A lot of us have that one, maybe more than one story that we love telling our friends about the time you did this or that cool thing to or with some famous athlete. On the basketball court, I don’t have one because mine always ends up bad for me, including losing a really stupid bet with Robert Horry, almost getting posterized by Randy Moss, Adrian Peterson, a lot of streetball dunkers…hell, even Daniel Tosh (and his brother) dunked on me multiple times.
I wish I had a story like Complex writer Nick Grant that had me on the upper fold of the poster for once but I would prefer not to “shart in my shorts” afterward.
Check out this excerpt from Nick’s awesome story on Complex Sports.
After a night filled with lascivious acts and copious amounts of alcohol (some of which is still in my system), I take the court with some other dudes who play college ball somewhere just as small and insignificant as me. Hibachi strolls into the gym in some unlaced Adidas, so I’m immediately thinking: “Okay cool, he’s probably gonna tie those real tight in a minute.” NOPE. Gilbert starts the game with untied shoes. Who does this dude think he is? Ugh, I’m already annoyed he isn’t taking me seriously. I hope he tweaks his ankle.
The game starts. I still have Henny on my breath and my stomach has definitely been percolating for some time, but of course, I am stuck guarding him because none of my pussy-ass teammates want to get embarassed. Fuck it, time to strap up.
The first half is only a partial ass-busting. Not as bad as I suspected. He’s hitting some dumb shots from near halfcourt because he’s definitely got some psychological problem that tells him this is acceptable behavior, even in actual NBA games. But I’m fairly quick and strong and, most importantly, can actually jump. So even though Gilbert is probably playing 50 percent, every once in a while I get by him and score.
Before long, of course, Gilbert kicks it into high gear and fucking Usain Bolts down the court right at me with the ball, making some ridiculous move at the last second that leaves me defenseless. He does this a few more times. Going left. Going right. Then, as Gilbert brings it down on me yet again, I start to make another 50-50 decision on which side to defend—until he decides I’m in his way and bulldozes me over like a little bitch and tries to dunk on me! THE NERVE. Crowd goes wild. I’m silently weeping inside. I don’t want to play anymore. I hate basketball. Luckily Gil misses the dunk attempt, but the ref calls a foul on me, which only exacerbates the situation and the fact that I am the intended victim. This I could not stand for.
We’re neck and neck and I’m not letting any of this go. I start trying, like, really hard. I want him to pay. By the second half, it’s a close game and I’m finally warmed up with (most of) the booze out of my system. Then it happens: I’m cutting down the left flank, someone throws a pass to our center at the foul line, who then feeds me a smooth bounce pass. I take two steps—Agent Zero with me stride for stride—and take off with my left hand gripping the ball, cock back, and…BOOM SHAKALAKA.
What kind of facial is my dunk on Gilbert Arenas? Practically a bukkake. His body slams into mine, with his arm swinging desperately to try and block my attempt. He begins on my right side, which soon becomes my front as I turn my body in the air to shit on his existence. (He may have tried to kiss me midair, I’m not sure). The rim is shaking profusely. I honestly don’t remember if Gilbert falls or not, but he had to have at least stumbled when he lands because we bump together hard (pause). No taunting him or staring him down directly, though. My reaction is more towards the crowd since I land facing them straight on. Gilbert goes to line up for my free throw, puts his hands on his knees, and looks down for about 10 seconds as everyone goes nuts. Then someone comes and takes him out of the game.
People are running out of the gym with their cell phones and screaming. I think my dad sheds actual tears of joy. My teammates are jumping on me and I let out a huge roar. Then, a second “it happens”: I shart. Bad. Like, if I’m not wearing Spandex, it would be running down my leg to combine the greatest and most horrifying moment of my life in the span of seconds. The crowd is losing their collective shit and I literally almost lose mine.
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