My dream starting five — basketball_team 🇺🇸

Matchday 1 — vs Detroit Engine-Roar

77-122 (L)

Watch the sell from Napoleon here, he leans in, he gets the defender leaning with him, and then he backs away into all that space. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Napoleon rose up over the help and hammered it down on somebody's head!

One finger to the sky, held there, eyes closed in the middle of all that noise, and Napoleon does not move. The arena figures it out and quiets for a beat. Robert Oppenheimer puts a hand on his back and says nothing, then the sound comes back like a wave.

More second chance points for Detroit Engine-Roar, and our bench is up screaming for a timeout. Rightly so.

They have to shoot over the top of this thing, and the top of it is a long way up. Filthy work from Venom.

Count it and the foul. Brutal. Detroit Engine-Roar with a three point play and a gut punch in the same possession.

The military leader makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. Screen, roll, DELIVERY from Robert Oppenheimer! Nothing but runway to the rim! The military leader had that thing halfway down and the rim spat it back out. Nobody ever warns you that the iron has a personality.

The players file out. Venom exchanges a tense look with the coach. Exclusive info: Venom is banned for life from the McDonald's near the arena. The details remain murky. And now, our halftime TV game show Shark Tank of Guppies! To win a hand-stitched quilt featuring nine unrecognizable presidents, text HOOPS to 555-0138 and answer this question: 'How many miles per gallon does a zamboni get?' We're back! The DJ cranks the volume, the players charge onto the court.

And there it is, a walk-in layup for Detroit Engine-Roar with not one hand raised in the paint. Somebody has to protect that rim.

The beauty of it is that Napoleon never has to set a screen at all, the exchange IS the screen. Nightmare to guard. Nobody touched him, nobody trapped him, and Deadpool still coughed it up. Easiest whistle these officials will blow all night.

Ohhh no. Corner three, Detroit Engine-Roar in rhythm now, and our side of the building goes silent.

Snatched his ankles, and Deadpool is still checking whether they are attached. OHHHH NO. Deadpool pinned it against the glass a half second late and that is goaltending all day.

Full stop, full sprint, and the military leader is in the paint! Nobody back at the workplace is going to believe this one. Twenty-four seconds of standing around, and Napoleon has to eat the last two of them. Possession wasted long before the shot went up.

You want basketball IQ? Ask the military leader, who just moved the rock on time without one wasted dribble. Two defenders, one gap, and Robert Oppenheimer finds it. Onions on that pass. Venom threads a BEAUTY to Napoleon under the rim and... he lays it off the bottom of the iron! Ohhhh, no.

The zone is set with Venom anchoring the middle of it and there is NOWHERE to go! Lazy crosscourt pass, and Deadpool makes them pay. Clean pick, no whistle, two easy ones before that coach can sit back down.

Nobody boxed out. Tip in, Detroit Engine-Roar, and two of ours were standing right there watching it happen.

Swing, swing, and Deadpool finds Michael Jackson on the wing before the help can even turn its head. OHHHH, what a read by Michael Jackson! He never even glanced at the rim and it is CASH on the other end. Feet already set, hands already ready. Venom takes the feed from Deadpool and cashes it.

Shimmy from the corner all the way to half court, shoulders loose, chin high. Venom is in no hurry whatsoever. The home bench tries to copy it and produces something closer to a seizure. The building decides it loves both versions equally.

You want basketball IQ? Ask the military leader, who just moved the rock on time without one wasted dribble. OHHHH no, Deadpool floats it crosscourt and it gets picked off clean. That thing is going the other way.

Napoleon slams his fist on the bench. Michael Jackson places his palm flat, as if to calm the surface. And here is the answer to our game Shark Tank of Guppies! Curtis Boggs of Hog Waller, Florida, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many miles per gallon does a zamboni get?' The answer was of course enough, and it does not care for the question. Curtis takes home a hand-stitched quilt featuring nine unrecognizable presidents! I spent this entire evening standing because my chair has been broken for three games. Nobody fixes it. See you tomorrow! Up next: 'Extreme Reading: The Terms and Conditions.' 4-hour special.

Matchday 2 — vs Miami Heart-Attack

89-132 (L)

Cold blooded from Miami Heart-Attack, way out beyond the arc, and our defense is scrambling in rotation.

The military leader pops to the arc and buries it, and nobody in this building believes that man clocks in somewhere in the morning. That is a shot selection problem, plain and simple. Venom drove into three bodies and the help defender was waiting the whole way.

Dagger from Miami Heart-Attack. You could hear the air leave this arena on that one.

The military leader just ran a give and go to perfection on national television! Somebody go tell his boss what he does after hours! Third one of these from Napoleon this quarter, third time the arc is wrong. The lane is not open real estate anymore.

Total control. Napoleon has this thing on a string. A cut with that timing from the mercenary? He is on the clock somewhere else all week and he still found time to learn the two-man game. The big man never even contested it, and Deadpool still could not get the runner to drop. That one is on him.

Halftime whistle. Robert Oppenheimer has dried blood on his elbow but plays tough. Physio's confession: Robert Oppenheimer purrs when you massage his calves. Like a cat. A big cat. And now, our halftime TV game show The Bonus Round of Regret! To win a set of curtains printed with enormous cartoon sheep, text HOOPS to 555-1224 and answer this question: 'What is the distance from the free throw line to a lifetime of regret?' We're back at it. The crowd had time to reload at the snack bar.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Michael Jackson undercut a guy in the air, that is the ONE play you never make in this league.

Turnover, layup, Miami Heart-Attack straight through us in transition. Careless basketball.

The engineer makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. BAAAANG! Michael Jackson with the alley-oop finish, and the defender never even left the floor.

Bent double with his hands on his knees, Michael Jackson takes one breath, straightens up and points at the coach who drew the play in the huddle. The coach nods once, no smile. Venom pounds the man's shoulder anyway. Respect, delivered at maximum volume.

Miami Heart-Attack again, and again nobody is home. Three straight trips down the floor with zero resistance.

The mercenary just ran a give and go to perfection on national television! Somebody go tell his boss what he does after hours! Two hands on the ball, then a fresh bounce. Somewhere a youth coach is watching the mercenary and quietly turning off the TV.

Bucket for Miami Heart-Attack. Wide open look, and nobody even ran at the shooter.

Napoleon comes off the screen and the big man drops WAY back. Robert Oppenheimer just fades to the arc for the cleanest look of the night. The engineer launched one from the logo as the horn sounded. In fairness, nobody in that huddle gave him a better option.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Deadpool was at the other free throw line when that break started! Rebound to fast break in one motion, courtesy of the mercenary. That is not a hobby, that is a skill set. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Robert Oppenheimer scooped that in from underneath the rim!

Watch the spacing there, Deadpool hits Venom right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. Venom holds it, waits, waits some more, then lets it go at the last possible instant to Deadpool flying by. That is a half-second window and he threads it. Third look from distance for Deadpool tonight and the arc keeps flattening out, tired legs writing checks the jumper cannot cash.

Chased down from behind and wrapped up before he can get into his dribble, all courtesy of Michael Jackson. Here comes the free throw parade.

