As a group, we’re strong defensively. Because in pickup, that’s all it takes. Most refuse to play offense unless the ball is in their hands. So we’re physical. We push, we shove, we foul. Nothing’s easy. And most importantly, we box out. None of us have Dwight Howard hops or strength, so we go the Kevin Love route – positioning, positioning, positioning.

We started out our run of five games with a 14-12 loss (the game was to 11). I personally couldn’t get going because my defender was simply too quick, strong and physical for me to handle. I got some buckets here and there, but nothing consistent. I’m just glad that no one had the box score, because my line would have probably resembled something straight out of the Larry Hughes/New York Knicks era. Relying on our bread and butter (jumpers), everyone else was knocking down shots. But they had that guy I’m preconditioned to hate. He cherry picked and he called weak fouls. And then he had the audacity to go nose-to-nose with Scott (wearing an Oregon Ducks t-shirt) and blurt out, “No easy buckets in New York.”

That put us over the top, anger-wise. So when we lost, we slouched down against the bleachers, pissed beyond belief and ready to go again. But our next opponents were weak and we coasted to victory. If we’re Kirk Hinrich on the athleticism scale, then they were Mike Bibby. But no one was in the gym, so we built up our confidence by hammering our overmatched opponent twice in a row.

Next up was a game were amped for. Led by a jersey wearing, muscle-bulging screamer who emphatically celebrated every positive play by his team (I’m all for positive energy, but this was bordering on Jon Gruden on Monday Night Football territory), the adversary seemed strong. But that’s lesson No. 1 of pickup: never judge an opponent based on looks. Well, we were guilty of just that, except they were way worse than advertised. So we cruised to an easy victory, complemented by defeating my favorite pickup player: the surprise guy. He’s the one that’s utterly shocked when he puts up a brick. Confusing himself for Dirk, he just can’t believe that he missed a contested 20-foot turnaround fadeaway. But it’s not his irrational confidence that confuses me most. It’s that his surprise at the miss is purely genuine. The best NBA players make 50% of their shots – but this guy is better and will not tolerate anything less.

By our fifth game (against the screamer and the surprise guy, plus three newbies), we were exhausted, although it could’ve just been me. It probably has something to do with the fact that I’m in the same shape as Eddy Curry, but I like to think that it’s because I was giving my all on every play. Anyway, we got killed. It felt like Game 4 of the Lakers/Mavs series. They countered our every punch with a jab, right hook, upper-cut, then kick to face while we were down. Every miss turned into a fast break. Every rebound went their way. So we lost 11-4, but ultimately proud of our 3-2 record.

Hopefully this Friday we can do a little better.

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