Dealing with the loss of a close game is like the memory of Suzy Dumplingbutt, the first girl every guy has been dumped by the day after a Boone’s Farm wine-soaked night of getting sooooooooo close to paradise in the back seat of Dad’s ‘69 Oldsmobile.
On one hand there is pride in having worked hard enough and smart enough to get a hickey the size of a mantra ray, pleasingly visible on the neck, to show off to less accomplished friends.
On the other hand, there is the lifelong dull pain of seeing Suzy wiggle off to the prom with Tad Musclenutz, captain of every team known to sports.
Although STILL HERE has been handed its collective rump (which is quite a large rump) in so many games for so many years that we handle defeat fairly well ---- our exit from this year’s tournament brought back the old familiar dull pain of loss.
We played so well.
Steve, Damon, Rock and Pops played some of their best ball in many moons, but every guy also contributed along the way.
We came back from about 10 points down to take the lead in the closing seconds of regulation play ---- only to be forced into overtime at the buzzer by a three-point shot heaved up by an opposing player who was falling backwards, sideways, had his eyes closed, was farting, fainting and saying prayers of desperation which, unfortunately, were answered by the deities of basketball.
In overtime we just ran out of gas. Basketball is a cruel mistress.
All that can be said is that we played with heart --- we played with true STILL HERE old-school spirit --- and we can live the rest of our lives knowing that somewhere in her trailor park squalor, Suzy Dumplingbutt-Musclenutz, with her fat, gin-drinking husband Tad (who needs to eat Viagra like popcorn) still thinks about us late at night and knows that maybe --- just maybe --- she made the wrong choice!
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