Nap Time Rocks!

#062 basketball

ang relasyon ay parang basketball. may nananalo, may nakaka-shoot, may sumasablay din.
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The jerseys positioned themselves off one by one, on the floor. The shot clock is poised to tick away. Tip-off.

‘this shirt seriously needs a makeover. get me the scissors will you?’ she says. the body on the couch did not move.

‘Please get the scissors in the table drawer out in the hall. Im stuck with this battered shirt of yours, and there are twenty pins holding it together, I just can’t possibly—’ he finally moves a limb, slowly, tendon by tendon, bone by bone. his eyes are fixed on the glowing tube six feet away.

The ball is in their court, the commentator goes, and the offensive team is proving to be strong during the first few seconds of the ball game, dominating the floor with obvious height and power lineup. Point guard #17 is setting up the play. ‘you never know what this coach is cooking,’ says the sportscaster.

he comes back with the scissors, and hands it to her on the couch. he continues to stare at the television, while she wrestles with the pins and the newly acquired scissors.

‘i don’t know why you love this old basketball shirt of yours, it’s so worn out im beginning to think you’ve had this since five years old. just buy a new one huh?’

‘uh huh’ is the only sound he utters.

the ball goes cross-country in the court, looking for an opening inside. Power forward #10 is on low post against a strong defense. he fakes a turn and opens for a quick jump shot. the ball bounces off the ring and misses. #10 makes another attempt at the basket.

‘oh yeah, mom’s visiting this weekend. I hope that’s not a problem. Were we planning to go somewhere?’

this was met with a stare that said ‘yes we were, but you’re not going to rest until I say yes it’s ok so I might as well agree with you’. back to the game. she seethes a little at the indifference.

it misses again. the defensive team (team number 2) makes the rebound. point guard #11 dribbles across the floor and opts out of a fast break. he sets up play number four. #30 cuts inside, screening for #47 who out-moves his guard, taking the pass for an early shot from the outside. the ball goes in perfectly.

‘we can visit your friends next weekend. mom can’t visit us as much anymore. i hope you cooperate this time. I don’t want the two of you avoiding each other.’

team number one feels its pride a little wounded after team number two makes the first score of the ball game. the seconds tick by, and they manage to make an easy two. the team decides to press a little backcourt defense. other than two fouls given up by each team, the next quarter happens quite uneventfully. The first half finishes with team number one up by 8 points.

half time break means bathroom break and a quick trip to the kitchen for chips and soda. the game is just getting better. he returns to his side of the couch, popping open the can. she finishes mending the old jersey and heads to the bathroom, and takes a while.

the game begins with team number two’s ball possession. since the other team seems to be a little tolerant with an 8-point lead, #47 and #11’s tag team closes the lead to only 3 points via one turn over and #42’s strong rebound. team one calls for a time out. team one’s coach gathers up his players and prepares an assault. the game resumes, a little elbowing under the ring.

‘hun I think I’ve gained weight over the last 2 weeks. do I look fatter to you?’ she calls out from the bathroom.

‘of course not. you’re just imagining things.’ he answers back.

the referee calls a defensive foul. ‘ooh, that’s gotta hurt.’ the commentator reacts.

‘what? I really think im fatter.’ she steps beside the television and places her hands on her hips. ‘what do you think? we’re eating diet food for the next 2 weeks.’

he looks at her, head to hips, and decides she is a little more plump than before but decides to follow his better judgment and complement otherwise. ‘no you don’t look fat. I think you’re sexier.’

#10 sinks in his first penalty shot. the commentator mentions that this player has a free throw average of 90%. field goals same.

she smiles and seems pleased by the compliment. she sits beside him on the couch and tries to pay attention to the game. he puts the soda can down and puts his left arm over her shoulder, and whispers whatever sweet nothing to her ear that makes her feel so much more important than these two teams playing for a coveted title.

he shoots again, and scores.

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