jasonbarrow.com loses a basketball game

Brendan Dougherty, the young Greek, woke up early. He couldn’t sleep. Though his faith had rewarded him so many times in the past, he still worried that not all would be right.

Summer heat had already begun to sneak upon this magnificent mid-May morning. A neighbor screamed that they hated alliteration, but Brendan just dismissed the cries as gibberish. Somewhere an author sighed. Brendan kicked off his sheets. He wanted to go back to sleep, but knew if he did he’d only lie awake thinking about every moment in which someone had accused him of being too small or not strong enough or just plain worthless. His life was full of detractors quick to point out his limitations and during life’s idle moments he couldn’t help but go over every single one of these, one by one, day by day.

In middle school, Dougherty had been a promising talent. He was two inches taller than any of his other classmates in seventh grade, but like many middle school athletes who dwindle into mediocrity he suffered one of the greatest tragedies an aspiring athlete can experience during their teenage years: he stopped growing.

At the courts a few of the regulars were already there. One of them, a big Italian named Barrow, hit his first five shots of the day. After he made each one he demanded that he be given another chance, shouting for the ball until it was in his hands. Each successful basket also was coupled with a loud scream from the lanky Dago. “Jasonbarrow.com,” he yelled.

The season was still young, and the winter gnomes had been remittent only a few weeks (Forthright school children will tell you they saw these tiny wintry men taking cover in the northern caves of Manitoba), but Barrow was confident with his invincibility in 2007.

“I've decided that I'm not going to lose a basketball game all season,” said Barrow after his first match and he hadn’t yet. His confidence grew with each successive victory. After victory number three he could be heard on the internet telling his friends, “I’m the nicest player around right now.”

Brendan rolled up to the courts a few minutes before ten and the games began. It was two-on-two action for a good hour. The hour ended up being pretty uneventful. Barrow won all three games and began rounding up everyone for a victory meal in his name.

“Yo Barrow,” said Brendan from the shadows of a eucalyptus tree. He was getting his water bottle. He had left it in the shade, and he now used the moment and situation to call from the shadows in a way that was meant to challenge Barrow’s manhood, but came off more like normal conversation.

“What?”

“I can take you.”

There was laughter from the other players.

Brendan ignored the laughter and thought of an interview with Gilbert Arenas he had read.

“So in this commercial,” says Arenas, “I'm gonna throw my shoes into the stands after I've just hit a game winner, and I throw these shoes. Everyone starts to react, and you see everything in slow motion. Everyone's pushing, shoving, doing whatever it takes to try to get to these shoes. People from the 400 level, they're jumping off the ledge, they're missing the pile, hitting nothing but chairs, and you can just see in people's faces like, Ooooh, that hurt. While all this stuff's going on, one of the shoes pops out of the crowd, and a little girl gets it and she takes off. A couple of people see she has it, and they start chasing her, and she's looking back running—and then she gets clotheslined by a kid in a wheelchair. So he picks the shoe up and says—he's gonna have the only line in the commercial—‘They said I couldn't get it. Heh. Impossible is nothing.’ And then he rolls off.”

With this inspiration on his mind it shouldn’t have been a surprise when Brendan got out to a 3-0 lead on Barrow in a game of one-on-one-first-player-to-five-points-with-a-victory-only-recognized-if-a-player-wins-by-two-points-but-if-a-player-isn’t-up-by-two-then-the-game-continues-until-such-a-condition-is-reached.

Barrow was beside himself. “This is more bullshit than blogs devoted to sharing music using rapidshare. I can’t go down. I’m the king of the internet. Thrones don’t fall to peasants. It would be like if the largest torrent music sharing site with a pig mascot got taken out by some deputy at the Columbus, Ohio PD.”

Somewhere a winter gnome laughed and each player got chilled.

And either because Brendan grew a little skittish from opponent’s words or because he had run himself ragged getting those three points, Barrow powered his way back and the lead was erased. After the two exchanged points the score was locked at four and at the very least someone was going to need to get one more point than was originally expected.

“This was extremely aggravating, as I was already dead tired and out of breath,” Brendan would say later, “But I knew he was just as tired and hungry. I can’t be sure, but I believe I heard a whimper from him after he missed his next shot.”

I believe what Brendan heard was Barrow’s wiener dog. Regardless, the rebound came to Brendan and he brought it back to the check line, turned, and fired. It somehow went in. Perfection was slipping from Barrow’s hands; the ultimate underdog story and possibly a heartwarming Disney film were within grasp for Brendan. One point, but he could barely stand. Barrow was in a similar state, his hands on his knees, as he waited for Brendan. Brendan dribbled in place thinking over his options. He had used up everything he had getting the three-point lead at the start: fake left go right, fake right go left, and fake left, fake right, go left. He was all out of fakes.

Then he got a smile on his face. What he did next some would call a fit of insanity. He lobbed the ball a little above Barrow’s head. Barrow caught off guard couldn’t get his hands up in time and the ball grazed off them and bounced behind him. Brendan ran in and grabbed the ball uncontested for an easy layup. As the ball fell through the net, he collapsed, and screaming, “MY GREATEST DAY.”

[Note: It was later determined that Brendan is not Greek.]