“I’m bounced, thrown, and slammed. Can you guess what I am?”
I’m bounced, thrown, and slammed. Can you guess what I am? It’s a sport I personally hate, only because I am the sport. Yep, I am a basketball. For me, getting a break is known as a timeout, and those last for just 30 seconds to a minute. Here is just one example of my everyday routine:
Wait. Before I get to all the good stuff (or in my case the bad stuff), I have to tell you my name. I am Wilson (Wilson is printed on my stomach, so I guess that’s like a name tag, right?) Alright, enough about me, let’s start!
Right now, all of the basketball players are just holding me in their hands, and I get to see the crowd watching. I never really understood why they have to be here to watch me get abused all day. Anyway, I’m looking at the crowd, and then, I’m looking at the floor. What did I do wrong?! I was just enjoying the view, and I get slammed, or dribbled as these crazy people call it, to the floor!
As I think about what happened just now, I am bounced more, and more, and more! Just stop already! And this is just pregame practice…
This is real game play. The players from both teams line up, while I’m being held in the hand of a guy dressed in black and white. His hands are cold like water put in a freezer (or ice for that matter).
“Can I have a blanket?!” I yell.
And then I realized to them, this is how I sound all the time: “………”
The next thing I know, I’m in the air, which is about the best part of the game. To me, this is like a rollercoaster. To them, it’s “Let’s slap Wilson” time. And slap me they do. I’m slapped so hard that I fly backwards. Why can’t I just have fun? It’s even worse that I don’t know what the teams are, and who to blame for my harm. When will they just stop!? I’m serious this time. I just want to be able to have some peace and quiet every now and then.
Before I land, I fall into the hands of a sweaty person. The game just started and I’m already wet! I don’t even have a bathing suit on! The man holding me bounces me around and around over and over again. I think I’m going to black out!
Finally, he stops. But now, I’m face to face with a guy with a not-so-nice look on his face. He swipes at me repeatedly, and ends up slapping me in the stomach. Hard. Thank God I didn’t just eat.
The man that slapped me picks me up and bounces me hard all the way to the other side of the field (or court, whatever) and takes me into the air with him, and shoves me into a hole. The worst part: The hole doesn’t have a bottom! So, I fall straight to the floor.
Just then, I notice people laughing. They’re actually laughing! They enjoy this? This is absurd!
My routine of black out and bash goes on for a while, 48 minutes if I remember right. Finally, just finally, the game is over. I’m held in the palms of a non-sweaty person (at least some people aren’t half water) and taken to a dark room (I should’ve put in something about me hating the dark when they asked me about myself before I decided to be part of the NBA which stands for National Ball Abuse, I think. Oh wait, they didn’t ask me. They didn’t even give me the choice of being a basketball!). Then, I hear a zip, and I’m shoved into a bag. Wait… I’m shoved into a bag! That is not how this is supposed to end. I am the real winner. Those humans think that they won. But I was really the one who scored the points! I was the one who did all the hard work of not fainting every time I was tossed to the ground! This is completely crazy!
The next day, I see that as I’m on a court that looks pretty important. I see that printed on the floor is a sign that says NBA Finals. What? The National Ball Abuse Finals! I’m in for quite the beating.
Surprisingly, I realize that I’m not being practiced with. Normally, I get played with during the game, but also before. Huh.
Well once the game starts, chaos breaks out. In the first play, someone tries to slam me (just like last time, I have no idea who is playing who), but another person slaps me backwards all the way to the halfway point of the court. OWWWW!!! Can’t there be a single time where I don’t feel like my spine is broken? I guess not.
From that point on, things only get worse. One time someone throws a bad pass, and I fall into someone in the crowd’s drink. I am not supposed to get wet if I remember correctly.
Another time, someone else slams me down so hard, when I bounce to the floor, I go back through the hoop from the bottom. And then, of course, when I land I hit the area right between my eyes. I think I get a bloody nose. Oh wait. I’m just naturally an orange-red color.
By the time the game has come to an end, I can’t feel any part of my body at all.
As I’m held in the hands of the guy dressed in black and white, I notice that confetti is shooting out onto the court, and the team wearing purple is holding up trophies. I have never seen this happen before.
Then, a man in a fancy suit and bowtie walks up to the front of the purple team and announces, “I announce that you are the winners of the NBA Finals.”
I think, “Well, I guess they deserve to win the title of best ball abusers. They really did kill me out there…”
I feel the man in black and white take me into a dark room. “Oh, no,” I think.
Maybe I would prefer that other bag I was stuffed in last time.
I have no other basketball friends, so I pretty much have a single choice. Sleep. I know, I know, it sounds pretty lame compared to what just happened, but what else do I do? You’re probably thinking, “This is what basketballs do all day after games?”
I think, “I’m a ball with no friends in a dark room. Why not sleep?” There’s not much else to do, you’ll find, when you’re me.
Then, I hear, “Come on guys, help me find a basketball. Let’s get some post game practice.”
“Oh, no.” I think. I look around, and notice I am the only basketball in the room. Of course I am. I’ve tried over and over again to stop those humans, but I’ve realized I can’t. I just have to live with all my troubles. That’s my life as a basketball.