As Craig Bolerjack would suggest, buckle up, for the following paragraphs I declare to be true.
The ballers of the 16th Ward of the Riverton Summerhill Stake have always been few in number. On a snowless Thursday night myself and three others arrived for our weekly dose of church ball in what we lovingly referred to as the SHITTY League (Spastic Hoops Involving Testy Tubbies Yelling). We were down a man, and let it be known that a forfeit would not have been foreign to us. But fate had different plans in store that night. A member of our Young Men's team was in the crowd, a priest of greater basketballing pedigree than any of we four senior members, and greater we would learn than the hordes of the opposing squad.
Our opponent, the Parkway Ward, having no desire to go home with a forfeit victory granted allowance for the youngster to join us such that 5-on-5 could occur.
Wait one second, are priests allowed to play elders quorum church ball you ask? Maybe, maybe not, I don't know the ins and outs of church ball rules. What I do know is this wasn't a game of church ball. It was a game of pre-season church ball.
Allow me to deviate for a moment.
Some things in life matter. How under or over cooked your toast is. How fast the button to close the elevator door responds. Church ball matters less than that. In fact, church ball doesn't matter at all. And if church ball doesn't matter, then pre-season church ball really, really, really doesn't matter.
Spoiler Alert: The Parkway Ward does not agree with the above statement.
For a game that would involve buzzer beaters, injury time outs, and officiating controversies the first quarter sure started with a high degree of casualness. And with good reason. Our opponents boasted 5 starters and 5 bench warriors, one of which was Rubeus Hagrid's brother. Meanwhile we had three people who looked like they had never touched a basketball before, a bald person (me), and a 17-year old.
So naturally we proceeded to annihilate.
And by we I mean the 17-year old. Parker Jacobsen, he of priest quorum fame, hit on 8 or 9 of his first 10 threes and we went into halftime with a 15 point lead. The Parkway Ward was not pleased.
They were also not at their bench.
Whereas most church ball teams use the half time break to grab a drink, take practice shots, flex at the madams in the crowd, or huddle up alongside the coach for a new game plan (which in church ball consists of fouling as much as possible and shooting threes) the Parkway Ward had mobbed the scorer’s table and were debating something with the stake athletic representative. I assumed they were arguing about a mistake in the score, or maybe that someone’s foul tally was off.
And then as voices raised I heard the words: the Parkway Ward was arguing that our 17-year-old should be disqualified for the second half. They wanted to win by forfeit.
Had Michael Jackson leapt from his grave and moonwalked through the gym I could not have been in a greater state of shock than I was at this moment, listening as a group of adult men with adult lives and adult problems tried to persuade a volunteer athletic director to reverse a rule they had signed off on just 20 minutes prior so they could reduce our team to 4 players, end the game early, erase the shame of a 15-point deficit, and backdoor their way to victory in a pre-season game of church basketball, which in terms of global importance falls somewhere between winning a game of Candyland and having a silent fart pass without smell.
My shock turned to embarassment. I was embarassed for these people who would prefer to go home at halftime with a non-participation victory, who would simply prefer not to play, rather than risk the possibility of losing a glorified pickup game to a kid and a cast of double dribblers. Like the University of Utah trying to quit the football series with BYU after gaining the upper hand, or Michael Scott trying to prematurely end the basketball game against the warehouse after taking a small lead, Parkway was hoping for victory in the cheapest of ways possible.
For a minute it was like a Wild West shootout. Our team stood on one end of the court. The athletic director stood some feet away from us, and the other team stood behind him. No one said anything.
Suddenly an unnamed and unsung hero of the Parkway Ward found a testacle rolling around on the floor. He picked it up, examined it, and said: “We should let the kid play. It’s more fun if we actually get to play.”
And just like that it was decided. The game was back on and the third quarter was all Parkway. Whether it was the rousing “It’s more fun if we actually get to play” speech or an energy burst fueled by humiliation, Parkway erased our 15-point lead. They unleashed Hagrid in the post and he scored on all of us, myself included, and let me say I’ve always enjoyed watching the clip of Vince Carter dunk on that Australian guy but now I feel sorry for the Aussie if you know what I mean.
