That’s actually very funny. I had no idea who Terry Bradshaw was until I Googled him. “Oh, THAT guy,” was my reaction. I’ve seen him on football talk shows, something I always zoom quickly past…
Humor/Satire / Basketball Barnes
Basketball Barnes
We moved to Terrace Park when I was in third grade. Terrace Park, as many know, is the sports capital of the universe. It radiates an aura of sportingness that one can feel for hundreds of miles around. It is a vortex of athletics. The street lamps are shaped like soccer balls and people decorate their Christmas trees with hockey pucks. Instead of saying “Hello?” when Terrace Parkians answer their phones they say, “What’s the score?” Babies in mothers’ wombs are coached in football plays via specially designed tapes. It is illegal to change a channel during any game in Terrace Park. Teenagers who skip practice are publicly humiliated in the village green, and then forced to read Terry Bradshaw. So the day we moved there, a hundred well-meaning mothers and coaches (every father is a coach in Terrace Park) came to our house in their station wagons. They asked my brother and me what sports we would be participating in. My brother and I stood, curious, on the porch. We tried out this new word on our tongues. “Sports?” we asked. The Terrace Parkians nodded and smiled, seeing how sturdy Phillip was, and how tall I was. They showed us scores of brochures, each sporting glossy photographs of various competitive recreations. My brother and I gazed upon the images. Phillip chose football, for he had always liked the word ‘ellipse.’ I chose basketball, since the ball in question reminded me of the Replogle globe my family loved to contemplate each night. “He is a natural for basketball,” the mothers and coaches said to my parents in unison, nodding approvingly at my lengthy legs. “He was born for basketball.”
The place where we moved from knew no sports. It was one of the blessed reaches of the world where it just doesn’t occur to people to form teams and grapple with different balls on muddy fields. People preferred to spend their free time making up songs or going on long walks to the ice cream store. My brother and I had spent our summers and Saturdays looking for tadpoles and arrowheads that lurked within merry creeks; we hiked in grassy meadows and climbed sycamore trees. The closest thing we had seen to a ball of any kind was the fluffy heads of dandelions we puffed away while catching dragonflies. I went to basketball practice that first day, clad in a tissue-thin jersey and yellow shorts. Coach Holtz (they called him Stretch) threw the ball at me and pointed in several directions at once while barking out basketball commands. “Listen up, people, let’s go, let’s hustle, move, move move!” he shouted. The other boys knew at once what to do. “Ah!” I thought watching this burst of energy with interest, “the game must be a macroscopic representation of the highly charged particles in the Milliken experiment.” I ran around as I saw my teammates doing. I lobbed and tossed the ball in different directions, bouncing it when I could. I shouted various phrases at random, rushing up to others only to wheel away when I got there. When I finally stopped to have a drink of water and peel the tangerine I’d brought, I was amazed to see the whole team and Stretch Holtz staring at me in horrified wonder.
“Can it be?”, they said to one another, “How can it be? He doesn’t know the rules of the game!”
“Rules?” I queried, “are there rules to this exercise? Please explain them to me.” I can’t be sure, but I think I clapped my hands with glee. Stretch was very patient, and explained several methods of blocking, where to run, when to dribble, what terms like ‘opening tip’ and ‘top of the key’ meant. Jimmy DeWitt explained a larger picture of basketball to me, illustrating with famous players and quoting their points per game. Mark Anderson threw in a few baseball and hockey references, hoping to find a synaptic link for my troubled brain. I listened to it all, trying quite diligently to make sense of this new language. They demonstrated on paper, they showed me films, they brought me books and cassette tapes. I read and watched and nodded, gradually feeling a wall of confusion growing between me and Stretch, me and the basketball, me and the rest of Terrace Park. I nodded, and dribbled when I could, and ran in the directions that I seemed to remember Coach Holtz pointing in. My teammates’ horrified wonder grew into horrified irritation. I tried harder, I ran faster, I dribbled more furiously, I bought a catcher’s mitt. The horrified irritation grew into bemusement. I found my place on the bench for the duration of each game.
Then came the day when our team was in a championship playoff. We had become good, in basketball terms, though I had contributed nothing to the process more than lot of vigorous running to and fro during practice. I spent my months of bench sitting developing a hypothesis that basketball was, in fact, a demonstration of Chaos Theory. It was in such a state of mind that I was seated on the bench watching this pivotal championship game. “Let the basketball represent X,” I mused, “and the players of one team, Y.” I sensed the fervor of the mothers and siblings in the stands behind me. They seemed on the brink of discovering a Unified Field Theory, such was the fervor of their cheers. It was at this point in the game that Stretch Holtz noticed my concentration. “Barnes!” he barked, “go in for Mahan!”
It was a decisive moment in the game and in the season. It was a decisive moment not only in my own social future, but in the potential sports careers of my teammates. Many of them renounced basketball entirely after that game; quite a few of them moved away from the tri-state area. It is reported that Jimmy DeWitt began his heavy drinking that very night.
After a flurry of activity that included much bouncing and tossing, running, charging and general sweating, I heard Jimmy DeWitt shout my name. Everything happened at once, but in slow motion, as if the very air had been replaced by a thick, clear fluid. I turned in Jimmy DeWitt’s direction. The basketball was hurtling precisely toward my head. I stared. I swallowed. I gasped. I ducked. The basketball bounced ten, eight, five, three times behind me, gradually rolling to an embarrassed stop, hollow echoes now the only sound in the gymnasium. Not a word was spoken in the stands. Jimmy DeWitt clutched his throat. Stretch Holtz quietly vomited in a corner. The basketball itself burst and shrank into a pile of damp rubber. The game was over. We lost the championship.
