Wine and basketball
Another one from the couch.
Two sips of vibrant wine and my caboose finds its mold on the couch.
That’s it, that’s the post.
Or it would be if it weren’t for this pesky blog deadline. A few hundred of these words must fill the page before the night is done.
My focus fights between a basketball game and writing.
Four-time champion Steph Curry bangs a three while falling out of bounds.
I write a sentence that feels as if it’s falling off the page, clinging on for hope and only barely making it to the end.
The announcers share their benign thoughts, filling the audio with hyperbole and play-by-play breakdowns of the jukes, shimmies, and slam dunks. I fill the page with false starts and equally vapid thoughts.
But still, I keep writing.
I’m an athlete in my own right tonight.
While they run, I type.
While they sweat, I ponder.
While they grouch and yell and howl at each other, I wince and cringe and struggle through another stodgy line.
I tinker with the words and all the thoughts in my head like a basketball player breaks down his opponent.
“Here’s Curry… To Poole, open for three… GOT IT!”
Timeout.
The players sip electrolytes. I sip sulfites.
The Warriors have it easy tonight—the defense feels empty. Open shots and driving lanes to boot. Free-flowing offense at its best.
I, on the other hand, face a tenacious foe: an empty page.
So who’s the real MVP here?
Shoot your shot. Say hi in the comments.
As always, thanks for reading. Catch you next time.