Shapely Man Legs
By Shehtaz Huq
"Review an NBA match,” he tells me.
I am aghast. And not in a good way. I cannot recall the last time I willingly sat through a basketball game, unless it was being played out on the beloved red court of my alma mater Scholastica, and even that was a good four years ago. “I can claim no knowledge of this game,” I protest, but he is dismissive of my cries.
Where do I go about finding an NBA game? My cable network, bless its digital soul, has one thousand and seventy-five channels. The prospect of flipping through said one thousand and seventy-five channels leaves a churning, whirling, stomach-crunching feeling at the pit of my, well, stomach. He offers me no advice, expects only results. And then he signs off of Facebook, leaving me to cobble together some semblance of meaning out of this madness.
NBA. NBA. Where does one go to watch a basketball game? I contemplate calling up my Texan friends. Surely they would know? But no, Texas high school sports subsist on a steady diet of football, football, and Bud Light. One avenue dismissed, I then skim through my hundred-odd college friends who have acknowledged their friendship with me via Facebook. Will New England folk be any more helpful? Perhaps, but drunk on Boxing Day festivities, hardly any of my otherwise exceedingly helpful friends are on Facebook chat. A sad thought dawns on me that perhaps I will have to brave this storm all on my own. Defeated, I am left to look up ESPN on the TV guide. Online.
The Verizon TV guide tells me there is a game, 3PM Eastern Time. Translated: my afternoon shall now be spent watching ESPN. My father looks on in mild bafflement as I park myself in front of the TV, and turn to sports.
The game is the Phoenix Suns vs. Los Angeles Clippers. I have never heard of these two teams. I know of the LA Lakers, but now I'm not sure if that's even a basketball team. I eat my Lay's potato chips and find myself admiring the sheer altitude of the young men warming up on court. “Quite tall,” I tell myself. “And such shapely man legs. I'm not quite sure I've seen shapelier man legs in any other game, really…”
When the referee blows the whistle and the players range out on court, I am still thinking about the shapely man legs.
The next half an hour of my life goes by drudgingly. There is some character called Griffin. He appears to be African American. The commentators are very excited about him. I get the impression that he scored a three-pointer. I'm not sure if it's even called a three-pointer. Nevertheless, he is quite the beast. Maybe he's a point guard. I'm proud of myself for knowing what a point guard is. Four years of watching One Tree Hill taught me that much, at least. There is quite a bit of jabbering from the two commentators. Occasionally one of the coaches will grab his hair or wave his clipboard around in consternation. I find that amusing. And then the cameras will return to the players and their shapely man legs, which I thoroughly enjoy.
At half time, I decide to rest my eyes and restart my brain. I turn to Food Network. Iron Chef America is on. It's the Christmas special. The secret ingredient is eggnog. I am sold. An hour later I return to ESPN to find that the game is over. The post-game commentary tells me that the Clippers beat the Suns for their first victory against their Pacific Division Rivals since January 15, 2008. Which team were the Clippers again? I try, and fail, to recall the color of their jerseys. Was it yellow? Perhaps. I vaguely remember admiring the yellow of the jersey against the shapely man legs of some player. Those legs were very shapely. And tan. I enjoy shapely man legs that are tan. So maybe the yellow team was the Clippers after all.
A mild sense of disappointment lingers in my soul. I have let my editor down. To salvage some self-worth, I steel myself to watch the game highlights. For two minutes and eight seconds, I watch (and re-watch) the Clippers and the Suns duke it out. The commentary tells me that in the fourth quarter, the Suns were ahead 82-85. The aforementioned character Griffin apparently “took some tumbles.” On the purple team, Steve Nash was “kicking it out” (“Fascinating terminology,” I tell myself). The game ended on a 103-108 win for the Clippers. Was there overtime? Penalties? I can't recall. I had been thinking about Griffin's shapely man legs.
Back when it was still 2010 we presented the topic “New Beginnings”. The entry below, while slightly nauseating, manages to redeem itself nicely. This week, we bring you the topic: New Shoes. RS quite rarely focuses on fashion and this is a shout out to readers to remedy this lack of ours. Entries must be sent in to email@example.com by noon Sunday. The word limit is 500 words.
By Md. Nasid
I wake up early and help my kids get ready for school and suddenly they show me their report cards. I want to get angry but then I think, “What's the point?” I sign their cards and walk them to the school bus.
After he leaves, I confront Natasha and hope for a man-wife conversation but to my astonishment this conversation turns into the Siege of Troy in no time. My life is terrible.
That's it! I can take just about anything, but not this. I walk into the house as if nothing happened. When everyone goes to sleep, I sneak out of my room, make my way to the kitchen and cut the line to the fire alarm. I turn on the stoves, put some oily food in the oven and turn it on. I wait for an hour and yes, finally I feel the heat of a fire. My whole house burns down to ashes along with myself. Before dying I see The Grim Reaper entering my wife's room first, than my kids' room and lastly, he came for me. Willingly and satisfied, I leave the messy world behind.
I laugh a little and reply, "Chill out, it's just a game after all. Just start all over again.”
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