Meu cinco inicial dos sonhos — basketball_team 🇧🇷

Jornada 1 — vs Detroit Engine-Roar

74-119 (D)

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

The movie actor/actress is out here running a pro offense with hand signals, not one hint of panic, and he clocks in somewhere else in the morning. Nobody is getting a hand near that. Pablo Escobar has all the room in the world. Somebody show the rest of the league what the drug lord just did on that block. Footwork straight out of 1987!

Pablo Escobar pulls the jersey away from his chest and points at the crest, twice, hard, then taps his heart. No smile, no theater. The arena horn keeps going long after it should stop. Somebody up in the rafters is holding a sign about this exact city.

The drug lord fouled a shooter behind the arc. Three free throws, and a timeout that is going to be extremely unpleasant. The drug lord sits down with four. You want to be furious, but honestly, he came here straight off a full shift.

Dagger from Detroit Engine-Roar. You could hear the air leave this arena on that one.

Somebody explain how the movie actor/actress reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. Down screen, and Pablo Escobar curls hard into the middle of the floor with a full step of daylight. Easy read. Textbook footwork, textbook release from Pablo Escobar, cruel result as it spins out and both teams go up for a contested board.

Into the tunnel. Romário grabs a banana on the way and devours it. Staff confession: Romário is afraid of pigeons. Not 7-foot centers, no. Pigeons. And now, our halftime TV game show The Weakest Rebound! To win a first place pepper jelly ribbon from the 1996 state fair, text HOOPS to 555-1327 and answer this question: 'What is the official color of the squeak sneaker makes on a wet floor?' Both teams emerge from the tunnel. The second half can begin.

SKIP PASS! Romário fires it cross court to Fidel Castro and the defense is dead in the water! A revolutionary breaking down a professional defender in front of a sold out house! Remember that day job, folks! The revolutionary had that thing halfway down and the rim spat it back out. Nobody ever warns you that the iron has a personality.

OHHHH the pocket pass! Pelé splits the coverage and the roll man is loose under the basket! Throwing a shoulder into the defender like he is boarding a crowded train, Fidel Castro gets whistled for contact he never needed.

The movie actor/actress just created his own space with a stepback. Somewhere a scout is spitting coffee all over his notepad. Down, up, and gone for Pelé. The rim is just toying with him now.

Turnover, layup, Detroit Engine-Roar straight through us in transition. Careless basketball.

Pelé walks it up, two fingers in the air, and the whole offense shifts on his command. Enough room out there to set up a lawn chair, and the politician made it himself. Total professional, in a completely unrelated profession. The politician misses absolutely everything, and honestly, the nerve to even attempt that shot deserves something. Not points. But something.

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

Pelé kicks it over to Fidel Castro, no dribble, no drama, and this offense settles into a rhythm. Watch the change of pace from Fidel Castro, half speed into full speed in one step, and that is a blow-by every time. This building is SHAKING. Fidel Castro just stepped into a logo three like it was a warmup rep.

The too-small gesture, aimed straight at the Detroit Engine-Roar bench, both hands measuring an inch of air. Their coach is out of his chair and onto the officials. Fidel Castro keeps the pose, unblinking, backpedaling all the way. The arena hits a decibel level that clips the broadcast mics.

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

The politician just got left in the dust, and in fairness, that is a professional athlete he was asked to guard. Reach-in on the politician. He tried to take the ball the way he takes everything else on the job, politely and with both hands.

OHHHH NO! Romário took the legs out from under a man in mid-air and that is a FLAGRANT TWO!

Fidel Castro looks like someone who hasn't slept in three days. Juscelino Kubitschek looks like someone who won't sleep tonight. And here is the answer to our game show The Weakest Rebound! Earlene Tidwell of Gizzard Ridge, Tennessee, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'What is the official color of the squeak sneaker makes on a wet floor?' The answer was of course a light mustard yellow, per the county Department of Squeaks. Earlene therefore wins a first place pepper jelly ribbon from the 1996 state fair! Tonight I yelled so loud the guy in the next booth asked me to keep it down. Mid-game. Thanks for tonight. And now: '60 Minutes: The Secrets of the Office Coffee Machine.'

Jornada 2 — vs Miami Heart-Attack

87-121 (D)

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

SPIN and GO! Romário pirouettes right through the traffic and comes out the other side clean! OHHHH, the cylinder rejects the politician! Somewhere a whole workplace just yelled at a television.

Count it and the foul. Brutal. Miami Heart-Attack with a three point play and a gut punch in the same possession.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! That was IN for Pablo Escobar! Nobody put a body on Fidel Castro and he made them pay, tipping it to himself and coming down with two hands in the trees. Fidel Castro crashes the glass, snatches that miss out of the air and hammers it home. Onions!

Fidel Castro mimes putting a whole section to sleep, hands folded against his cheek, eyes shut. He is facing the Miami Heart-Attack fans who paid for the good seats. They boo. He nods along with the boos, which somehow makes the home crowd louder.

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

Into the tunnel. Pablo Escobar grabs a banana on the way and devours it. Locker room anecdote: Pablo Escobar talks to a sock called 'Assistant Coach.' We don't judge. And now, our halftime TV game show Guy Reads a Manual! To win a family-size tub of margarine autographed by a stranger, text HOOPS to 555-0345 and answer this question: 'How many people can hear a vending machine at three in the morning?' The players charge out of the tunnel. Smells like a comeback.

Ball up the floor, change of speed right at the logo, and Pelé already has the defense a full step behind. Romário stutters at the elbow, the defender bites on it, and now there is nothing but open floor between him and the rim. Two points left on the floor by Romário, and those are exactly the ones that come back to bite you in the fourth.

The movie actor/actress just made the extra pass with a clean look of his own! You do not run into that kind of selflessness at the office! The doctor hammers a brick off the backboard so hard the rim is still shaking. Nothing in that resume prepared anybody for this.

Straight down the baseline goes the politician! Whatever shift he worked this morning, he clearly left plenty in the tank. The politician 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.

Romário drives, draws two bodies, and swings it one more time to the corner. That is the pass nobody is required to make. So close. Pablo Escobar can only stare at the iron.

The movie actor/actress pulls out the crossover of his life, and Monday morning he clocks in like nothing ever happened. Straight back to the office for the movie actor/actress, and the group chat has already seen it twice.

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

Reverse it, make them slide all over again, that is how Pablo Escobar breaks a shell down. OHHHHH HE SNATCHED HIS ANKLES! Juscelino Kubitschek left him on the hardwood and this building is SHAKING! Off the back iron for Juscelino Kubitschek, that one had all the distance and none of the accuracy, and the board goes the other way.

