That Was a Crazy Game of Pick-Up

Every now and then the karma gods smile down upon us and we are thrown into favorable situations. Teenage Will Smith got sent to Bel-Air,  paralyzed Locke crashed on an island fully mobile, and recently I played in a memorable game of basketball. 

I was recently invited into a pick-up game at the Verizon Center on the Wizards practice court, a pretty sweet score. For a basketball nut, an invite into any competitive pick up game is like having a friend who bartends on a weekend, or a buddy who gives you the password to their porn account. Anyway, I got the first call to play and after wayyy too much deliberation about whether to under dress like Woody Harrelson or show up geared up much too seriously, I headed over one tie-dyed cap short of completely toolish. I subscribe to the belief that its always better to be underestimated.  

The game was everything one could hope for: friendly, fast-paced, and loaded with freeGatorades. I was playing with guys and girls who worked for the Wizards and Mystics (the WNBA equivalent, if that weren't an oxymoron) on the practice court of a semi-legitimate professional team. Two hours later most people were packing up and my connection had bolted a game ago. Since I didn't want to be the stranger who stayed at the party too long, it was time to go.

As I packed my bag I watched the remaining eight try to woo a couple of us back for one more full game. I offered my services if they could grab one more, a safe promise since everyone else was bailing, when I heard a new voice say "I'll fill in as tenth." There stood Gilbert Arenas, in practice garb, ball in hand. Gulp.

Next thing I know we were running it back, with Agent 0 (convenient nickname since he's logged 0 minutes for the Wiz all year) jogging up and down the floor with us. Since Arenas and I were on separate teams I made sure someone else was guarding him; I didn't need the guilt of accidentally causing further injury to the $111 million man. I wouldn't have been too embarrassed though since Gil only jogged, attempted a couple shots, and showed the defense commitment of a paper-mache chastity belt. 

In the end we ran for 10 minutes with Arenas, who looked rusty and/or cautious, but was a cool guy. He gave dap to our good plays, or at least good plays scaled down for a curly, lanky left-hander. He was gracious, generous, and seemed to just be happy being on the court. It was a crazy game of pick-up.