What's in a name.

I love winning. Even more than I love winning, I HATE losing. You just never get used to that pang. And it never gets milder either. Every loss is like the first. So while I had a great time winning our first two games this weekend in our tournament, I barely remember it because we lost our last game and I am still recovering from the pang. We lost by 6 and generally, as a rule, I never blame a loss on one thing, but as with any rule, there are exceptions. I can say without any doubt that we lost because every other possession, almost literally, we gave the ball back to them. It was unreal. It started with me and as with so many things relating to me these days, it was contagious. We will face this team again in our Division come season, and that is the only thing providing some solace. All our team needs right now is consistency... despite winning most of our games so far, we have yet to put 40 solid minutes of basketball together. 

I don’t know when it happened, but I’m old. Ya, you heard me. I MUST be like, at least 35 the way my body aches. Bad joke, I know. I’m off my game. But, I am actually terrified by the thought of how I will feel when I am older if this is how my body feels now. Silver lining, silver lining, ah there it is: I’ll finally be able to ride those motorized carts desperate for use in Vons (or Safeway if you prefer). So I got that going for me.

Speaking of sweet rides, guess who got herself some wheels (free of course)?  She’s a real beaut, let me tell ya. My favorite shade of blue, she’s got nice rims and a comfy leather seat; more of a mid-size sedan than anything. I put a picture of Helen and me below (that is her name... ya know, classy older woman, still in good form; graceful, but tough). I’ll wait while you scroll down and look…….I know what you are thinking: we look good together, right? Annnnnnnnnd Helen is a bicycle, yes. There’s just no fooling you. Bygones. Laugh all you want, but not only does Helen corner like she’s on rails, she has the coolest little bell. And I am not sure if you can tell, but she came with a little tramp stamp on her back above the tire…yep, it’s the number 32. You say hussy, I say takes one to know one. Only the most sophisticated locals cruise around on one of these bad boys. Don’t be jealous.

So a while back we took team pictures. I believe I posted my fantastic head shot, or “waist up” shot if you like, on the ol’ blog. Welllllllll, unbeknownst to me, the club also makes these inconveniently and rather inappropriately oversized trading cards as well, which required that we take some solo “action” shots. It’s funny, basketball is all about action and movement, but when there is a photographer in front of you demanding you demonstrate said actions, you’d be surprised how quickly you lose all mental and physical capacity to, well, act. You want me to dribble between my legs while smiling at the camera? This suddenly becomes mission impossible and the more you mess up the more embarrassed you become—“yes, I’ve actually been dribbling a ball for more than a decade now, they say it’s like riding a bike, I’ll try to remember.” Then, embarrassment quickly turns to frustration when he suggests another action, since evidently dribbling is just too difficult.  Finally, frustration breeds rage, which is only further perpetuated by Gary, the arrogant photographer who thinks coaching his 8 year old makes him the next Phil Jackson and an authority on the mechanics of dribbling. Dribble with my fingers, ah yes I almost forgot, thanks Gare. I love photo shoots. Good times. Now, I’ll give you a moment to consider the “action” shot they selected for me. Let me preface this by saying they took numerous, nay, superfluous amounts of action shots, but this one, this was the winner they picked. Did ya get a good look? I’m sure you’ve got some thoughts bouncing around in your head, but here is my unsolicited insight. First, my name is spelled incorrectly, which might be kismet actually since I was considering changing my name to something less…well less Whitcomb-y. Withcomb (what the card says) has sorta this regal, European thing going on. I dig it. They really did me a favor here. But, it’s really all down hill from there. My only take away from the picture itself is that my poses, my action shots must have been sooooo appalling, sooooo incredibly unusable they were forced to use an arbitrary, unprompted picture of me where I’m not even looking at the camera. Perhaps the camera detected some of my embarrassment…or frustration…or rage. Pity. I always thought those looks agreed with me.