With Hagrid feasting on us and fatigue starving us it looked like Parkway was going to run our team off the court until two church ball hallmarks -- excessive violence and officiating incompetence -- lit a spark in our tired five man crew. I’d pretty much been a non-factor all game, but there I was bringing the ball up the court when the officials whistled for a stoppage. I stopped and Parkway didn’t. While I stood stationary holding the ball, looking to the official for the explanation, Parkway’s point guard “stole” the ball from me by smacking my arms and raced for a layup.
Amused that the guy would foul me even when I wasn’t moving, I let loose a long and cocky smirk, only to promptly lose my mind when the officials counted the layup. For the second time in the game I was speechless. My team began screaming at the refs and as tends to happen in church ball things escalated quickly. I started shoving Hagrid in the post. Simple rebounds turned into scrums. Suddenly both teams were deploying a sloppy and foul-filled full court press. And then as 17-year old Parker drove the lane Parkway decided the best defense would be to tackle him into the stage.
For the second time that night our team stood on one side of the court and Parkway stood on the other with the athletic director buffering between us, attending to a sprawled out Parker. A lot of sheepish faces avoided making eye contact and it all felt reminiscent of a trip to a crowded urinal until Parker hobbled to his feet and the customary round of applause was delivered. As I looked at the tackler, a fellow who I pegged to be at least 10 years older than me, I wondered, what does it feel like to want to win so badly that you'll try and injure someone who could be your kid's age?
At this point the pressure on the court had escalated to 2016 Warriors – Cavs game 7 levels. (it hadn’t of course, but I like to pretend it had as an excuse for the horrid shooting that would define the next four minutes after the Parker tackle) Both teams went cold and with 50 seconds left the score was tied. Enter the point guard who almost scored on the wrong hoop.
The legend of the point guard who almost scored on the wrong hoop began the year prior, when our backup point guard was fighting a cold and showed up to a game high on Benadryl. He checked into the game and immediately raced to the wrong side of the court and went for a layup. He of course missed the uncontested layup. These two facts tell you pretty much everything you need to know about this player. Back to the game.
With the clock nearing expiration, with a sputtering offense, with a limping Parker, our final possession seemed doomed to end in disaster. Someone took a wayward shot that bounced a good eight feet down the sideline. The point guard of wrong hoop fame picked it up. Without looking, dribbling, or dare I say thinking, he threw up an underhanded scoop shot that only should have existed in a game of HORSE. And lo and behold it swooshed.
In that moment nothing felt more fitting for church ball lore than to see a drama laden matchup end on a buzzer beater via a garbage shot from our least decorated player. But there were still about 10 seconds left leaving the door open for more story to be written. During the timeout I took on the role of coach for our team. “No threes,” I repeated. “Give them no open threes.”
Apparently my team absorbed the words too well. Parkway inbounded the ball and launched a three at the first opportunity and to our team’s credit, it sure wasn’t an open three. No, instead our power forward mauled the shooter and sent him to the free throw line for a game-winning opportunity. With three seconds left, Parkway controlled their destiny. The team that had tried to back out of playing, who tried to injure our best player, had to deliver now or it was all for naught. So what happened?
Don't kid yourself. This is church ball we're talking about.
He missed all three free throws and we won.
You won’t be surprised to hear the typical "good game" handshake line didn’t materialize after this game. (Which makes sense cause it’s not like this was an event sponsored by an institution that focuses on making people into kinder, more respectful individuals or anything like that) So our teams parted ways in silence, save one amazing conversation that put the final church ball moment into this all too church bally day.
It was the stake athletic director who pulled me aside.
Stake Director: "You know, technically Parker wasn’t supposed to be playing in this game."
Spencer: "I wasn’t sure what the rule was on that. Why didn’t you kick him out? Because it was a preseason game?"
Stake Director: "No, because the big guy on their team played for a Division II team and technically isn’t allowed to play either. I figured if they could have an unqualified player you guys could have one too."
For the second time that night our team stood on one side of the court and Parkway stood on the other with the athletic director buffering between us, attending to a sprawled out Parker. A lot of sheepish faces avoided making eye contact and it all felt reminiscent of a trip to a crowded urinal until Parker hobbled to his feet and the customary round of applause was delivered. As I looked at the tackler, a fellow who I pegged to be at least 10 years older than me, I wondered, what does it feel like to want to win so badly that you'll try and injure someone who could be your kid's age?