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

Cross court, on a rope, from the politician. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. A full spin move through traffic from the revolutionary! Whatever they teach in that trade, footwork is apparently part of it. A jump hook over a grown professional defender, from the revolutionary? That is the most unexpected fundamentals clinic of the night.

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

The politician just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. Hard drive, hard stop, and Juscelino Kubitschek retreats into an ocean of open hardwood. Shot clock at one, and Juscelino Kubitschek just has to throw something at the rim. Nothing doing.

Romário presses his forehead against the tunnel glass. Fidel Castro walks right past without noticing. And here is the answer to our game Guy Reads a Manual! Doris Ann Hoke of Butter Churn, New Hampshire, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many people can hear a vending machine at three in the morning?' The answer was of course everybody in the building, including the ones pretending to sleep. Doris Ann takes home a family-size tub of margarine autographed by a stranger! During the game, my colleague ordered sushi. It arrived at the final buzzer. Perfect timing. That's a wrap! And now, 'The Price Is Right: Why Nobody Answers the Phone Anymore.'

Jornada 3 — vs Orlando Magic-Beans

83-114 (D)

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

That is the third body Fidel Castro has turned away this quarter, and the entire lane is starting to think twice about coming in. Off the day job and straight into the open floor: the revolutionary runs the break like he does this for a living. He does not.

The ball travels faster than five defenders can, and Pelé has known that all night long. Ice in his veins for a guy who answers to drug lord the rest of the week. Professional shot, amateur resume. From WAY downtown! Fidel Castro launched that one from the parking lot!

Shoving match at the scorer's table, except it is between Romário and an assistant coach who both want to hug Fidel Castro first. Fidel Castro lets them sort it out. The trainer has given up on protecting anybody. Somebody's clipboard is already on the floor.

Bucket for Orlando Magic-Beans. Wide open look, and nobody even ran at the shooter.

Romário gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Pelé saw it a beat early. A cut with that timing from the politician? He is on the clock somewhere else all week and he still found time to learn the two-man game. That is a dime from Juscelino Kubitschek that deserved so much better, and Romário knows it, head down, jogging back before the ball even lands.

Break. The coach is yelling in the tunnel, Romário picks up the pace. They say Romário has a ritual where he touches the basket post three times. If someone watches, starts over. And now, our halftime TV game show Deal or No Deal or Maybe! To win a novelty belt buckle roughly the size of a hubcap, text HOOPS to 555-0396 and answer this question: 'What is the top speed of a shopping cart with one bad wheel?' Break's over, time for basketball. Let's go.

Cold blooded from Orlando Magic-Beans, way out beyond the arc, and our defense is scrambling in rotation.

The movie actor/actress makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. Romário splits the coverage with a bounce pass you need slow motion to appreciate. Dimes. Pelé rises up from fifteen feet and OHHHH, that rattled in and OUT!

They do not teach that in the movie actor/actress handbook, and yet here we are. Beautiful little exchange. Missed layup for the revolutionary and the whole arena groans as one. Great hands in the day job, apparently they do not travel.

Orlando Magic-Beans again, and again nobody is home. Three straight trips down the floor with zero resistance.

Juscelino Kubitschek reaches, finds nothing but forearm, and the whistle comes right along with it. OHHHH the whistle! Number five on Juscelino Kubitschek, and this bench cannot believe what it just saw.

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.

The politician just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. The drug lord turns clean out of two bodies in the paint. That is nowhere in the job description and yet here we are. Rim, backboard, none of the above from the drug lord! Ladies and gentlemen, that is a person with a real job, and we have all just been reminded of it.

Hands on hips over there, a clipboard down on the chair, and it is all because of what Fidel Castro just did.

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

Cross court, on a rope, from the movie actor/actress. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. The doctor takes the baseline and bends an entire defense out of shape. Absolutely absurd stuff in this building tonight. In, around, and gone. The iron gives Juscelino Kubitschek nothing.

Pablo Escobar leaves the court at a jog. Romário stays there, planted at center court, motionless. And here is the answer to our game Deal or No Deal or Maybe! Marlene Hufnagel of North Elbow, Wisconsin, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What is the top speed of a shopping cart with one bad wheel?' The answer was of course whatever speed produces the most noise. Marlene takes home a novelty belt buckle roughly the size of a hubcap! On my end, I ate three chocolate bars during the timeouts. Sports make you hungry, even in the booth. That was beautiful. And now: 'House Hunters International: 90-Square-Foot Studio, Wall View.' A steal.

Jornada 4 — vs Philadelphia Injury-Report

81-125 (D)

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

Pelé rips it back into the stepback and suddenly there is a country mile between him and that defender. Wide open at the top of the key and Pelé cannot make it count, the defense secures the board and takes off in transition.

Dagger from Philadelphia Injury-Report. You could hear the air leave this arena on that one.

The politician just threaded a pocket pass through two defenders. Where exactly did that vision come from? Getting to his spot and elevating, Pablo Escobar puts it on the back iron, up over the front, and out. Half a rotation from two points.

Turnover, layup, Philadelphia Injury-Report straight through us in transition. Careless basketball.

Break! Pablo Escobar heads straight to the bathroom moment he hits the locker room. Juicy anecdote: Pablo Escobar was caught dancing the Macarena in the showers. Alone. And now, our halftime TV game show Tic-Tac-Dough-Nut! To win a decorative outhouse birdhouse with no hole in it, text HOOPS to 555-0367 and answer this question: 'What time is it inside a microwave that has said 12:00 for eleven years?' On to the next chapter. The court is just waiting for the ball.

OHHHH, that one is going to leave a mark! Juscelino Kubitschek gets flattened and gets the call.

Over the top of everybody. Romário to Pablo Escobar in the corner, wide open, catch and rise. A drug lord breaking down a professional defender in front of a sold out house! Remember that day job, folks! Rim out for Pablo Escobar, the crowd came up and sat right back down, and you can hear the groan from every corner of the arena.

Somebody explain how the movie actor/actress reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. Romário feels the contact, spins off that shoulder, and the defender is left hugging a whole lot of nothing. The politician just fired one in from the logo and the roof nearly came off this place. That is in nobody's job description.

Romário points at Juscelino Kubitschek first, then at the pass that made it possible, then at Juscelino Kubitschek again, making sure the building knows who did the real work. Juscelino Kubitschek waves it off, embarrassed. The chant that starts up is not for the scorer.

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

A timeout is coming, it has to be, but Pelé has already turned this into a personal shooting drill with an audience. BANG! Pelé steps back, creates the daylight, and buries it right in the defender's eye.

Pelé slides on his knees down the free throw lane, arms wide, and ends up flat on his back watching his own replay on the video board. He points at himself on the screen. The officials have stopped pretending to have any control here.