I walked home under a heavy cover of steel-grey cloud. I went straight to my bedroom. I spent the rest of the month under my bed, hiding from the Sports Failure Committee who appeared at our door every day to escort me to the village green. After a month of incessant knocking and the coaches' reasonable voices encouraging me to pay the penalty for my crime I realized I could not hide forever. In addition, I was hungry. Resigned, I crawled from beneath the bed, dusted myself off and opened the front door. There they stood: a stern squadron of coaches, flanked by understanding soccer moms. They took me into their firm embrace and led me away. “Ah well,” I thought, as we made our way to the village green, "Perhaps I can adapt 'Man of Steel' into a musical."
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pigpen reviewed Version 3 -
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I appreciate the narrator’s aversion to the foreigness of sports, and think that in terms of publication a lot reader’s will be able to relate to this feeling. Very empathetic.
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matthewtrent reviewed Version 3 -
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This 62 word review has not been unlocked.
brent_miller reviewed Version 2 -
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This story was not only funny, but concise and well-written. You moved through a full-length story in a short amount of space, while hitting all the main points.
I think you did an exceptional job of adjusting your time frames to present all the important events while glossing over unnecessary details. The following is a great example of shifting time frames to include only the necessary:
“I walked home under a heavy cover of steel-grey cloud. I went straight to my bedroom. I spent the rest of the month under my bed, hiding from the Sports Failure Committee who appeared at our door every day to escort me to the village green. After a month of incessant knocking and the coaches’ reasonable voices encouraging me to pay the penalty for my crime I realized I could not hide forever.”
The humor, of course, is brilliant. It is indeed a fantastical story, as you put it. ”’He is a natural for basketball,’ the mothers and coaches said to my parents in unison, nodding approvingly at my lengthy legs.” An excellent way to bring sarcasm and satire together for a very funny line. You do this repeatedly throughout the story to great effect.
The only thing that made this story less than 100% for me was the off-hand references. I have no idea what the Milliken experiment is, nor Man of Steel. When I read those lines, I still had a general sense of the joke, but I think references to things I knew about would have made the jokes better for me. Of course, if your other readers know what those things are, then don’t change them on my account.
Overall, this small criticism is a minor one. You have an excellent story here, and I look forward to seeing it published.
snarfus reviewed Version 2 -
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Okay, I like the changes you’ve made; the piece feels a little stronger now. Not much to comment on that I didn’t touch on the first time around, but I noticed to things.
It’s good that you changed the punishment, but I might change the phrasing a bit. Instead of “read Terry Bradshaw” maybe the “read the works of Terry Bradshaw” or the like. Also, maybe throw in a line that explains that Barnes doesn’t know Bradshaw, football, or sports in general. “From what I understand, Mr. Bradshaw is acclaimed for recieving a refund of twenty-five cents.”
I also like how Barnes got punished at the end. Funny.
snarfus reviewed Version 1 -
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It’s a cute story, and it doesn’t fall into the trap of “the underdog defies the odds and wins the game”.
One thing I would suggest is the punishment mentioned at the beginning. I don’t think a town that’s in such a sports fervor would make delinquent youths read Dickens. Having them read something by Terry Bradshaw or any other sports star would seem to be more appropriate and, frankly, would be alot funnier.
Brynn reviewed Version 1 -
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Oh god THIS sums up my highschool experience as well. I HATED sports. LOL
The awkwardness and complete bafflement at the whole sports thing in your character is great. So completely oblivious.
Some suggestions:
” came our house ” came TO our..
“brother and me” Brother and I
“several directions” too many spaces.
“move move” comma between move.
“the game is must” what? take out IS
Other than that I couldnt find too many mistakes. Overall well done, could easily be made into a larger “book-type” piece. I LOVED the sentence about the basketball shriveling up in embarrased pile, lol good job. The only thing in “body” that I would change is the end. Its incomplete, or so it seems. Maybe wrap it up a bit more thoroughly. Cant wait to see more,
Eve
dukelemoyne reviewed Version 1 -
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Oh, I feel Mr. Barnes’ pain. Been there, done that—only my sport was football. Anyway, the piece was hysterical, nicely told with feeling and affection for the subject.
Snurtz reviewed Version 1 -
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The story is pretty funny, especially the end. I can just see it happening. I think that it’s a little hard to believe, however, that your character actually never heard of basketball. I mean, if you suspend disbelief here, it’s actually pretty hilarious. Maybe it’s just my problem.
adaria reviewed Version 1 -
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I really liked the style and the story is incredible grabs you and holds you there and i am not a sports fan but i would love to read this..great work awesome talent!
DCAllen reviewed Version 1 -
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Your first paragraph is absolutely impeccable. Wow, all I can say is that you are VERY GOOD.
I bought a catcher’s mitt. (I laughed out loud.)Stretch Holtz quietly vomited in a corner. (ditto)
Proofreading notes:
is must be (typo?)
“are there (This is actually a new sentence, so it should be capitalized.)
patient, and explained (no comma here because there is no new subject)
more than lot of (typo?)
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