At this point the pressure on the court had escalated to 2016 Warriors – Cavs game 7 levels. (it hadn’t of course, but I like to pretend it had as an excuse for the horrid shooting that would define the next four minutes after the Parker tackle) Both teams went cold and with 50 seconds left the score was tied. Enter the point guard who almost scored on the wrong hoop.
The legend of the point guard who almost scored on the wrong hoop began the year prior, when our backup point guard was fighting a cold and showed up to a game high on Benadryl. He checked into the game and immediately raced to the wrong side of the court and went for a layup. He of course missed the uncontested layup. These two facts tell you pretty much everything you need to know about this player. Back to the game.
With the clock nearing expiration, with a sputtering offense, with a limping Parker, our final possession seemed doomed to end in disaster. Someone took a wayward shot that bounced a good eight feet down the sideline. The point guard of wrong hoop fame picked it up. Without looking, dribbling, or dare I say thinking, he threw up an underhanded scoop shot that only should have existed in a game of HORSE. And lo and behold it swooshed.
In that moment nothing felt more fitting for church ball lore than to see a drama laden matchup end on a buzzer beater via a garbage shot from our least decorated player. But there were still about 10 seconds left leaving the door open for more story to be written. During the timeout I took on the role of coach for our team. “No threes,” I repeated. “Give them no open threes.”
Apparently my team absorbed the words too well. Parkway inbounded the ball and launched a three at the first opportunity and to our team’s credit, it sure wasn’t an open three. No, instead our power forward mauled the shooter and sent him to the free throw line for a game-winning opportunity. With three seconds left, Parkway controlled their destiny. The team that had tried to back out of playing, who tried to injure our best player, had to deliver now or it was all for naught. So what happened?
Don't kid yourself. This is church ball we're talking about.
He missed all three free throws and we won.
You won’t be surprised to hear the typical "good game" handshake line didn’t materialize after this game. (Which makes sense cause it’s not like this was an event sponsored by an institution that focuses on making people into kinder, more respectful individuals or anything like that) So our teams parted ways in silence, save one amazing conversation that put the final church ball moment into this all too church bally day.
It was the stake athletic director who pulled me aside.
Stake Director: "You know, technically Parker wasn’t supposed to be playing in this game."
Spencer: "I wasn’t sure what the rule was on that. Why didn’t you kick him out? Because it was a preseason game?"
Stake Director: "No, because the big guy on their team played for a Division II team and technically isn’t allowed to play either. I figured if they could have an unqualified player you guys could have one too."
Spencer: (speechless) (again)
And there you have it. Thus ends the tale of the Parkway Ward, a team led by an ineligible player who complained about the opposing team’s ineligible player, only to be eventually defeated by an all-too-eligible player who was best known for once shooting at an ineligible basket. My word I love this stupid game.
And there you have it. Thus ends the tale of the Parkway Ward, a team led by an ineligible player who complained about the opposing team’s ineligible player, only to be eventually defeated by an all-too-eligible player who was best known for once shooting at an ineligible basket. My word I love this stupid game.
As I walked out of the church I passed Hagrid who was complaining to his wife about a long list of missed calls in the game (he was probably referencing one of the many times I used everything I had to shove him out of a rebound – lol). He stopped mid conversation and put me on the spot. “I bet even this guy thinks the refs were horrible in the game. Don’t you? Tell my wife what you thought of the refs.”
I paused, caught off guard, a bit drunk on the absurdity of the night, and altogether unprepared to have any type of conversation with my opponents. There are many things I wished I would have said, but like George Costanza I was silent in the moment it mattered.
It wasn’t until many moons later, inspired by Taylor Swift, that I thought of a comeback that is admittedly more parts cute than quip. As the Queen of Pop sang about the haters I came to realize a church basketball truth which applied then, now, and into the eternities. For no matter the participants, no matter in victory or loss, no matter what other amazing nonsense occurs during a church ball game, this one fact will never die.
Church ballers gonna bawl.
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