You want basketball IQ? Ask the drug lord, who just moved the rock on time without one wasted dribble. The beauty of it is that Juscelino Kubitschek never has to set a screen at all, the exchange IS the screen. Nightmare to guard. Long miss from the revolutionary and the rebound goes the other way, but let the record show that most people in that line of work never even get to take that shot.

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.

Watch the spacing there, Romário hits Juscelino Kubitschek right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. Day job, then this: the doctor reads a rolling big like a coach with twenty years on the bench. Gift wrapped by Romário, and Pelé cannot finish the two footer. That one is going to sting.

Swing, swing, and Romário finds Juscelino Kubitschek on the wing before the help can even turn its head. Day job, then this: the doctor reads a rolling big like a coach with twenty years on the bench. That is the shot Pablo Escobar wants every trip down the floor, it drops nine nights out of ten, and tonight is the tenth.

Juscelino Kubitschek hacks the arm on purpose, then throws both hands up like he has never touched a soul in his life. Nobody is buying it.

Pelé lets out a nervous laugh that sends chills down your spine. Fidel Castro decides not to comment. And here is the answer to our game Tic-Tac-Dough-Nut! Cletus Vandersnoot of Half Moon Ditch, Iowa, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What time is it inside a microwave that has said 12:00 for eleven years?' The answer was of course whatever time the power went out in 1994. Cletus takes home a decorative outhouse birdhouse with no hole in it! I learned tonight that Pelé used to be a movie actor. That explains the unique running style. See you tomorrow. In the meantime, it's 'Who Wants to Marry My Goldfish.' Good luck with that.

Jornada 5 — vs Phoenix No-Defense

86-130 (D)

No hero ball here: Pablo Escobar takes what the defense gives and moves it along. The politician runs a dribble handoff with the timing of a fifteen-year vet. Not bad for somebody who does this on weekends. Pull-up from the elbow by Fidel Castro, halfway down, spinning inside the iron, and it pops right back out.

The movie actor/actress gets whistled for the swipe. Forty honest hours a week and here he is, picking pockets in front of twenty thousand witnesses. You can watch the math happen on that sideline: Pelé has four, there are big minutes left, and somebody has to hold the fort.

Turnover, layup, Phoenix No-Defense straight through us in transition. Careless basketball.

Onions from Pablo Escobar! He plants himself in front of a freight train and just wears the whole thing. Not a bite on the pump fake, Pablo Escobar stays tall, and the floater dies on the iron.

Dagger from Phoenix No-Defense. You could hear the air leave this arena on that one.

Intermission. Pelé dumps an entire water bottle over his head. Did you know Pelé entered the dunk contest... At 5'9"? Courage knows no height. And now, our halftime TV game show The Dating Game of Horseshoes! To win a cast-iron skillet seasoned by four generations of strangers, text HOOPS to 555-0313 and answer this question: 'What is the world record for longest halftime shot made by a man holding a soft drink?' Back on the court. The coach changed the starting five, that'll be a surprise.

Pelé crosses, crosses back, the defender slides half a step the wrong way and the whole arena lets out the same OHHHH. Put him on skates, then put him on a POSTER. Pelé owns the highlight reel tonight.

Kisses the biceps, one and then the other, and Pelé strolls to the free throw line like a man on vacation. Romário fans him with a rolled-up game program. The bench is in tears. Even the guy running the game clock is grinning into his monitor.

Romário launches it weak side, one pass, and the whole shell has to sprint. Good luck with that. They do not teach that in the drug lord handbook, and yet here we are. Beautiful little exchange. Nobody expects touch like that from the revolutionary, but that floater had more feel than half the starting guards in the league.

Fidel Castro sets an invisible crown on his own head, adjusts it twice, and carries the thing off like it weighs forty pounds. The Phoenix No-Defense bench does not find it funny. Juscelino Kubitschek pounds the crown down with one fist and steers him away before the technical arrives.

And there it is, a walk-in layup for Phoenix No-Defense with not one hand raised in the paint. Somebody has to protect that rim.

Unselfish basketball. Pelé passes up a good shot and hands Pablo Escobar a GREAT one. You are about to see a coach put his entire face in both hands, and Pablo Escobar has earned every second of that reaction.

Ohhh no. Corner three, Phoenix No-Defense in rhythm now, and our side of the building goes silent.

Towels are FLYING for the revolutionary! Going back to the day job on Monday is going to feel extremely strange after a night like this. He had a clear runway, he had two steps of daylight, and Fidel Castro took it all away anyway.

No roll this time. Pelé swings it right back to Juscelino Kubitschek above the break, and it is PURE. Prayer from Juscelino Kubitschek. Not answered.

Bucket for Phoenix No-Defense. Wide open look, and nobody even ran at the shooter.

Somewhere out there a doctor is learning that the day job never included defensive slides. Rough little moment. You cannot touch it inside the cylinder, and Pelé touched it inside the cylinder. Handed over, no receipt.

You do not need a scholarship to figure that one out. The doctor just stopped the clock the way people have been stopping clocks in gyms for sixty years.

Romário pulls his cap down over his eyes. Pablo Escobar doesn't have a cap, and it shows. And here is the answer to our game The Dating Game of Horseshoes! Sherman Pilkington of Chicken Bristle, Rhode Island, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What is the world record for longest halftime shot made by a man holding a soft drink?' The answer was of course forty-one feet, and he did not spill a drop, which is the real story. Sherman takes home a cast-iron skillet seasoned by four generations of strangers! On my end, I ate three chocolate bars during the timeouts. Sports make you hungry, even in the booth. Off to bed! Or stay for 'Real Housewives of the DMV.' The line is around the block.

Jornada 6 — vs Los Angeles Nursing-Home

75-120 (D)

Small thing, a jump ball, but Fidel Castro winning that tip means we set the tone. Coaches script that first play for a reason.

The movie actor/actress hit three straight and immediately decided he was allowed to shoot from the tunnel. He was not.

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.

Feet set, chest low, hands high. The doctor will not give up that block, and the building has decided he is their guy. Everything starts with that release, Juscelino Kubitschek hitting Pelé in full flight before the defense has even turned around. Nasty finish. Pelé hangs, adjusts in midair, and drops it through.

Pelé mimes putting a whole section to sleep, hands folded against his cheek, eyes shut. He is facing the Los Angeles Nursing-Home fans who paid for the good seats. They boo. He nods along with the boos, which somehow makes the home crowd louder.

That is the pass nobody puts on a highlight reel, and Romário makes it every single trip down the floor. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Pelé whips that pass one-handed on the move and the roll man gathers it through contact. Filthy. Getting to his spot and elevating, Romário puts it on the back iron, up over the front, and out. Half a rotation from two points.