Venom unclasps his chain and squeezes it in his fist. Michael Jackson runs a hand down his face. And here is the answer to our game show The Bonus Round of Regret! Homer Fussell of Poke Salad Crossing, Rhode Island, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'What is the distance from the free throw line to a lifetime of regret?' The answer was of course fifteen feet, same as it has always been, which is the cruel part. Homer therefore wins a set of curtains printed with enormous cartoon sheep! I tried to take a selfie with the court in the background. My thumb is over the lens. Good night! And now: 'Naked and Afraid: Lost in the Shopping Mall.'

Matchday 3 — vs Orlando Magic-Beans

88-128 (L)

Turnover, layup, Orlando Magic-Beans straight through us in transition. Careless basketball.

Day job, then this: the military leader reads a rolling big like a coach with twenty years on the bench. That is the shot Deadpool wants every trip down the floor, it drops nine nights out of ten, and tonight is the tenth.

Dagger from Orlando Magic-Beans. You could hear the air leave this arena on that one.

OHHHH the pocket pass! Napoleon splits the coverage and the roll man is loose under the basket! In, around, and gone. The iron gives Michael Jackson nothing.

Nobody boxed out. Tip in, Orlando Magic-Beans, and two of ours were standing right there watching it happen.

Break! Robert Oppenheimer has left a puddle of sweat at every step through the tunnel. Did you know Robert Oppenheimer plays better when it's raining outside? Even indoors. Go figure. And now, our halftime TV game show Match Game Winding Down! To win a souvenir shot glass from a state park with no water in it, text HOOPS to 555-0509 and answer this question: 'Which came first, the backboard or the regret?' Alright, it's time. The second half waits for no one.

Michael Jackson reads it two passes early, steps into the gap and takes away the entire lane before anybody gets there. No block, no foul, just Michael Jackson being ENORMOUS in the lane, and that shot never had a chance.

Two on the shot clock and the ball ends up with the mercenary, which is how you get a twenty-eight footer off the wrong foot. The philanthropist outworked everybody on the glass! Effort does not care what is printed on your business card. Michael Jackson drives, draws two bodies, and swings it one more time to the corner. That is the pass nobody is required to make. Count it AND the foul! Robert Oppenheimer refused to be denied at the rim.

The whole second unit is on the floor before the ball is out of the net. Robert Oppenheimer disappears underneath them. Somewhere in the pile shoe comes off. Michael Jackson is on the outside of it screaming straight up at the ceiling.

OHHHH that is filthy! Napoleon on the handoff and the man guarding it is still fighting over the top. Two points left on the floor by Robert Oppenheimer, and those are exactly the ones that come back to bite you in the fourth.

Towels are FLYING for the engineer! Going back to the day job on Monday is going to feel extremely strange after a night like this.

And there it is, a walk-in layup for Orlando Magic-Beans with not one hand raised in the paint. Somebody has to protect that rim.

Nobody dribbled, nobody isolated, Deadpool and Robert Oppenheimer just played basketball and the defense got shredded. The mercenary just had his shot delivered into the courtside seats. Tough scene, but at least the day job is safe.

More second chance points for Orlando Magic-Beans, and our bench is up screaming for a timeout. Rightly so.

Laser from Deadpool, corner to corner, and that closeout gets there about a second and a half too late. Michael Jackson eats the contact so Venom can run free along the baseline, and the catch-and-shoot look is right there. The vigilante gets it handed over on a silver platter at point blank range and drops it. Somewhere in this building a coach is questioning every decision that led here.

The engineer is in a full blown heat check and the building has stopped pretending this is normal. That is not a hot streak, that is a takeover. The engineer just fired one in from the logo and the roof nearly came off this place. That is in nobody's job description.

The crew chief has the headset on, three angles on the screen, everybody in here staring at Michael Jackson. The officials come back out, cross their arms, and Michael Jackson goes from hero to spectator on one signal.

Napoleon rips off his headband and throws it on the ground. Michael Jackson picks up his own and folds it carefully. And here is the answer to our game show Match Game Winding Down! Georgette Blalock of Little Persimmon, North Carolina, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'Which came first, the backboard or the regret?' The answer was of course the regret, by about eleven minutes. Georgette therefore wins a souvenir shot glass from a state park with no water in it! Confession: I bet against my favorite team tonight. Superstition. It works half the time. Alright, good night! Up next: 'Planet Earth: Exploring the World from My Couch.' Immersive documentary.

Matchday 4 — vs Philadelphia Injury-Report

84-109 (L)

Count it and the foul. Brutal. Philadelphia Injury-Report with a three point play and a gut punch in the same possession.

Cross court, on a rope, from the mercenary. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. Watch Michael Jackson plant his feet, absorb the hit, and spring Venom out of that corner in a blink. Getting to his spot and elevating, Venom puts it on the back iron, up over the front, and out. Half a rotation from two points.

That crossover was not about getting a shot up. Deadpool pulled it out to tell everybody in the gym whose possession this is. Straight back to the office for the mercenary, and the group chat has already seen it twice.

Philadelphia Injury-Report again, and again nobody is home. Three straight trips down the floor with zero resistance.

Here is the part that never makes the highlight package: Napoleon controlling tempo, burning clock, hunting the mismatch the second one shows up. Off the pin-down comes the mercenary with nobody inside a zip code. Somebody out there knows how to use a screen, and it is not who you would guess. Somewhere a defender is explaining to his family why the mercenary is going to be on the front page tomorrow morning.

Blowing smoke off two fingers like a gunslinger, Deadpool holsters them in his waistband. Venom plays dead on the baseline. The mascot joins the bit uninvited. A referee has to physically separate a celebration from an inbound play.

Buzzer sounds, halftime! Venom walks head down toward the tunnel. Word is Venom sleeps with his basketball shoes on. I can't confirm it, but the source is reliable. And now, our halftime TV game show The Amazing Race to the Buffet! To win a cooler still full of ice from last summer, text HOOPS to 555-0107 and answer this question: 'How many degrees is room temperature in a room that nobody likes?' We're back at it. The crowd had time to reload at the snack bar.

Camping in the paint again, Venom. At some point somebody is going to hand him a sleeping bag.

More second chance points for Philadelphia Injury-Report, and our bench is up screaming for a timeout. Rightly so.

OHHHH he went BACKDOOR! Robert Oppenheimer never broke stride and he has the ball UNDER THE RIM! Jab, jab, STEPBACK. Robert Oppenheimer snatched his ankles and let it go clean.

Chest bump so violent that Robert Oppenheimer and Deadpool both end up on the hardwood. They lie there laughing while play is stopped. A trainer jogs out to make sure nobody cracked a rib. The crowd is chanting before either man gets back to his feet.

That was pure cinema from the engineer. Whatever he does for a living, it clearly involves an audience and a curtain call.

And there it is, a walk-in layup for Philadelphia Injury-Report with not one hand raised in the paint. Somebody has to protect that rim.

The military leader just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. The extra pass! Robert Oppenheimer had the look, gave it up anyway, and Napoleon buries it. BANG! BRICK! Napoleon throws up a prayer and the iron sends it straight back out to half court!

Kick out to Deadpool, one more to Napoleon, splash from the wing and this bench is on its feet. Oh my. Napoleon did not even draw iron.

Venom goes fishing at the point of attack, the ball handler feels the hand on his elbow, and the arm goes straight up.

Whistles. Monitor. And Napoleon standing frozen at midcourt. The bench behind Napoleon is going crazy, and it should be, that is a stolen possession without stealing anything.

