?

When it comes down to it, John hates me because I have a pull-up J, grab more than my share of rebounds, and I’m not jaded. (“Hate” is a little extreme, but allow me the effect, will you? Thanks.) That’s my theory, anyway, until I come up with a better one. There’s an indisputably cynical quality to John’s persona… (Once burned in love, now, never, never to be burned again…at least not in basketball? Sure.)

How else to explain the lowered shoulders, cold demeanor and shouting: Block out! Cut! That man’s mine, mine, mine! What’s fueling this choleric competitor? You’re a complex man, John, but I have your little game figured out. I guess. (Once, long ago, somebody broke your heart…or something.)

To draw a wider parallel, it’s weird how people can end up disliking you for the very things you would hope to be admired for. Or is that just life? Either way, until I get this figured out, I’ll keep a wary eye on John’s elbows.

Anyone else have thoughts on this phenomenon?