The locker room. Fidel Castro sprawls out full-length on the bench. Staff confession: Fidel Castro is afraid of pigeons. Not 7-foot centers, no. Pigeons. And now, our halftime TV game show Blockbusters at the Laundromat! To win a mannequin torso wearing a borrowed letterman jacket, text HOOPS to 555-0388 and answer this question: 'What is the boiling point of a chili at a firehouse cook-off?' And we're off! The energy in the arena just went up a notch.

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

You want basketball IQ? Ask the movie actor/actress, who just moved the rock on time without one wasted dribble. OHHHH that is filthy! Fidel Castro on the handoff and the man guarding it is still fighting over the top. Textbook footwork, textbook release from Romário, cruel result as it spins out and both teams go up for a contested board.

Pelé gives it up to Fidel Castro on the move, the built-in screen erases the chase, and there is a clean runway to the rim. A cruel spin-out for the revolutionary, and whatever that day job is, tonight it came with a brand new way to break your heart.

Dagger from Los Angeles Nursing-Home. You could hear the air leave this arena on that one.

Kick out to Pablo Escobar, one more to Romário, splash from the wing and this bench is on its feet. The politician had that thing halfway down and the rim spat it back out. Nobody ever warns you that the iron has a personality.

Ohhh no. Corner three, Los Angeles Nursing-Home in rhythm now, and our side of the building goes silent.

OHHHH, what a read by Romário! He never even glanced at the rim and it is CASH on the other end. Fidel Castro threads a BEAUTY to Pablo Escobar under the rim and... he lays it off the bottom of the iron! Ohhhh, no.

The press did exactly what it was drawn up to do. Romário panicked, the timeline did the rest, and the defense gets a turnover without stealing a thing.

Count it and the foul. Brutal. Los Angeles Nursing-Home with a three point play and a gut punch in the same possession.

Here is the part that never makes the highlight package: Pelé controlling tempo, burning clock, hunting the mismatch the second one shows up. Dribble handoff from Fidel Castro, and the defender gets wiped out on the exchange! The extra pass! Juscelino Kubitschek had the look, gave it up anyway, and Pablo Escobar buries it. BANG! BAAAANG! Pablo Escobar from the logo, and the entire bench is on its feet losing its mind!

Romário is the last one off the court, shoulders hunched. Pelé waits at the tunnel entrance. And here is the answer to our game Blockbusters at the Laundromat! Reba Mae Odom of Skillet Fork, California, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What is the boiling point of a chili at a firehouse cook-off?' The answer was of course slightly above the legal limit. Reba Mae takes home a mannequin torso wearing a borrowed letterman jacket! On my end, I discovered the arena's coffee machine was broken. The game nearly went uncommentated. Good night everyone! Up next: 'Worst Cooks in America: Boiling an Egg Without Breaking It.' Challenge accepted.

Jornada 7 — vs Toronto Border-Patrol

85-130 (D)

Turnover, layup, Toronto Border-Patrol straight through us in transition. Careless basketball.

Screened, toasted, done. Romário is loose and the defense is scrambling to find him. Watch the footwork from Romário: one-two into the paint, no charge, feathery touch off the glass. Filthy craft.

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.

Clean feed from Romário, nothing forced, just the offense breathing. The drug lord just created his own space with a stepback. Somewhere a scout is spitting coffee all over his notepad. The drug lord 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.

More second chance points for Toronto Border-Patrol, and our bench is up screaming for a timeout. Rightly so.

Halftime. Pablo Escobar wolfs down an energy bar in two bites. Anecdote: Pablo Escobar tried to impress the Toronto Border-Patrol players with a warm-up dunk. Hit the rim. With his face. And now, our halftime TV game show The Newlywed Regret Game! To win a genuine imitation leather fanny pack, text HOOPS to 555-0155 and answer this question: 'How many potato chips are in a family size bag before the air gets involved?' We pick up right where we left off. Time to play.

The crew chief has the headset on, three angles on the screen, everybody in here staring at Romário. Games turn on calls the naked eye could never make, and this one just went the way of Romário.

Second shot clock violation of the half with Pablo Escobar holding it too long. Live possessions are too expensive to hand back like that.

Somebody explain how the movie actor/actress reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. Day job, then this: the revolutionary reads a rolling big like a coach with twenty years on the bench. OFF THE IRON and halfway to the bench! Pelé missed that one with real conviction.

Total control. Pelé has this thing on a string. STOP AND GO! Fidel Castro hit the brakes, hit the gas, and the lane opened up like a garage door. Fifth possession this half where Fidel Castro has been left to bail everybody out with the clock at zero. He cannot keep doing this alone.

The politician makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. Screen, roll, DELIVERY from Fidel Castro! Nothing but runway to the rim! Textbook footwork, textbook release from Pablo Escobar, cruel result as it spins out and both teams go up for a contested board.

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

Across half court, a quick survey, a point to the weak side, and Pelé drops it off to Romário on time and on target. Off the pin-down comes the politician with nobody inside a zip code. Somebody out there knows how to use a screen, and it is not who you would guess. That is the shot chart lying to you. Romário did everything right on this possession and has zero points to show for it.

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

Romário goes fishing at the point of attack, the ball handler feels the hand on his elbow, and the arm goes straight up. Fourth foul on the politician and he is headed for the bench. Longest break the man has had since he took that job.

First option: Pablo Escobar. Everything else on that clipboard is decoration. BANG! Exactly the play on the clipboard: Fidel Castro to Pelé, catch and rise.

Pablo Escobar whispers 'this can't be real' under his breath. Fidel Castro nods without conviction. And here is the answer to our game The Newlywed Regret Game! Loretta Bagwell of Turkey Foot, Georgia, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many potato chips are in a family size bag before the air gets involved?' The answer was of course eleven, and the remainder is atmosphere. Loretta takes home a genuine imitation leather fanny pack! During the break, I tried doing crunches behind the console. My back remembers. That's a wrap! Coming up: 'What Would You Do: People Who Say Hello in the Elevator.' Exposing the truth.

Jornada 8 — vs Minnesota Ice-Wall

87-116 (D)

More second chance points for Minnesota Ice-Wall, and our bench is up screaming for a timeout. Rightly so.

Everybody in the arena knew the stepback was coming from Pelé, and not one single soul could do anything about it. Somewhere a defender is explaining to his family why the movie actor/actress is going to be on the front page tomorrow morning.

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

Second pass beats the rotation, Pelé to Romário, and the closeout gets there about half a second too late. That is a forced shot from the politician that was doomed the moment it left the hand, and the bench has quietly decided to look at the floor for a moment.