Napoleon takes off his shoes and carries them like a ghost. Deadpool follows the same path. And here is the answer to our game The Amazing Race to the Buffet! Virgil Stackhouse of Dead Battery Springs, Nevada, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many degrees is room temperature in a room that nobody likes?' The answer was of course seventy-two, and somehow still wrong. Virgil takes home a cooler still full of ice from last summer! During halftime, I tried to interview the mascot. It ignored me. I'll recover eventually. See you soon. In the meantime: 'Wipeout: IKEA on a Saturday.' Worse than the actual obstacles.

Matchday 5 — vs Phoenix No-Defense

85-111 (L)

The ball travels faster than five defenders can, and Napoleon has known that all night long. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Robert Oppenheimer whips that pass one-handed on the move and the roll man gathers it through contact. Filthy. The philanthropist launched one from the logo as the horn sounded. In fairness, nobody in that huddle gave him a better option.

Count it and the foul. Brutal. Phoenix No-Defense with a three point play and a gut punch in the same possession.

OHHHH the hesi! Napoleon froze him solid and he is already gone! Look at Napoleon mouthing an apology toward his own bench before the call is even announced. He knew instantly.

Somebody explain how the military leader reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. Deadpool hands it off to Robert Oppenheimer, slices through the seam, and the return pass is sitting there waiting at the rim. The ball skips around the perimeter, Robert Oppenheimer finds the open man on the weak side, and Deadpool buries it.

Nothing but a nod. Deadpool jogs back on defense with his eyes half closed, like the shot was a formality he had penciled in. The entire arena is levitating and he could not look less involved. The Phoenix No-Defense bench looks personally insulted.

Nobody boxed out. Tip in, Phoenix No-Defense, and two of ours were standing right there watching it happen.

Well-deserved break. Venom looks like someone who just ran a marathon. Quick anecdote about Venom: apparently he eats pasta with ketchup before every game. To each their own ritual. And now, our halftime TV game show Jeopar-Dee-Dee! To win a mounted singing bass that only knows half the song, text HOOPS to 555-0305 and answer this question: 'How much does a rumor weigh at sea level?' We're back! Flushed cheeks and hungry eyes on the players.

Right on time, not a half step late. Michael Jackson makes that ball handler pull it back out with absolutely nothing to show for it. Contested! Michael Jackson makes him change it in midair.

Ice in his veins for a guy who answers to military leader the rest of the week. Professional shot, amateur resume. Two on the shot clock and the ball ends up with the vigilante, which is how you get a twenty-eight footer off the wrong foot.

Here comes Michael Jackson sprinting off the elbow. Napoleon slides it into his pocket and that chase defender is buried. Missed layup for the philanthropist and the whole arena groans as one. Great hands in the day job, apparently they do not travel.

More second chance points for Phoenix No-Defense, and our bench is up screaming for a timeout. Rightly so.

That hesitation move is exactly why they keep sending a second body at Deadpool the moment he crosses half court. Deadpool went for the deep heat check and produced the loudest silence of the night, roar to OHHHH in half a second.

Venom rides the ball handler all the way up the floor and finally puts a forearm in his back. Officials blow it dead. Fouled out. Venom gets a standing ovation on the walk off, and he earned every single decibel of it.

Cold blooded from Phoenix No-Defense, way out beyond the arc, and our defense is scrambling in rotation.

Punish the help, that is the rule, and Robert Oppenheimer just did it by hitting Michael Jackson on the back side with acres of room. Whirl, and GONE! Michael Jackson leaves the defender grabbing at a jersey that stopped being there half a second ago. A jump hook over a grown professional defender, from the philanthropist? That is the most unexpected fundamentals clinic of the night.

SKIP PASS! Deadpool fires it cross court to Venom and the defense is dead in the water! The vigilante just ran that two-man game like he has a decade of film on it. Somebody get this man a contract. Catching it right at the cup with nobody within eight feet, Michael Jackson goes up too strong and the ball rides high off the backboard.

Robert Oppenheimer stares at his hands like he doesn't recognize them. Napoleon exhales. Again. And again. And here is the answer to our game Jeopar-Dee-Dee! Ludene Crabtree of Dry Creek Junction, Oklahoma, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How much does a rumor weigh at sea level?' The answer was of course a pound and a half, considerably more in humid weather. Ludene takes home a mounted singing bass that only knows half the song! I spent the evening standing up and sitting down every thirty seconds. My Fitbit is congratulating me. Thanks for tonight. And now: '60 Minutes: The Secrets of the Office Coffee Machine.'

Matchday 6 — vs Los Angeles Nursing-Home

90-111 (L)

Won it clean! Venom got up and over him with room to spare.

Ball moves. Robert Oppenheimer to Napoleon, on time and on target. The other bench sent their best perimeter stopper out on Napoleon, and they are learning in real time that it will not be enough tonight. The military leader lines one up from four feet behind the line and the rim rejects the application on the spot. Back to the day job on that possession.

That is the pass nobody puts on a highlight reel, and Deadpool makes it every single trip down the floor. Enough room out there to set up a lawn chair, and the engineer made it himself. Total professional, in a completely unrelated profession. Rim, backboard, none of the above from the engineer! Ladies and gentlemen, that is a person with a real job, and we have all just been reminded of it.

Nobody boxed out. Tip in, Los Angeles Nursing-Home, and two of ours were standing right there watching it happen.

The military leader just created his own space with a stepback. Somewhere a scout is spitting coffee all over his notepad. Napoleon had that one all the way, perfect release, perfect arc, and the rim simply refuses to let it drop.

Halftime whistle. Napoleon spits into the trash can walking into the locker room. Fun fact: Napoleon blocked a shot in the finals... And dislocated a thumb celebrating. Classic. And now, our halftime TV game show Cash Cab of a Pickup Truck! To win a bag of forty-two mismatched socks, all for the left foot, text HOOPS to 555-0173 and answer this question: 'What do you call a free throw that goes in after hitting the ceiling?' Both teams retake the floor. The best may be yet to come.

And there it is, a walk-in layup for Los Angeles Nursing-Home with not one hand raised in the paint. Somebody has to protect that rim.

OHHHH! Michael Jackson met him at the summit and sent that thing into the third row.

Robert Oppenheimer sets the pick and DIVES to the cup. Napoleon lays it right on his hands in traffic! A timeout is coming, because no defense recovers from watching Robert Oppenheimer do that to one of their own.

Hands out, palms up, Robert Oppenheimer shrugs at the officials like he cannot explain what he just did either. Dry as a bone. Venom is doubled over at half court and the broadcast crew is howling. It goes viral before the next possession even starts.

Venom gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Robert Oppenheimer saw it a beat early. Deadpool just took a shoulder to the chest to buy Venom half a second, and half a second in this league is an eternity. The vigilante just threaded a pocket pass through two defenders. Where exactly did that vision come from? Two defenders in the lane, Michael Jackson splits them, double clutches and kisses it off the square. Count it!

Michael Jackson hangs on the rim one extra beat, letting the whole arena wait on him, then drops down into a dead-eyed mean mug. Deadpool shoves him in the chest just to get a reaction. Nothing. Stone face on a man who just changed the game.

Los Angeles Nursing-Home again, and again nobody is home. Three straight trips down the floor with zero resistance.

They do not teach that in the military leader handbook, and yet here we are. Beautiful little exchange. A cruel spin-out for the vigilante, and whatever that day job is, tonight it came with a brand new way to break your heart.

