A few Mondays ago, I drove with my friend Jay to the basketball game we play every Monday night.  Our team, Barnes Building, had been undefeated, and would be playing a very tough team indeed.  We loosened up as we always do, and I started the game strong, scoring 2 three pointers and a layup in the first 3 minutes.  The problem was, the other team scored about 20 points as we were significantly over matched.  Our team was frustrated and I was among the frustrated.  During one foul called on me, I turned around and mentioned to the referee that he was “clearly wrong about calling that foul.”  He ignored me.  This was not our first altercation.

More frustration set in, and 5 minutes into the game, the ref called a foul on one of my teammates, and I was really upset.  I felt my blood boiling with an intensity probably not seen since the clash between alpha male marine and alpha male car salesman (who I’ve since found out is a trash man).  So the ball had been shot by the opposing team, the foul was called and the ball bounced to me as I headed towards my bench.  In realizing how frustrated I was, I motioned for someone to come onto the court in my stead.  Now I was walking toward the bench with the ball, and I flipped the ball to the opposite ref.

I suppose the referee who called the foul thought in some way I was being disrespectful, because instantly he called a technical foul on me, and stated that, “By rule, the ball must go to the closest ref.”  (this, I believe, is a bunch of crud)  Naturally my frustration got the best of me and I told him he was full of himself and that he must be living in a “horrible call world tonight.”

Then he says to me, “Are you finished?”  To which I replied, “I guess I am.”  At this point, Jay yells at me, “Marty, get out of here and go into the hall.  We need you.  Calm down.”  I knew my control issues were rising, so I took his advice, and walked towards the door.  Three steps away from the door, with my head straight down and my hands on my hips, I chuckle to myself, thinking that I really need to calm down.  Apparently, the provoking ref heard my chuckle, (no one else seemed to though) and called a double technical on me.  I was kicked out of the game.

Furious I left the room ( he wouldn’t talk to me after I made a few comments about his refing abilities) and walked in the hallways for about 15 minutes.  I had become “Angry Marty”.  I was angry.  Then I walked back into the gym, didn’t say a word, and watched as our team played well, but lost.

I guess this post was more about my shortcomings than anything.  I like competition (not a shortcoming), I like to win, and I hate to lose.  I also would (in the flesh, not the spirit) like to give the provoking referee a wedgie, but alas, he will one day be our provoking referee again, and I will need him to not try to provoke me out to the proverbial (or literal) hallway.  One lesson I learned through this however…

Angry Marty is never more productive than Level-headed Marty

Somebody scream at someone else!

I play basketball on most weekday mornings at this point. I love it because I can stay in shape, and still get to the office at a normal hour, and I love doing it.
In the pick up games I hit up, there are these two guys that are kind of good and kind of loud. We’ll call them Alpha Male Marine and Alpha Male Car Salesman. They are both white. This will come more into play later on in our story. They are typically the leaders of their teams and they make for interesting discussion.
I HATE BEING ON THE SAME TEAM AS ALPHA MALE MARINE! He gets down on himself, and he yells at anyone who dares to do something like miss a shot or get the ball stolen from them. It gets so bad at times, I think he’s going to walk off the court and cry, but instead he chooses to stick it out and yell some more at his teammates. It gets so bad, I see other people on our team (when I have the joy of being on his team) yelling at themselves for missing the shot or getting the ball stolen just to deflate some of the fun the Alpha male Marine will have in yelling at the teammate.
The Alpha Male Car salesman isn’t so bad to be on the same team with. He’s better than Alpha male Marine, and typically doesn’t yell at his team. This is nice because every once in a while I will miss a shot or get a ball stolen. This way, I don’t have to yell at myself. I can just play. But the problem with Alpha male Car salesman is that he freaks out when someone on the opposing team disagrees with him on a foul or a call he made. I mean freaks out. I’m quite certain it’s a case of ‘roid rage, but nonetheless, it’s disturbing.
So this morning, I’m on Alpha male Car salesman’s team, and we’re winning, and Alpha male Marine is yelling at his teammates, and I’m just smiling because that’s not me. But then Alpha male Car salesman drives to the basket in between two opposing players and the ball goes out of bounds. Alpha male Car salesman proclaims it our ball because the ball hit one of those opposing players. Alpha male Marine vehemently disagrees with this call, and all hell breaks loose.
They start yelling at each other and screaming and no one cares. Everyone else just wants to play basketball, not take the sides of the two high school wannabee warriors.
“Come on” a lot of guys scream back at them. “We have to be at work soon!”
But it was to no avail. Alpha male Marine and Alpha male Car salesman continued their words of fury for the next several minutes, helping  me to  finally realize…

Just exactly why middle aged white guys are always the serial killers.