Just call me Mr Clutch

I play for a social league basketball team at Auckland University. I don't go there anymore for study, but I just can't stay away from the place. The gym facilities are top notch and they're usually populated with attractive females, but that's not why I go of course, just mentioning it because it's something I've innocently noticed as I've gone about my business. Yesterday we, the banally named Wildcats, played last semester's reigning champions: The Fab 5 (there's at least 10 of them). Having just come off a loss against a truly insipid group of players we didn't rate ourselves much of a chance to come away with the win. The game started with us winning the ball and one of my teammates kindly feeding me wide open in the post for an easy bucket... and the foul. I can honestly say I've never heard the type of reaction that ensued because of a three point play after I completed mine. The crowd was in hysterics, sure I went about 1/10 last week from the line, but it was still a bit much. It felt like I'd just won a gold medal at the Special Olympics.

As the game went on I kept hitting free throws (the crowd progressively less impressed with each successful attempt). We kept within about 5 points of them the whole time until the end, when we took the lead by three and they hit a three to send it into overtime. This comp squeezes 4 games onto one court in one night, meaning corners need to be cut for the sake of time management and so we play running clock, a terrible horrible dreadful thing, but necessary nonetheless. Overtime was a hearty 2 minutes with team fouls being carried over from the previous period. Both teams scored a basket each and then I got fouled with 15 seconds to go, with the Fab 5 in the penalty. I confidently stepped up to line, went through my routine and bricked the first, this seemed to loosen the tension in the arena a little. Crazy old Loren, that's more like it. My teammates offered words of consolation "we'll emasculate you if you don't hit this next one." It was settled then. The time on the clock expired. All I had to do was hit one foul shot and we could go home. As I went through my pre-shot ritual, several thoughts went through my mind. I'm tired lets get this in so I can have a breather. I wonder what Shoalin temple's like. Emasculation. Win the game. Do it for my hommies in the gangstaleen. Never divide by zero. Finally I decided: lets not worry about any of that there's the hoop there and here's the ball going through it. We won the game and none of the bastards in the crowd cheered.

Today...
Bench 75/15*5

volume: 5625kgs

Then I went to McD's and had a mean feed.