Deadpool launches it weak side, one pass, and the whole shell has to sprint. Good luck with that. The vigilante just created his own space with a stepback. Somewhere a scout is spitting coffee all over his notepad. The vigilante tried the teardrop and never got it to the rim. Turns out soft touch does not come standard with that day job.

Cold blooded from Los Angeles Nursing-Home, way out beyond the arc, and our defense is scrambling in rotation.

Over the top of everybody. Deadpool to Napoleon in the corner, wide open, catch and rise. Working him at the top of the key, low dribble, low dribble, then Napoleon rips it across and his man lunges at a ghost. Pull-up from the elbow by Napoleon, halfway down, spinning inside the iron, and it pops right back out.

Robert Oppenheimer's brow is furrowed, lips pressed thin. Michael Jackson breathes through his nose, hard, steady, trying to calm down. And here is the answer to our game Cash Cab of a Pickup Truck! Harlan Spivey of Bent Fender, Montana, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What do you call a free throw that goes in after hitting the ceiling?' The answer was of course a blessing, and the whole gym has to be re-blessed. Harlan takes home a bag of forty-two mismatched socks, all for the left foot! Tonight I learned Robert Oppenheimer used to be a military leader before basketball. Found out during a timeout. Threw me off completely. Good night everyone! Up next: 'Worst Cooks in America: Boiling an Egg Without Breaking It.' Challenge accepted.

Matchday 7 — vs Toronto Border-Patrol

82-120 (L)

Both guys crouch, both guys go, and it is Venom who wins the little argument at center court.

Unselfish basketball. Deadpool passes up a good shot and hands Michael Jackson a GREAT one. Michael Jackson blows the wide open layup!

SPIN and GO! Deadpool pirouettes right through the traffic and comes out the other side clean! Nobody moved, nobody cut, nobody set a screen, so Deadpool launches a contested jumper with the horn already going. Ugly offense.

Ohhh no. Corner three, Toronto Border-Patrol in rhythm now, and our side of the building goes silent.

OHHHHH HE SNATCHED HIS ANKLES! Napoleon left him on the hardwood and this building is SHAKING! AROUND the cylinder and OUT! Napoleon cannot believe it, and neither can this building.

The locker room fills up. Venom has already eaten three oranges. Did you know Venom keeps a photo of his dog in his right shoe? It's a Bichon. And now, our halftime TV game show Lingo but Nobody Speaks! To win a hot tub cover with no hot tub anywhere near it, text HOOPS to 555-0241 and answer this question: 'How many times can you refold a road map before it turns against you?' Both teams emerge from the tunnel. The second half can begin.

Dagger from Toronto Border-Patrol. You could hear the air leave this arena on that one.

The mercenary reads the screen perfectly, comes off shoulder to shoulder, and buys himself an open look. Veteran movement, rookie resume. Blocked into the floor. Deadpool will be seeing that one in his sleep.

Cold blooded from Toronto Border-Patrol, way out beyond the arc, and our defense is scrambling in rotation.

Clean feed from Napoleon, nothing forced, just the offense breathing. Down screen, and Venom curls hard into the middle of the floor with a full step of daylight. Easy read. The vigilante misses absolutely everything, and honestly, the nerve to even attempt that shot deserves something. Not points. But something.

Oldest play in the book and it still works: Deadpool passes, the defender peeks at the ball, and that one beat is the whole possession. Rim out for Deadpool, the crowd came up and sat right back down, and you can hear the groan from every corner of the arena.

Bucket for Toronto Border-Patrol. Wide open look, and nobody even ran at the shooter.

Across half court, a quick survey, a point to the weak side, and Napoleon drops it off to Venom on time and on target. A single dribble is all Venom needed to get downhill, and the back side of that defense is in complete disarray. Off the dribble, a full step behind the logo, straight down. Tomorrow the vigilante goes back to work, tonight he owns this arena.

Baseline spin from Napoleon at full speed, and his man never even gets a hand into the picture. Filthy stuff. Every highlight show in the country runs that clip tonight, and unfortunately for Napoleon he is on the wrong end of it.

And there it is, a walk-in layup for Toronto Border-Patrol with not one hand raised in the paint. Somebody has to protect that rim.

Read, screen, delivery, right on the money. A military leader making the right pass every single time, and the league is taking notes. Somebody show the rest of the league what the vigilante just did on that block. Footwork straight out of 1987!

Napoleon unclasps his chain and squeezes it in his fist. Deadpool runs a hand down his face. And here is the answer to our game Lingo but Nobody Speaks! Clovis Whittenberg of Number Nine Curve, New York, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many times can you refold a road map before it turns against you?' The answer was of course three, after which you simply live with it open. Clovis takes home a hot tub cover with no hot tub anywhere near it! My evening? I spent it holding back tears. Of joy? Of exhaustion? Both. That's a wrap! Coming up: 'American Idol: Accountant Edition.' Singing, dancing, and spreadsheets.

Matchday 8 — vs Minnesota Ice-Wall

79-123 (L)

Ohhh no. Corner three, Minnesota Ice-Wall in rhythm now, and our side of the building goes silent.

Napoleon feels the contact, spins off that shoulder, and the defender is left hugging a whole lot of nothing. That is a dime from Deadpool that deserved so much better, and Napoleon knows it, head down, jogging back before the ball even lands.

Cheap. Nothing about that shot was going down, and Robert Oppenheimer handed over three freebies anyway. Robert Oppenheimer slides in late on the drive, the official punches the fourth, and the coach is already waving for a sub.

They are burning a timeout on the engineer! Somewhere in that huddle a whiteboard is getting erased in a real hurry.

The military leader is out here running a pro offense with hand signals, not one hint of panic, and he clocks in somewhere else in the morning. The defender planted his feet, and Robert Oppenheimer said thank you very much and drove straight through his front pocket. The engineer just created that shot from scratch and drained it. Not bad for somebody clocking in at a real job tomorrow morning.

The locker room. Napoleon sprawls out full-length on the bench. I've been told Napoleon once ordered a pizza during a timeout. The coach was not amused. And now, our halftime TV game show American Idle! To win a two-year subscription to a newsletter about gravel, text HOOPS to 555-0059 and answer this question: 'What is the recommended number of nacho cheese pumps per tray?' We resume. Eyes locked in, jaws clenched.

Enough room out there to set up a lawn chair, and the military leader made it himself. Total professional, in a completely unrelated profession. Napoleon attacks the paint, absorbs the bump, twists his body all the way around the defender and reverses it in. FILTHY.

Dagger from Minnesota Ice-Wall. You could hear the air leave this arena on that one.

No hero ball here: Deadpool takes what the defense gives and moves it along. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Napoleon put that man in a blender and the third row felt it! Off the back iron for Napoleon, that one had all the distance and none of the accuracy, and the board goes the other way.

Bucket for Minnesota Ice-Wall. Wide open look, and nobody even ran at the shooter.

That is the pass that beats a zone, and Robert Oppenheimer threw it before the help even committed. Beautiful footwork on that one from Deadpool, the pivot foot never budges, which is precisely why the whistle stays in the pocket. Rim, backboard, none of the above from the mercenary! Ladies and gentlemen, that is a person with a real job, and we have all just been reminded of it.