Laser from Pelé, corner to corner, and that closeout gets there about a second and a half too late. Follow the ball there: four sets of hands, Fidel Castro makes the last read, and the defense never gets set. That is training camp offense. The politician hammers a brick off the backboard so hard the rim is still shaking. Nothing in that resume prepared anybody for this.

Halftime. Fidel Castro wolfs down an energy bar in two bites. Small detail: Fidel Castro wears mismatched socks every game. Calls it a strategy. And now, our halftime TV game show Whammy Watch Live! To win a barrel of packing peanuts and absolutely nothing else, text HOOPS to 555-1073 and answer this question: 'How tall is the shortest player who ever dunked in a dream?' And we're off! The energy in the arena just went up a notch.

Minnesota Ice-Wall again, and again nobody is home. Three straight trips down the floor with zero resistance.

The movie actor/actress just flattened a man who had both feet planted. Charge, turnover, and a very quiet walk back on defense.

The movie actor/actress just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. Watch Pelé plant his feet, absorb the hit, and spring Romário out of that corner in a blink. Stuck holding it as the clock bleeds out, Romário fades away from twenty-six feet, and it is not close.

You can read it right off the scoreboard: not one point since the last stoppage, and Juscelino Kubitschek is pressing badly now. Nobody moved, nobody cut, nobody set a screen, so Pelé launches a contested jumper with the horn already going. Ugly offense.

Ball moves. Pablo Escobar to Pelé, on time and on target. You can teach the jumper, you cannot teach the willingness, and Pelé gives up a decent shot every single time a better one exists. Oh my. Romário did not even draw iron.

Cross court, on a rope, from the politician. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. Watch the sell from Pablo Escobar here, he leans in, he gets the defender leaning with him, and then he backs away into all that space. Getting to his spot and elevating, Pablo Escobar puts it on the back iron, up over the front, and out. Half a rotation from two points.

The politician just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. The drug lord just threaded a pocket pass through two defenders. Where exactly did that vision come from? The movie actor/actress had two points in the bank and the iron took them right back out. You do not get heartbreak like that in the day job.

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

Watch the spacing there, Pablo Escobar hits Romário right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. Romário hands it off to Fidel Castro, slices through the seam, and the return pass is sitting there waiting at the rim. Deep. Deeper. GONE. Romário drops it in from a spot the scouting report never even listed.

Fidel Castro sighs so loudly that the reporters hear it. Pablo Escobar winces. And here is the answer to our game show Whammy Watch Live! Doris Ann Pickerel of Skunk Cabbage, Connecticut, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'How tall is the shortest player who ever dunked in a dream?' The answer was of course five foot two, and the dream was extremely convincing. Doris Ann therefore wins a barrel of packing peanuts and absolutely nothing else! I spent the fourth quarter standing. Not by choice. My chair gave out in the third. We're wrapping up the mics. Up next: 'Chopped: Tupperware Lunch at the Office Edition.'

Jornada 9 — vs Houston Blast-Off

87-131 (D)

Houston Blast-Off again, and again nobody is home. Three straight trips down the floor with zero resistance.

The politician turns clean out of two bodies in the paint. That is nowhere in the job description and yet here we are. Two on the shot clock and the ball ends up with the politician, which is how you get a twenty-eight footer off the wrong foot.

Clean feed from Pelé, nothing forced, just the offense breathing. One little shoulder dip from Pablo Escobar and the guy guarding him turned into a traffic cone in real time. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! That was IN for Pablo Escobar!

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

Romário comes flying off that screen and he is WIDE open! Stop on a dime, up and over those outstretched arms, and the center can only stand there and watch Romário walk away from it.

Romário pulls the jersey away from his chest and points at the crest, twice, hard, then taps his heart. No smile, no theater. The arena horn keeps going long after it should stop. Somebody up in the rafters is holding a sign about this exact city.

Heading in. Fidel Castro's eyes are bloodshot from sheer effort. Intel: Fidel Castro asked Houston Blast-Off for their energy drink recipe. They refused. And now, our halftime TV game show Antiques Roadshow but Everything is Broken! To win an inflatable canoe with a slow but very honest leak, text HOOPS to 555-0116 and answer this question: 'What is the going rate for a rebound in small claims court?' We resume. Eyes locked in, jaws clenched.

Pablo Escobar has to see that help man. When a defender beats you to the spot and sits down, you pull it out.

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

A politician breaking down a professional defender in front of a sold out house! Remember that day job, folks! Romário had that one all the way, perfect release, perfect arc, and the rim simply refuses to let it drop.

Turnover, layup, Houston Blast-Off straight through us in transition. Careless basketball.

OHHHH the hesi! Pelé froze him solid and he is already gone! The movie actor/actress launched one from the logo as the horn sounded. In fairness, nobody in that huddle gave him a better option.

That hesitation move is exactly why they keep sending a second body at Romário the moment he crosses half court. The politician just double dribbled in front of a sold-out building. Nobody back at work is ever letting that one go.

Reach-in on the politician. He tried to take the ball the way he takes everything else on the job, politely and with both hands. OHHH that is a rotten one to pick up. Romário bumps a cutter out near the logo on a play that threatened nobody.

Eight seconds off the shot clock and Pelé has not wasted one of them, the ball reaching Romário precisely where the play wanted it. Screen, hesitation, delivery, Romário drops it off perfectly for Pelé diving to the rim. BRICK! Pelé throws up a prayer and the iron sends it straight back out to half court!

Count it and the foul. Brutal. Houston Blast-Off with a three point play and a gut punch in the same possession.

Enough room out there to set up a lawn chair, and the movie actor/actress made it himself. Total professional, in a completely unrelated profession. The movie actor/actress just spun through two defenders and reversed that in. Nothing about this is a normal Tuesday!

Romário whispers 'this can't be real' under his breath. Fidel Castro nods without conviction. And here is the answer to our game Antiques Roadshow but Everything is Broken! Wayne Shropshire of Salt Lick Junction, Maine, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What is the going rate for a rebound in small claims court?' The answer was of course twelve dollars, or one covered dish. Wayne takes home an inflatable canoe with a slow but very honest leak! I spent the fourth quarter standing. Not by choice. My chair gave out in the third. Good evening! Coming up: 'Dancing with the Stars: My Cousin's Wedding Edition.' Open bar.

Jornada 10 — vs Denver Horse-Track

77-122 (D)

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.

Cross court, on a rope, from the politician. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. A probe, a plant of the outside foot, and Pablo Escobar pushes off while his man is still fighting to recover his balance. Nobody drew up that arc. The drug lord floated one halfway to the rafters, and the rim never even got a say.

