Angst and Basketball
April 21, 2008
I spent three and half hours, on a perfect Sunday afternoon, drafting an imaginary NBA team in a league I will likely never play in. The other twenty eight people that were supposed to be in the league no showed the draft, so it was just Rob and I talking trash, while a soulless computer hustled us into a series of bad decisions and interpersonal conflicts.
During the 15 minute wait that punctuated each 10 second turn, I stood underwear clad in front of my street side window, doing squat thrusts and weighted lunges. It was my way of punishing the world for not being sufficiently enticing to give up my inane choice of activity. Eventually I begin doing fancy plyometric drills, trying to avoid eye contact with the city folk that pass beneath my window. I cannot attest to the location of my underwear.
Predictably, this utter misuse of a day stirred up the sort anticathartic angst that leads to games of Russian roulette, and purchases from Ikea. I feel like gathering up children and forcing them to watch a slide show of my trip to Pomona beach….until they start calling out the names of the waiters.
The irony: the reason I engaged in a multihour draft with theoretical strangers, instead just playing a few quick games with Rob, was a desire for narrative; a greater context to celebrate my victories. In the process I created a dead spot in narrative of my actual life. The need to freeze and construct my fun made it this draining artless thing; leading to a day of perseverative lament and overwritten self commentary.
The moral of this dismayingly true story: Do stuff, instead of trying to make the non-stuff you are doing seem important.