Cold blooded from Minnesota Ice-Wall, way out beyond the arc, and our defense is scrambling in rotation.

A full spin move through traffic from the military leader! Whatever they teach in that trade, footwork is apparently part of it. Two on the shot clock and the ball ends up with the military leader, which is how you get a twenty-eight footer off the wrong foot.

Turnover, layup, Minnesota Ice-Wall straight through us in transition. Careless basketball.

Second pass beats the rotation, Deadpool to Robert Oppenheimer, and the closeout gets there about half a second too late. Gift wrapped by Napoleon, and Robert Oppenheimer cannot finish the two footer. That one is going to sting.

This is the part of the league nobody loves and everybody watches: Napoleon waits with both hands on top of his head. Cold, clinical, and correct. That monitor just took everything from Napoleon.

Napoleon looks like someone who hasn't slept in three days. Venom looks like someone who won't sleep tonight. And here is the answer to our game American Idle! Lamar Twitty of Little Sandy Corner, Delaware, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What is the recommended number of nacho cheese pumps per tray?' The answer was of course three, and anything past three is a lifestyle. Lamar takes home a two-year subscription to a newsletter about gravel! On my end, I ate three chocolate bars during the timeouts. Sports make you hungry, even in the booth. Off to bed! And now: 'Jeopardy: Cafeteria Trivia Edition.'

Matchday 9 — vs Houston Blast-Off

90-135 (L)

And there it is, a walk-in layup for Houston Blast-Off with not one hand raised in the paint. Somebody has to protect that rim.

The engineer just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Deadpool spun out of a double team like it was a revolving door! Nobody bothered to contest it, because nobody believed Deadpool would shoot from there. Lesson learned the hard way.

Bow to the crowd, a full waist bend with one arm across the stomach, the whole theatrical thing. Deadpool holds it three seconds. Michael Jackson applauds behind him like a valet. Somebody in row two throws a bouquet of obviously fake roses onto the floor, and Deadpool collects every last one.

Nobody boxed out. Tip in, Houston Blast-Off, and two of ours were standing right there watching it happen.

Cross court, on a rope, from the mercenary. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. OHHHH the pin-down! Napoleon pops out clean while the defender is STILL tangled up with Deadpool. Brutal. Stuck holding it as the clock bleeds out, Napoleon fades away from twenty-six feet, and it is not close.

More second chance points for Houston Blast-Off, and our bench is up screaming for a timeout. Rightly so.

Halftime whistle! Deadpool slides down against the hallway wall. Locker room anecdote: Deadpool talks to a sock called 'Assistant Coach.' We don't judge. And now, our halftime TV game show Legends of the Hidden Thermostat! To win a snow globe of a town that has never once had snow, text HOOPS to 555-0247 and answer this question: 'Which came first, the tailgate or the truck?' Back on the court. The coach changed the starting five, that'll be a surprise.

GONE down the baseline! Deadpool beat him on the first step and the paint is collapsing. That is the shot chart lying to you. Deadpool did everything right on this possession and has zero points to show for it.

Punish the help, that is the rule, and Napoleon just did it by hitting Michael Jackson on the back side with acres of room. The philanthropist runs a dribble handoff with the timing of a fifteen-year vet. Not bad for somebody who does this on weekends. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! That was IN for Deadpool!

The engineer just made the extra pass with a clean look of his own! You do not run into that kind of selflessness at the office! Somebody check that job title again: the mercenary hanging in the air like the paint owes him rent, and finishing anyway.

Deadpool rocks an imaginary baby down the sideline, cradling nothing at all and completely serious about it. Napoleon plays along, tiptoeing beside him and shushing the front row. Half the arena is doing it too. The other half is filming the half that is doing it.

Venom sets it and slides out instead of rolling, Napoleon finds him late, and the defense pays for cheating under the screen. Straight back to the office for the vigilante, and the group chat has already seen it twice.

Bucket for Houston Blast-Off. Wide open look, and nobody even ran at the shooter.

Laser from Deadpool, corner to corner, and that closeout gets there about a second and a half too late. Court vision like that on the philanthropist is absurd. Whatever the day job pays him, the assist numbers say he is badly underpriced. Deadpool fires that thing at the backboard like it owes him money. No chance from the moment it left his hand.

Ohhh no. Corner three, Houston Blast-Off in rhythm now, and our side of the building goes silent.

Eight seconds off the shot clock and Napoleon has not wasted one of them, the ball reaching Robert Oppenheimer precisely where the play wanted it. The engineer pops to the arc and buries it, and nobody in this building believes that man clocks in somewhere in the morning. The military leader misses absolutely everything, and honestly, the nerve to even attempt that shot deserves something. Not points. But something.

The engineer just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. The vigilante just ran that two-man game like he has a decade of film on it. Somebody get this man a contract. Napoleon beat the clock by a tenth of a second and missed by about four feet. Technically legal, competitively pointless.

The engineer is parked under the rim while three grown men in stripes squint at a screen. Just another day at the office, apparently. Brutal for the engineer, who owned the shot of a lifetime for about ninety seconds. Back to the day job with nothing but the story.

Venom's lip is trembling. Napoleon dodges the cameras by pulling up his hood. And here is the answer to our game Legends of the Hidden Thermostat! Duane Grubbs of Sour Lake Flats, Louisiana, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'Which came first, the tailgate or the truck?' The answer was of course the tailgate, and it waited nineteen years. Duane takes home a snow globe of a town that has never once had snow! Did you know that Napoleon practices military leader on Tuesdays? Builds character, that does. Good evening! Coming up: 'Dancing with the Stars: My Cousin's Wedding Edition.' Open bar.

Matchday 10 — vs Denver Horse-Track

86-131 (L)

And there it is, a walk-in layup for Denver Horse-Track with not one hand raised in the paint. Somebody has to protect that rim.

Bodies everywhere in the paint and it does not matter one bit to Napoleon, one spin and the ball never leaves the string. OH NO. Napoleon launched from WAY downtown and the closeout took his landing spot. Three free throws.

More second chance points for Denver Horse-Track, and our bench is up screaming for a timeout. Rightly so.

Follow the ball there: four sets of hands, Deadpool makes the last read, and the defense never gets set. That is training camp offense. Nobody drew up that arc. The engineer floated one halfway to the rafters, and the rim never even got a say. Another extra possession courtesy of the philanthropist, a man who evidently boxes out at work too. Some habits do not clock out. That is pure want-to: Michael Jackson was the only man on the floor who decided that rebound belonged to him.

Michael Jackson sprints to the sideline, hops onto the scorer's table and raises both fists. The stat crew grabs their laptops and security is already moving. A trainer hauls him down by the shorts before anybody gets fined. Worth it, obviously.

Napoleon turns the corner off the screen from Michael Jackson, the help never rotates, and the lane is WIDE open! Clang. Michael Jackson wants that one back.

The players head in. Venom slips on the wet tunnel floor. Bus driver's confession: Venom raps gibberish during road trips. Loudly. And now, our halftime TV game show Cash Cab of the Parking Lot! To win a plug-in air freshener permanently stuck on the high setting, text HOOPS to 555-0975 and answer this question: 'Why is there always exactly one balloon stuck in the rafters?' Second half! The crowd is on its feet, and so are the players.

Turnover, layup, Denver Horse-Track straight through us in transition. Careless basketball.