Ohhh no. Corner three, Denver Horse-Track in rhythm now, and our side of the building goes silent.

Over and back on the movie actor/actress, who just lost a possession to a painted line. No defender required.

Denver Horse-Track again, and again nobody is home. Three straight trips down the floor with zero resistance.

Heading in. Pablo Escobar's eyes are bloodshot from sheer effort. Anecdote: Pablo Escobar once shot at the wrong basket during warm-ups. Nobody has forgotten. And now, our halftime TV game show Blockbusters the Video Store One! To win a garden gnome missing both arms, text HOOPS to 555-0712 and answer this question: 'Which is louder, an air horn or a grandmother who disagrees with a call?' Resetting the counters for this second half. Well, not really.

Set called, Romário waved out to the corner, and Pelé watches the spacing open up like a front door. Enough room out there to set up a lawn chair, and the politician made it himself. Total professional, in a completely unrelated profession. Romário gets to his spot in the lane, lifts the runner over the big man, and leaves it a foot short. No dice.

Nobody boxed out. Tip in, Denver Horse-Track, and two of ours were standing right there watching it happen.

OHHHH the separation! Pelé just manufactured three feet of daylight out of absolutely nothing. Off the dribble, a full step behind the logo, straight down. Tomorrow the movie actor/actress goes back to work, tonight he owns this arena.

Pass, cut, catch, wide open. Four things in about a second and a half from Romário. Ohhh no. Romário just walked. In front of everybody.

Nobody cut, nobody screened, and Pelé was still surveying the floor when the clock hit zero. That is a giveaway, plain and simple.

Count it and the foul. Brutal. Denver Horse-Track with a three point play and a gut punch in the same possession.

OHHHH no, Pablo Escobar floats it crosscourt and it gets picked off clean. That thing is going the other way.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Pelé spun out of a double team like it was a revolving door! Get that one framed. Pelé took off from the block and the defender is still lying on the floor.

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

The movie actor/actress pops to the arc and buries it, and nobody in this building believes that man clocks in somewhere in the morning. Pablo Escobar went for the deep heat check and produced the loudest silence of the night, roar to OHHHH in half a second.

Both coaches are up off the bench pleading while the officials walk the Romário sequence back frame by frame. No good! The ball is STILL sitting in the hand of Romário when that light comes on. Waved off.

Pelé sits on the bench, staring into nothing. Fidel Castro has his head in his hands. And here is the answer to our game show Blockbusters the Video Store One! Travis Wayne Trundle of Hardtack, Indiana, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'Which is louder, an air horn or a grandmother who disagrees with a call?' The answer was of course the grandmother, by a margin researchers declined to publish. Travis Wayne therefore wins a garden gnome missing both arms! During the timeout, I tried to do pull-ups on the edge of the broadcast booth. Zero. That's a wrap! Coming up: 'American Idol: Accountant Edition.' Singing, dancing, and spreadsheets.

Jornada 11 — vs New York Over-Timers

75-119 (D)

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

Cold blooded from New York Over-Timers, way out beyond the arc, and our defense is scrambling in rotation.

Push the pace! Pelé grabs it and hits Pablo Escobar in stride before the defense can even match up. Hesitate, GO. Pablo Escobar is by that hip before the man even blinks. Pablo Escobar beat the clock by a tenth of a second and missed by about four feet. Technically legal, competitively pointless.

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

Set called, Juscelino Kubitschek waved out to the corner, and Pelé watches the spacing open up like a front door. 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 Juscelino Kubitschek does. A cruel spin-out for the doctor, and whatever that day job is, tonight it came with a brand new way to break your heart.

Back in the locker room, Romário sits down and stares at the ceiling. Did you know Romário entered the dunk contest... At 5'9"? Courage knows no height. And now, our halftime TV game show Beat the Clock Radio! To win a coupon book for a car wash that closed in 2011, text HOOPS to 555-0022 and answer this question: 'Why is the mascot always slightly damp?' Back for the second half. The coach slammed his fist on the table.

That is the second illegal pick of the night from Juscelino Kubitschek, and possessions like that are how you lose a tight one.

Pablo Escobar rides the ball handler all the way up the floor and finally puts a forearm in his back. Officials blow it dead. Nothing but trouble ahead for Pablo Escobar. Third foul, and this crew is calling it tight on both ends of the floor.

New York Over-Timers again, and again nobody is home. Three straight trips down the floor with zero resistance.

Nobody dribbled, nobody isolated, Pelé and Juscelino Kubitschek just played basketball and the defense got shredded. Nobody touched him, nobody trapped him, and Pelé still coughed it up. Easiest whistle these officials will blow all night.

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.

The politician makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. Second pass beats the rotation, Pablo Escobar to Romário, and the closeout gets there about half a second too late. Rim, backboard, none of the above from the politician! Ladies and gentlemen, that is a person with a real job, and we have all just been reminded of it.

Watch the sell from Pelé here, he leans in, he gets the defender leaning with him, and then he backs away into all that space. Off the dribble, a full step behind the logo, straight down. Tomorrow the movie actor/actress goes back to work, tonight he owns this arena.

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

Ball moves. Romário to Juscelino Kubitschek, on time and on target. Right idea, no zip on it, and at this level Juscelino Kubitschek either puts some heat on that ball or he keeps it in his hands.

Timeout. Tablet out. And every line the coach draws starts with Romário. Cut, screen, relocate, and there is Juscelino Kubitschek wide open in the corner. Nobody on that defense read one page of it.

Pelé walks like someone carrying the weight of the world. Romário drags one foot after the other. And here is the answer to our game Beat the Clock Radio! Buford Wamsley of Cement City, Michigan, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'Why is the mascot always slightly damp?' The answer was of course that is strictly between the mascot and the mascot. Buford takes home a coupon book for a car wash that closed in 2011! My evening in one word? Epic. In two words? Epic and loud. Good night! Up next: 'America's Got Talent: Mouth Noises Edition.' The judges are baffled.

Jornada 12 — vs Cleveland Twin-Towers

82-127 (D)

The referee tosses it high and Fidel Castro rises late, which is exactly how you win one of these. Timing over height, every single time.

The defender planted his feet, and Pelé said thank you very much and drove straight through his front pocket. Somewhere an assistant coach is throwing a clipboard, because the movie actor/actress baited that closeout from deep like a decade of film study went into it.

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

Pablo Escobar kicks it over to Fidel Castro, no dribble, no drama, and this offense settles into a rhythm. Oldest play in the book, and Fidel Castro runs it in his sleep. That drop coverage never had a prayer. Pull-up from the elbow by Pablo Escobar, halfway down, spinning inside the iron, and it pops right back out.

