Washington Sports Club is slipping! As much as memberships cost there, one would think that it would be out of a crackhead’s price range. They must have a “Get Your Life Together” discount package or something, because one of the fellows I played basketball against over there was clearly on that stuff…
I started back playing ball and lifting weights after my last attack of The Gout. I’m working on the healthier lifestyle thing, and it’s going great so far. I wear shirts less than LL Cool J when I’m home. This Summer I fully intend to be the black Matthew McCanaughey of Georgia Ave, jogging with no shirt on and playing frisbee all over the damned place.
Fast-forward to the other day…My team just won on the basketball court, and I played an ok game. Not up to my “in-shape” standard, but way better than that “I can’t feel my legs anymore” game I put up here last Spring. The next five guys steps on the court, and I notice that one of them looked rather crackish. Crackhead-esque. Crackheadian in stature. He was about 5’10” tall, really skinny and had a flat-top haircut with little sprouts on top that looked like dreads that weren’t purposely put in place, but just started forming out of sheer neglect. He was wearing a teal t-shirt tucked into some young-ass gym shorts, along with light blue Chuck Taylors.
Yeah, I said it! Chucks on a basketball court! I mean, Wilt Chamberlain and them played in Chucks back in the 60’s, but that was because they HAD TO! There is no modern-day excuse to hoop in Chucks, because just about every shoe on the market offers better support. He may as well have been out there in a pair of Crocs!
Oh, did I mention that he smelled like Oscar the Grouch’s roommate? His stench wasn’t workout funk, because I could understand that. It was the kind of funk that comes from someone who hasn’t bathed in days. This fellow has been wallowing in his own filthy stank, and he had the nerve to get on the court in a nice, clean, overpriced gym?! That’s not even the worst part: I’ll give you one guess as to who he decided to point to and say “I’ll guard this guy!”
Normally, I’d be happy to have someone who weighs 60 pounds and sucks trying to guard me. However, since I had to adjust to that stench, it was irritating to say the least. Then the guy started complaining about stuff that made no sense. He’s standing still in the lane while folks are fighting for rebounds, and he got mad and complained because I stepped on his punk ass foot before coming down with the ball. I responded by saying “Man, nobody told you to hoop in some God-damned Chuck Taylors in 2009! Quit crying!”
So of course, he wanted the ball the next play, so I left him wide open so someone would give it to him. Once I started guarding him, he decides he wants to hook me with his elbow to get around me…AT THE THREE-POINT LINE! Nobody does that shit up there! That’s something you try to get away with near the basket, but not in plain view of everybody. So I took my arm and brushed his skinny elbow off of me, then smelled my shirt to make sure none of his funk lingered on my clothes. The guy had to nerve to get mad and call a foul. I laughed, let him have the ball, then spent the rest of the game leaving him wide open, since it was painfully obvious that he was self-checked and I didn’t need to waste energy chasing his Pookie from New Jack City looking funky black ass up and down the court. It proved a sound strategy and we won in quick fashion.
Washington Sports Club, I’m going to need you all to be more selective about whom you give memberships to. If a guy tries to trade a membership for a Nintendo Wii with the wires hanging out the back of his bag, it’s probably not a good look. If he smells like death warmed up in the microwave before his workout, you may not want to give him access either. If his payment package includes the phrase “Come on man! I’ll suck yo’ diiiiiick” then this is a very bad sign.