A chair knocked flat, an assistant coach holding somebody back by the jersey, that whole row completely unhinged. That is the Deadpool effect.

The military leader reads the screen perfectly, comes off shoulder to shoulder, and buys himself an open look. Veteran movement, rookie resume. Textbook footwork, textbook release from Napoleon, cruel result as it spins out and both teams go up for a contested board.

That is the pass that beats a zone, and Robert Oppenheimer threw it before the help even committed. Right idea, no zip on it, and at this level Napoleon either puts some heat on that ball or he keeps it in his hands.

Dagger from Denver Horse-Track. You could hear the air leave this arena on that one.

Day job, then this: the mercenary reads a rolling big like a coach with twenty years on the bench. REJECTED! Napoleon takes it in and gets it sent straight back into his own chest.

Set called, Robert Oppenheimer waved out to the corner, and Napoleon watches the spacing open up like a front door. Hesitate, GO. Robert Oppenheimer is by that hip before the man even blinks. Perfect drop-off from Deadpool, and Robert Oppenheimer answers with... whatever that was. Off the glass, off the rim, and gone.

Bucket for Denver Horse-Track. Wide open look, and nobody even ran at the shooter.

Napoleon walks it up, two fingers in the air, and the whole offense shifts on his command. Screened, toasted, done. Robert Oppenheimer is loose and the defense is scrambling to find him. Not a hand on him. Robert Oppenheimer flat missed the bunny.

Watch how they bury Deadpool in the corner on the inbound. Nothing happens until he moves, and by then the defense is beaten. Deadpool delivers on the second option, Venom buries it, and the coach is already walking back to the bench like he knew. He did know.

Off comes the headband, launched into the crowd like a rock star, and the fight for it delays the inbound. Venom watches two adults wrestle in row four. Half the arena is filming that instead of the game. Everybody in here has lost the plot.

Venom walks toward the tunnel without a word. Deadpool stares at the scoreboard as if it might change. And here is the answer to our game show Cash Cab of the Parking Lot! Leonard Skidmore of Tumbleweed Alley, Arizona, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'Why is there always exactly one balloon stuck in the rafters?' The answer was of course that nobody knows, and the janitors have agreed to stop asking. Leonard therefore wins a plug-in air freshener permanently stuck on the high setting! My chair squeaked the entire game. Everyone thinks it was me. It was not me. That's all for today. Up next: 'Dateline: The True Cost of a Cup of Yogurt.' Deep investigation.

Matchday 11 — vs New York Over-Timers

74-118 (L)

OHHHH he SNATCHED that tip! Venom rips it out of the air and we are off.

This is the work that never shows up on a stat sheet, Napoleon gets the credit and the guy setting the screen gets the bruise. Catching it right at the cup with nobody within eight feet, Napoleon goes up too strong and the ball rides high off the backboard.

Turnover, layup, New York Over-Timers straight through us in transition. Careless basketball.

You can teach the jumper, you cannot teach the willingness, and Robert Oppenheimer gives up a decent shot every single time a better one exists. Up goes the shot from Michael Jackson and that is nothing but AIR, and every soul in this building saw it happen.

Ohhh no. Corner three, New York Over-Timers in rhythm now, and our side of the building goes silent.

Time to breathe. Michael Jackson has both hands on both knees, completely cooked. Little scoop: Michael Jackson collects Pokemon cards. That Charizard is worth more than his first contract. And now, our halftime TV game show The Bachelor of Science! To win a ceramic frog wearing tiny sunglasses and nothing else, text HOOPS to 555-0264 and answer this question: 'How tall would a stack of every whistle ever blown be?' Second half! The hardwood is about to shake again.

Follow the ball there: four sets of hands, Napoleon makes the last read, and the defense never gets set. That is training camp offense. There is no finesse in that, and there does not need to be. Robert Oppenheimer simply decided the paint belonged to him.

Blowing smoke off two fingers like a gunslinger, Robert Oppenheimer holsters them in his waistband. Michael Jackson plays dead on the baseline. The mascot joins the bit uninvited. A referee has to physically separate a celebration from an inbound play.

And there it is, a walk-in layup for New York Over-Timers with not one hand raised in the paint. Somebody has to protect that rim.

Cross court, on a rope, from the military leader. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. The help defender committed way too early, and Michael Jackson made him pay for it with a spin they will be replaying all week. The crowd has found its chant, and Michael Jackson is going to be hearing it all night.

Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Napoleon is glued to that ball handler and the panic is setting in fast. The military leader just jumped a passing lane like a ten-year pro and took it the distance. What a league this is! Napoleon converts on the break again, and that defense has now been beaten down the floor three straight trips. Somebody better call timeout.

Napoleon climbs two rows into the stands and gets swallowed by strangers. He comes back out with somebody's cap on backward and a smear of nacho cheese on his shoulder. Deadpool refuses to touch him. This building has never been happier about anything.

Dagger from New York Over-Timers. You could hear the air leave this arena on that one.

Whirl, and GONE! Deadpool leaves the defender grabbing at a jersey that stopped being there half a second ago. Michael Jackson threads a BEAUTY to Deadpool under the rim and... he lays it off the bottom of the iron! Ohhhh, no.

You want basketball IQ? Ask the engineer, who just moved the rock on time without one wasted dribble. Enough room out there to set up a lawn chair, and the vigilante made it himself. Total professional, in a completely unrelated profession. Rises, releases, and Venom sends the ball through the exact patch of sky where the rim is not.

The defense keeps turning contested looks by Michael Jackson into free points. STOP REACHING. Michael Jackson lines it up, unguarded, nobody within fifteen feet, and the ball touches absolutely nothing. Oh my.

Count it and the foul. Brutal. New York Over-Timers with a three point play and a gut punch in the same possession.

The ball travels faster than five defenders can, and Deadpool has known that all night long. Nobody is getting a hand near that. Napoleon has all the room in the world. Napoleon rises up from fifteen feet and OHHHH, that rattled in and OUT!

Napoleon walks like someone carrying the weight of the world. Deadpool drags one foot after the other. And here is the answer to our game The Bachelor of Science! Bonnie Faye Gulick of Windy Gap, Wyoming, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How tall would a stack of every whistle ever blown be?' The answer was of course tall enough to be a problem for airplanes. Bonnie Faye takes home a ceramic frog wearing tiny sunglasses and nothing else! Your commentator broke his personal screaming record tonight. My throat is not thanking me. Alright, good night! Up next: 'Planet Earth: Exploring the World from My Couch.' Immersive documentary.

Matchday 12 — vs Cleveland Twin-Towers

74-118 (L)

Ohhh no. Corner three, Cleveland Twin-Towers in rhythm now, and our side of the building goes silent.

The military leader is out here running a pro offense with hand signals, not one hint of panic, and he clocks in somewhere else in the morning. A cut with that timing from the engineer? He is on the clock somewhere else all week and he still found time to learn the two-man game. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Two points in every gym in America except this one, and Robert Oppenheimer is walking back with both hands on his head.

Somebody explain how the military leader reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Venom spun out of a double team like it was a revolving door! The vigilante just spun through two defenders and reversed that in. Nothing about this is a normal Tuesday!

And there it is, a walk-in layup for Cleveland Twin-Towers with not one hand raised in the paint. Somebody has to protect that rim.