Watch the spacing there, Pablo Escobar hits Pelé right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. Beautiful pass by Pelé. Wrong jersey.

Into the tunnel. Juscelino Kubitschek grabs a banana on the way and devours it. Physio's confession: Juscelino Kubitschek purrs when you massage his calves. Like a cat. A big cat. And now, our halftime TV game show Spin the Wheel Slowly! To win a coffee table book about drainage ditches of the Midwest, text HOOPS to 555-1159 and answer this question: 'How many seconds does it take to lose a lead of thirty points?' Both teams retake the floor. The best may be yet to come.

Bucket for Cleveland Twin-Towers. Wide open look, and nobody even ran at the shooter.

Fidel Castro just took a shoulder to the chest to buy Pelé half a second, and half a second in this league is an eternity. Catching it right at the cup with nobody within eight feet, Pelé goes up too strong and the ball rides high off the backboard.

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

The politician just froze a grown professional with a hesitation dribble. This man punches a clock and he is out here doing THAT. The politician just put somebody on a POSTER! That defender is going to see this clip for the rest of his life!

Cleveland Twin-Towers again, and again nobody is home. Three straight trips down the floor with zero resistance.

Day job, then this: the movie actor/actress reads a rolling big like a coach with twenty years on the bench. Fidel Castro catches on the wing, jab step, spin move, and that pivot foot comes clean off the hardwood. Traveling.

That is the pass that beats a zone, and Pelé threw it before the help even committed. Pelé sets the pick and DIVES to the cup. Romário lays it right on his hands in traffic! So close. Pelé can only stare at the iron.

Punish the help, that is the rule, and Pelé just did it by hitting Juscelino Kubitschek on the back side with acres of room. Two defenders collide on the handoff and Pablo Escobar is gone, so Juscelino Kubitschek earned that one even if the box score disagrees. Ball into Pelé at the elbow, Pablo Escobar plants his foot and goes backdoor, and the pass meets him in the air. Filthy. A jump hook over a grown professional defender, from the drug lord? That is the most unexpected fundamentals clinic of the night.

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

The drug lord just ran a give and go to perfection on national television! Somebody go tell his boss what he does after hours! Stuck out on the perimeter with no outlet, Pablo Escobar panics, re-dribbles, and hands the possession over on a silver platter.

Pelé walks in slow motion, arms dangling. Fidel Castro speeds up. Wants it to be over. And here is the answer to our game show Spin the Wheel Slowly! Elouise Tackett of Chigger Bottom, Massachusetts, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'How many seconds does it take to lose a lead of thirty points?' The answer was of course four hundred and ten seconds, provided everybody cooperates. Elouise therefore wins a coffee table book about drainage ditches of the Midwest! Fun fact: my sound engineer fell asleep during the second quarter. I woke him with an elbow. Thanks for watching this game. And now: 'Deal or No Deal: Office Fridge Edition.'

Jornada 13 — vs Boston Ring-Chasers

84-129 (D)

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

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

Pablo Escobar gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Pelé saw it a beat early. OHHHH the hesi! Pablo Escobar froze him solid and he is already gone! The drug lord 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 drug lord makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. Here comes the slip from Juscelino Kubitschek, and Pelé reads it a half second before anybody else in the building. Contested, off balance, fading away from the wrong shoulder, that is a shot Juscelino Kubitschek should never take with three teammates standing wide open.

Day job, then this: the movie actor/actress reads a rolling big like a coach with twenty years on the bench. The doctor just dropped a teardrop over a seven footer. Soft hands must run in that trade!

Shimmy from the corner all the way to half court, shoulders loose, chin high. Juscelino Kubitschek 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.

Halftime whistle! Fidel Castro slides down against the hallway wall. Did you know? Fidel Castro tried to become a rapper before basketball. The world dodged a bullet. And now, our halftime TV game show Whammy Watch Live! To win a barrel of packing peanuts and absolutely nothing else, text HOOPS to 555-1073 and answer this question: 'How tall is the shortest player who ever dunked in a dream?' On to the next chapter. The court is just waiting for the ball.

OHHHH the pin-down! Pablo Escobar pops out clean while the defender is STILL tangled up with Juscelino Kubitschek. Brutal. Missed layup for the drug lord and the whole arena groans as one. Great hands in the day job, apparently they do not travel.

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

Swing, swing, and Pelé finds Romário on the wing before the help can even turn its head. Full stop, full sprint, and the politician is in the paint! Nobody back at the workplace is going to believe this one. That is the shot Romário wants every trip down the floor, it drops nine nights out of ten, and tonight is the tenth.

Bucket for Boston Ring-Chasers. Wide open look, and nobody even ran at the shooter.

Pelé comes off the screen and the big man drops WAY back. Pablo Escobar just fades to the arc for the cleanest look of the night. The drug lord misses absolutely everything, and honestly, the nerve to even attempt that shot deserves something. Not points. But something.

Somebody explain how the movie actor/actress reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. This is the work that never shows up on a stat sheet, Pablo Escobar gets the credit and the guy setting the screen gets the bruise. OHHHH, the cylinder rejects the drug lord! Somewhere a whole workplace just yelled at a television.

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

Push the pace! Pelé grabs it and hits Juscelino Kubitschek in stride before the defense can even match up. That hesitation move is exactly why they keep sending a second body at Juscelino Kubitschek the moment he crosses half court. OHHHH that is SILKY! Juscelino Kubitschek with the teardrop, and it kisses through.

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

GONE down the baseline! Pablo Escobar beat him on the first step and the paint is collapsing. Pablo Escobar blows the wide open layup!

Fidel Castro isolates in a corner, back against the wall. Pablo Escobar tries to talk. He raises a hand to say no. And here is the answer to our game show Whammy Watch Live! Doris Ann Pickerel of Skunk Cabbage, Connecticut, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'How tall is the shortest player who ever dunked in a dream?' The answer was of course five foot two, and the dream was extremely convincing. Doris Ann therefore wins a barrel of packing peanuts and absolutely nothing else! I learned that Fidel Castro's father was a movie actor. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Thanks for tonight. Up next: 'American Ninja Warrior: No Elevator Edition.' Sixth floor, no landing.

Jornada 14 — vs San Antonio Skyscrapers

82-126 (D)

Fidel Castro times the leap perfectly, taps it back to the wing, and the first possession of the night belongs to us.

San Antonio Skyscrapers again, and again nobody is home. Three straight trips down the floor with zero resistance.

You want basketball IQ? Ask the movie actor/actress, who just moved the rock on time without one wasted dribble. You could hear the whole building groan, and Pablo Escobar knew it the second the ball left his fingers, already jogging back on defense.

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.

Set called, Fidel Castro waved out to the corner, and Pelé watches the spacing open up like a front door. Two defenders, one gap, and Fidel Castro finds it. Onions on that pass. You can hear that rim ringing from up here, Juscelino Kubitschek has forced three in a row now and the whole offense has stopped moving.

The locker room fills up. Fidel Castro has already eaten three oranges. True story: Fidel Castro had his parking spot stolen by San Antonio Skyscrapers's mascot. Still talks about it. And now, our halftime TV game show Fear Factor Free Throws! To win a truck bed liner for a truck nobody in the family owns, text HOOPS to 555-0952 and answer this question: 'How many miles does a coach pace during a close game?' The players jog toward the court. The air is electric.

Juscelino Kubitschek eats the contact so Romário can run free along the baseline, and the catch-and-shoot look is right there. REJECTED! Romário takes it in and gets it sent straight back into his own chest.

Cold blooded from San Antonio Skyscrapers, way out beyond the arc, and our defense is scrambling in rotation.

Shot clock violation! Pablo Escobar owns the nail, the middle is a no fly zone, and that possession just expired in their hands. Hustle does not check your job title: the revolutionary tips it away and the possession is ours.

The movie actor/actress makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. Screened, toasted, done. Romário is loose and the defense is scrambling to find him. Dribble alive, patient, patient, and then Romário slips it to Fidel Castro right in the pocket. Surgical. Fidel Castro gets into the paint, sees the shot blocker rising, and simply lifts it over the top of him. Never had a prayer.

Nothing but a nod. Fidel Castro 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 San Antonio Skyscrapers bench looks personally insulted.

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

They do not teach that in the movie actor/actress handbook, and yet here we are. Beautiful little exchange. Feet already set, hands already ready. Romário takes the feed from Pelé and cashes it.

Nobody on the bench is sitting. Not the coaches, not the trainers, not the guy in the suit who never plays. Romário points at all of them at once with both hands. Towels come down like weather and the officials wait it out with the patience of the doomed.

Second pass beats the rotation, Romário to Fidel Castro, and the closeout gets there about half a second too late. The revolutionary 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.

Nobody boxed out. Tip in, San Antonio Skyscrapers, and two of ours were standing right there watching it happen.

Juscelino Kubitschek flies at a jump shooter thirty feet from the rim and lands on his hip. Three shots coming. Third whistle on Juscelino Kubitschek. He could argue the first two. This one he cannot.

The doctor is parked under the rim while three grown men in stripes squint at a screen. Just another day at the office, apparently. The officials come back out, cross their arms, and Juscelino Kubitschek goes from hero to spectator on one signal.

Juscelino Kubitschek looks like someone who hasn't slept in three days. Fidel Castro looks like someone who won't sleep tonight. And here is the answer to our game show Fear Factor Free Throws! Charlene Bumgarner of Hushpuppy Ridge, New Hampshire, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'How many miles does a coach pace during a close game?' The answer was of course two point six miles, all of it inside a nine foot box. Charlene therefore wins a truck bed liner for a truck nobody in the family owns! Yours truly survived this game without losing his voice. It was touch and go. Good night everyone! Up next: 'Worst Cooks in America: Boiling an Egg Without Breaking It.' Challenge accepted.

Jornada 15 — vs Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest

77-121 (D)

OHHHH the separation! Romário just manufactured three feet of daylight out of absolutely nothing. The politician 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.

Cold blooded from Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest, way out beyond the arc, and our defense is scrambling in rotation.

The doctor puts a shoulder into the ball handler and pays for it. He spends all day being polite to strangers and now he is hacking people for a living. That is what carrying five fouls into the third quarter does to you. Juscelino Kubitschek never adjusted his hands, and now the coach has to improvise down the stretch.

Turnover, layup, Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest straight through us in transition. Careless basketball.

Reverse it, make them slide all over again, that is how Romário breaks a shell down. Right through the window. Pablo Escobar to Pelé on the roll, and the help was a half step late. Not a hand on him. Pelé flat missed the bunny.

Break time. Juscelino Kubitschek bolts to the locker room without looking at anyone. Intel: Juscelino Kubitschek refuses to play if the ball isn't inflated to exactly 8 PSI. Not 7.9, not 8.1. Eight. And now, our halftime TV game show To Tell the Truth-ish! To win a wall clock shaped like a rooster that crows at random, text HOOPS to 555-0330 and answer this question: 'What is the scientific name for the smell of a middle school gymnasium?' Tipoff! The ref blows the whistle, the ball is in the air.

That is the pass that beats a zone, and Romário threw it before the help even committed. Watch the change of pace from Pablo Escobar, half speed into full speed in one step, and that is a blow-by every time. Onions! Pablo Escobar did that with a hand in his face.

Pablo Escobar deadpans directly into the broadcast camera: nod, wink, gone. Total elapsed time, one and a half seconds. The commentators lose it completely. Juscelino Kubitschek arrives too late and mugs at an empty lens for nobody at all.

Third straight empty trip for the other guys, third straight bucket involving Pablo Escobar. That is exactly how a 10-0 stretch gets built. They are burning a timeout on the politician! Somewhere in that huddle a whiteboard is getting erased in a real hurry.

Nobody is getting a hand near that. Pelé has all the room in the world. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Pelé builds the whole thing from nothing. No screen, no help, three points.

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

Somebody explain how the movie actor/actress reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. 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 Fidel Castro does. The revolutionary had that thing halfway down and the rim spat it back out. Nobody ever warns you that the iron has a personality.

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

The movie actor/actress just created his own space with a stepback. Somewhere a scout is spitting coffee all over his notepad. Soft off the fingertips, the ball takes a full lap of the rim on Pelé, and spits straight back out. That is theft.

More second chance points for Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest, and our bench is up screaming for a timeout. Rightly so.

You want basketball IQ? Ask the drug lord, who just moved the rock on time without one wasted dribble. Telegraphed. Fidel Castro announced that pass three days in advance and the defense RSVP'd.

The movie actor/actress commits the ugliest foul of the night entirely on purpose, and honestly that is the smartest thing anyone has done all quarter.

Pelé rips off his headband and throws it on the ground. Romário picks up his own and folds it carefully. And here is the answer to our game To Tell the Truth-ish! Merle Hackenbush of Muddy Boot, Illinois, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What is the scientific name for the smell of a middle school gymnasium?' The answer was of course nostalgia, with strong notes of floor wax. Merle takes home a wall clock shaped like a rooster that crows at random! Final confession: I still don't know how to pronounce Pelé's name. Forgive me. Thanks for watching this game. And now: 'Deal or No Deal: Office Fridge Edition.'