Push the pace! Napoleon grabs it and hits Deadpool in stride before the defense can even match up. Read, screen, delivery, right on the money. A mercenary making the right pass every single time, and the league is taking notes. Two points left on the floor by Venom, and those are exactly the ones that come back to bite you in the fourth.

End of the second quarter. Venom is breathing so loud you can hear it from here. Fun fact: Venom blocked a shot in the finals... And dislocated a thumb celebrating. Classic. And now, our halftime TV game show Bowling for Bologna! To win a set of hubcaps for a car that nobody makes anymore, text HOOPS to 555-0204 and answer this question: 'How many buttons on a scoreboard controller actually do anything?' The buzzer calls the players. Time for the show, act II.

Count it and the foul. Brutal. Cleveland Twin-Towers with a three point play and a gut punch in the same possession.

Laser from Deadpool, corner to corner, and that closeout gets there about a second and a half too late. Handoff, turn the corner, BUCKET! Napoleon did all the dirty work on that one. Venom gathers on the baseline, absorbs contact from two bodies, and slams it home. That rim is still shaking.

The philanthropist just wiped a layup off the face of the earth and stood over the wreckage! Whatever they teach at that day job, it is working.

Punish the help, that is the rule, and Napoleon just did it by hitting Michael Jackson on the back side with acres of room. One hard step and Michael Jackson owns that whole side of the floor, which means the low man has to make a decision he does not want. Way short from Michael Jackson off the bounce, the ball dies on the front of the rim and drops into traffic.

Nobody boxed out. Tip in, Cleveland Twin-Towers, and two of ours were standing right there watching it happen.

Somebody explain how the military leader reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. Robert Oppenheimer crosses, crosses back, the defender slides half a step the wrong way and the whole arena lets out the same OHHHH. Not a hand on him. Robert Oppenheimer flat missed the bunny.

Napoleon kicks it over to Venom, no dribble, no drama, and this offense settles into a rhythm. OHHHH the separation! Venom just manufactured three feet of daylight out of absolutely nothing. The vigilante misses absolutely everything, and honestly, the nerve to even attempt that shot deserves something. Not points. But something.

Cold blooded from Cleveland Twin-Towers, way out beyond the arc, and our defense is scrambling in rotation.

The military leader runs a dribble handoff with the timing of a fifteen-year vet. Not bad for somebody who does this on weekends. Oh, that is rough. Deadpool killed his own dribble and then started a brand new one.

Back at the shop they have got this review up on every phone with the mercenary in the frame, and nobody is getting any work done. The mercenary is finding out what this league does to people. It hands you the moment, then it rolls the tape.

Napoleon turns back to look at the court one last time. Deadpool doesn't turn around. And here is the answer to our game Bowling for Bologna! Faye Ellen Duckworth of Sweat Bee, Connecticut, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many buttons on a scoreboard controller actually do anything?' The answer was of course two, and the rest are there for confidence. Faye Ellen takes home a set of hubcaps for a car that nobody makes anymore! I discovered tonight that my mic was off for three minutes. Three minutes of pure genius, lost forever. Good evening! Up next: 'Fixer Upper: Renovating a Studio on a Twelve-Dollar Budget.' Challenge accepted.

Matchday 13 — vs Boston Ring-Chasers

80-125 (L)

Deadpool stutters at the elbow, the defender bites on it, and now there is nothing but open floor between him and the rim. Down, up, and gone for Deadpool. The rim is just toying with him now.

Ball up the floor, change of speed right at the logo, and Napoleon already has the defense a full step behind. Lob from Robert Oppenheimer, and Michael Jackson rises above the rim to hammer it through. Filthy.

And there it is, a walk-in layup for Boston Ring-Chasers with not one hand raised in the paint. Somebody has to protect that rim.

Deadpool did that, and now the loudest twelve people in this arena are all wearing the same uniform he is. Hands like that on the philanthropist? Whatever he does all day, by night he is robbing people blind.

Cold blooded from Boston Ring-Chasers, way out beyond the arc, and our defense is scrambling in rotation.

The players disappear into the tunnel. Michael Jackson asks for an ice pack. Did you know? Michael Jackson has a personal mini-fridge in the locker room. Nobody knows what's inside. And now, our halftime TV game show Hollywood Squares of Cheese! To win a taxidermy squirrel holding a tiny fishing rod, text HOOPS to 555-0134 and answer this question: 'What is the correct number of ice cubes in a gas station soda?' Back at it! The players jog toward center court.

Baseline wide open. Deadpool said thank you. Stonewalled at the top of the square! The big man meets Deadpool up there and returns it with interest.

Across half court, a quick survey, a point to the weak side, and Napoleon drops it off to Venom on time and on target. Ball into Napoleon at the elbow, Venom plants his foot and goes backdoor, and the pass meets him in the air. Filthy. Long and gone. Venom floats the teardrop over everything and bangs it off the back iron.

Turnover, layup, Boston Ring-Chasers straight through us in transition. Careless basketball.

The defender crowded the middle, and Robert Oppenheimer punished him along the baseline like it was drawn up in the huddle. Robert Oppenheimer blows the wide open layup!

Nobody boxed out. Tip in, Boston Ring-Chasers, and two of ours were standing right there watching it happen.

Push the pace! Napoleon grabs it and hits Robert Oppenheimer in stride before the defense can even match up. Here comes the slip from Venom, and Robert Oppenheimer reads it a half second before anybody else in the building. Perfect drop-off from Deadpool, and Venom answers with... whatever that was. Off the glass, off the rim, and gone.

Ohhh no. Corner three, Boston Ring-Chasers in rhythm now, and our side of the building goes silent.

The engineer just ran a give and go to perfection on national television! Somebody go tell his boss what he does after hours! You are about to see a coach put his entire face in both hands, and Robert Oppenheimer has earned every second of that reaction.

The military leader is out here running a pro offense with hand signals, not one hint of panic, and he clocks in somewhere else in the morning. Give and go: Michael Jackson gives it up, breaks for the baseline, and Venom feeds him backdoor. Filthy read. OHHHHH POSTERIZED! Michael Jackson just ENDED that defender at the rim!

Inbounds pass and Venom is on him instantly, two hands on the jersey, whistle. The clock freezes at nineteen point four.

Napoleon stares at the floor while Venom mutters something inaudible under his breath. And here is the answer to our game Hollywood Squares of Cheese! Dwayne Pickle of Beaver Hollow, Pennsylvania, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What is the correct number of ice cubes in a gas station soda?' The answer was of course all of them, that is the entire business model. Dwayne takes home a taxidermy squirrel holding a tiny fishing rod! Tonight I chewed through two pens. The office supply budget is going to explode. We're packing up. Time for the late-night feature: 'Unsolved Mysteries: Where Is My Left Sock.'

Matchday 14 — vs San Antonio Skyscrapers

77-122 (L)

Venom controls the tip, and the offense gets to run its first set on schedule. Little edges like that stack up over forty-eight minutes.

Somebody explain the arc to the mercenary. He gave away three shots on a prayer, and you can watch the coach age in real time. The mercenary sits down with four. You want to be furious, but honestly, he came here straight off a full shift.

Bucket for San Antonio Skyscrapers. Wide open look, and nobody even ran at the shooter.

Rebounding is pure want-to, and on that one Venom just got out-wanted by a stronger, meaner man.

Dagger from San Antonio Skyscrapers. You could hear the air leave this arena on that one.

Halftime whistle. Deadpool has dried blood on his elbow but plays tough. Bus driver's confession: Deadpool raps gibberish during road trips. Loudly. And now, our halftime TV game show Wipeout the Rec League Edition! To win a weather vane pointing a direction wind has never once gone, text HOOPS to 555-0914 and answer this question: 'How many bleacher splinters are removed nationwide every Tuesday?' Back in action! The coach got the message across.

The vigilante just took a charge from a man twice his size and got up smiling. Absolute lunatic behavior, and we love it!

Across half court, a quick survey, a point to the weak side, and Napoleon drops it off to Venom on time and on target. The vigilante reads the screen perfectly, comes off shoulder to shoulder, and buys himself an open look. Veteran movement, rookie resume. Not a hand on him. Venom flat missed the bunny.

More second chance points for San Antonio Skyscrapers, and our bench is up screaming for a timeout. Rightly so.

Venom gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Robert Oppenheimer saw it a beat early. STOP AND GO! Venom hit the brakes, hit the gas, and the lane opened up like a garage door. Gift wrapped by Napoleon, and Venom cannot finish the two footer. That one is going to sting.

Reverse it, make them slide all over again, that is how Napoleon breaks a shell down. Read, screen, delivery, right on the money. A mercenary making the right pass every single time, and the league is taking notes. A cruel spin-out for the vigilante, and whatever that day job is, tonight it came with a brand new way to break your heart.

That is the pass nobody puts on a highlight reel, and Robert Oppenheimer makes it every single trip down the floor. One little shoulder dip from Deadpool and the guy guarding him turned into a traffic cone in real time. That stepback is unguardable once the drive gets sold, and Deadpool has had that defender guessing wrong all night long.

Deadpool does the bit whole team practiced in the hotel: a slow-motion handshake with Robert Oppenheimer that goes on far too long, sound effects included. Six full seconds. The referee stands there holding the ball. Neither man breaks character.

Count it and the foul. Brutal. San Antonio Skyscrapers with a three point play and a gut punch in the same possession.

Push the pace! Napoleon grabs it and hits Deadpool in stride before the defense can even match up. That is a self-created look of the highest order, and there might be five guys in this league who get to it on demand the way Deadpool does. The mercenary just put somebody on a POSTER! That defender is going to see this clip for the rest of his life!

Straight to the logo at center court, Deadpool plants both feet and flexes until the veins show. The bench is a pile of bodies and airborne headbands. An assistant coach has to be physically restrained by a trainer who is also celebrating.

And there it is, a walk-in layup for San Antonio Skyscrapers with not one hand raised in the paint. Somebody has to protect that rim.

Ball moves. Robert Oppenheimer to Venom, on time and on target. Screen, pop, SPLASH! Venom kicks it out and that thing never touched iron. Buzzer on the shot clock, Michael Jackson heaves it off one leg, and the ball comes up short of everything.

Deadpool sits down on the hardwood, head on his knees. Robert Oppenheimer puts a hand on his shoulder without saying a word. And here is the answer to our game show Wipeout the Rec League Edition! Lavonne Stackhouse of Grease Rag Creek, Delaware, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'How many bleacher splinters are removed nationwide every Tuesday?' The answer was of course six hundred and twelve, and most of them in the Midwest. Lavonne therefore wins a weather vane pointing a direction wind has never once gone! Tonight I had a revelation: Robert Oppenheimer runs exactly like my neighbor when he misses the bus. We're done! And now: 'The Voice: Office Karaoke After Two Beers Edition.'

Matchday 15 — vs Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest

86-131 (L)

Tip is UP and Venom gets there first! We are underway and it is our ball.

Count it and the foul. Brutal. Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest with a three point play and a gut punch in the same possession.

Offensive foul on Napoleon. No bucket, no free throws, just a turnover.

Push the pace! Napoleon grabs it and hits Robert Oppenheimer in stride before the defense can even match up. Hard drive, hard stop, and Robert Oppenheimer retreats into an ocean of open hardwood. The engineer tried the teardrop and never got it to the rim. Turns out soft touch does not come standard with that day job.

Nobody boxed out. Tip in, Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest, and two of ours were standing right there watching it happen.

Intermission. Michael Jackson dumps an entire water bottle over his head. I've been told Michael Jackson once ordered a pizza during a timeout. The coach was not amused. And now, our halftime TV game show Whistle While You Guess! To win a five year supply of individually wrapped mints from a bank lobby, text HOOPS to 555-1291 and answer this question: 'How many times does a referee blink during a single overtime period?' Second half! The hardwood is about to shake again.

Napoleon walks it up, two fingers in the air, and the whole offense shifts on his command. Off the pin-down comes the engineer with nobody inside a zip code. Somebody out there knows how to use a screen, and it is not who you would guess. Soft off the fingertips, the ball takes a full lap of the rim on Robert Oppenheimer, and spits straight back out. That is theft.

Oldest play in the book, and Napoleon runs it in his sleep. That drop coverage never had a prayer. Not a hand on him. Michael Jackson flat missed the bunny.

Dagger from Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest. You could hear the air leave this arena on that one.

A probe, a plant of the outside foot, and Deadpool pushes off while his man is still fighting to recover his balance. Off the dribble, a full step behind the logo, straight down. Tomorrow the mercenary goes back to work, tonight he owns this arena.

Flexing under the basket, mouth wide open, Deadpool roars at nobody in particular. The sound carries over the crowd noise, which should be physically impossible. The referee waits with folded arms, like a substitute teacher who has seen considerably worse.

The military leader is out here running a pro offense with hand signals, not one hint of panic, and he clocks in somewhere else in the morning. The mercenary reads the screen perfectly, comes off shoulder to shoulder, and buys himself an open look. Veteran movement, rookie resume. Missed layup for the mercenary and the whole arena groans as one. Great hands in the day job, apparently they do not travel.

Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest again, and again nobody is home. Three straight trips down the floor with zero resistance.

Somebody explain how the military leader reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. SPIN and GO! Michael Jackson pirouettes right through the traffic and comes out the other side clean! The philanthropist gets it handed over on a silver platter at point blank range and drops it. Somewhere in this building a coach is questioning every decision that led here.

Eight seconds off the shot clock and Napoleon has not wasted one of them, the ball reaching Michael Jackson precisely where the play wanted it. Michael Jackson comes flying off that screen and he is WIDE open! So close. Michael Jackson can only stare at the iron.

Ohhh no. Corner three, Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest in rhythm now, and our side of the building goes silent.

Watch the spacing there, Deadpool hits Michael Jackson right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. Bodies everywhere in the paint and it does not matter one bit to Michael Jackson, one spin and the ball never leaves the string. OHHHH that is SILKY! Michael Jackson with the teardrop, and it kisses through.

Deadpool pushes away the reporter's microphone with a gesture. Napoleon takes the interview and says 'not tonight'. And here is the answer to our game show Whistle While You Guess! Wilma Jean Puckett of Sorghum Switch, Kansas, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'How many times does a referee blink during a single overtime period?' The answer was of course exactly 1,412 times, and 1,413 if the arena air conditioning is broken. Wilma Jean therefore wins a five year supply of individually wrapped mints from a bank lobby! I got a text from Deadpool after the game. Just kidding. Nobody texts me. See you tomorrow! Up next: 'Extreme Reading: The Terms and Conditions.' 4-hour special.