My dream starting five — basketball_team 🇺🇸

Matchday 1 — vs Detroit Engine-Roar

89-134 (L)

Detroit Engine-Roar again, and again nobody is home. Three straight trips down the floor with zero resistance.

King Kong slides the hip out a full foot before contact. The official saw it, the arena saw it, everybody saw it.

Cold blooded from Detroit Engine-Roar, way out beyond the arc, and our defense is scrambling in rotation.

Eight seconds off the shot clock and Barack Obama has not wasted one of them, the ball reaching King Kong precisely where the play wanted it. Oldest play in the book and it still works: King Kong passes, the defender peeks at the ball, and that one beat is the whole possession. The big man never even contested it, and King Kong still could not get the runner to drop. That one is on him.

The community organizer is running this zone like he has been drawing it up his entire life. Wrong career, my friend, absolutely the wrong career. Nobody gambles less and steals more than Peter Griffin. He does not reach, he anticipates, and that is the whole difference.

Coach calls everyone back. Galactus drags his feet toward the tunnel. Anecdote: Galactus threw up before his first pro game. No more pre-game burgers ever since. 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?' Let's go. The arena rumbles, the players answer.

The player just ran the length of the floor to erase a layup off the backboard. Frame that one for the break room! OUTLET! Peter Griffin rips the board and fires it ahead to Eric Cartman before anybody gets back! Off the day job and straight into the open floor: the school student runs the break like he does this for a living. He does not.

Three fingers up, walking backward the length of the floor, Eric Cartman never once looks at the basket he just drained. The bench mob is off the seats, towels overhead, security waving them back down. Nobody sits. Nobody in here is going to sit again tonight.

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

A full spin move through traffic from the community organizer! Whatever they teach in that trade, footwork is apparently part of it. You can live with most mistakes, but fouling Barack Obama behind the arc gets you a seat next to the coach.

Oh, King Kong wanted to be heard. Congratulations, he was heard. Free throw the other way.

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

Somebody explain how the community organizer reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. The player just froze a grown professional with a hesitation dribble. This man punches a clock and he is out here doing THAT. Peter Griffin threads a BEAUTY to Galactus under the rim and... he lays it off the bottom of the iron! Ohhhh, no.

Nobody is getting a hand near that. Barack Obama has all the room in the world. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! That was IN for Barack Obama!

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

Somebody find a fire extinguisher for the player! Whatever the day job is, right now the only trade that matters is getting buckets. Onions! Peter Griffin did that with a hand in his face.

Peter Griffin plants himself in front of the Detroit Engine-Roar bench, hands on hips, and simply stands there until somebody says something. Somebody says something. Officials arrive at a jog. A teammate hauls him backward by the waist while the arena begs for more.

Across half court, a quick survey, a point to the weak side, and Barack Obama drops it off to King Kong on time and on target. Ice in his veins for a guy who answers to player the rest of the week. Professional shot, amateur resume. Pull-up from the elbow by Barack Obama, halfway down, spinning inside the iron, and it pops right back out.

Galactus snaps at the bench on his way out. Eric Cartman says nothing, but her look says everything. 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! I tried taking notes during the game. My notebook is full of incomprehensible scribbles. That's all for tonight! Coming up: 'CSI: Underground Parking Garage.' Riveting stuff.

Matchday 2 — vs Miami Heart-Attack

75-120 (L)

Clean feed from Eric Cartman, nothing forced, just the offense breathing. Follow the ball there: four sets of hands, Galactus makes the last read, and the defense never gets set. That is training camp offense. Rises, releases, and King Kong sends the ball through the exact patch of sky where the rim is not.

Offensive foul, Galactus. Feet were still churning. Give it back.

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

The community organizer turns clean out of two bodies in the paint. That is nowhere in the job description and yet here we are. In, around, and gone. The iron gives Barack Obama nothing.

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.

Intermission. Peter Griffin dumps an entire water bottle over his head. Little secret: Peter Griffin listens to Celine Dion to focus. I repeat, Celine Dion. And now, our halftime TV game show Grand Prize Giveaway Extravaganza Deluxe! To win a wood chipper rated exclusively for grass clippings, text HOOPS to 555-1263 and answer this question: 'How many people in this country are named after a basketball game?' We're back! The DJ cranks the volume, the players charge onto the court.

This is the possession the entire scouting report warned about, and Peter Griffin is licking his chops. Wasted possession from Peter Griffin. Charge, dead ball, and the other team walks its offense right back up the floor with a free one.

Over the top of everybody. Barack Obama to Peter Griffin in the corner, wide open, catch and rise. The big rolls, the defense collapses, and Peter Griffin punishes it with a read most guys never even see. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Two points in every gym in America except this one, and Eric Cartman is walking back with both hands on his head.

Ohhh no. Corner three, Miami Heart-Attack in rhythm now, and our side of the building goes silent.

Everybody in the arena knew the stepback was coming from Peter Griffin, and not one single soul could do anything about it. Peter Griffin rises, the big man rises higher, and the shot is stuffed into the second row. Return to sender.

Down screen, and Eric Cartman curls hard into the middle of the floor with a full step of daylight. Easy read. Nobody expects touch like that from the school student, but that floater had more feel than half the starting guards in the league.

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

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

The community organizer out here on the deck fighting for loose balls. Nobody pays him for that, and he could not care less. The player just outran an entire defense for the finish, and he clocks in for a shift in the morning. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

Straight to the logo at center court, Peter Griffin 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.

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

Galactus pushes it in transition, pulls up from the elbow, cash. That is a 10-0 run and the visitors have not scored in three minutes. Whistle. Timeout. Barack Obama just broke them in half.

Whistles. Monitor. And Galactus standing frozen at midcourt. The building went up, the building came right back down, and Galactus is staring at a scoreboard that never moved.

Peter Griffin slams his fist on the bench. King Kong places his palm flat, as if to calm the surface. And here is the answer to our game show Grand Prize Giveaway Extravaganza Deluxe! Ezra Bottomley of Grand Prairie Elbow, California, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'How many people in this country are named after a basketball game?' The answer was of course four thousand two hundred, and a suspicious number of them were born nine months after a title run. Ezra therefore wins a wood chipper rated exclusively for grass clippings! Tonight I nearly had a heart attack at least four times. And I'm just the commentator. Thanks for watching. Coming up: '48 Hours: The Secret Life of Roundabouts.' Essential viewing.

Matchday 3 — vs Orlando Magic-Beans

75-120 (L)

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

The community organizer pulls out the crossover of his life, and Monday morning he clocks in like nothing ever happened. Textbook footwork, textbook release from Barack Obama, cruel result as it spins out and both teams go up for a contested board.

OHHHH the hesi! Barack Obama froze him solid and he is already gone! You are about to see a coach put his entire face in both hands, and Barack Obama has earned every second of that reaction.

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

Hesitate, GO. Barack Obama is by that hip before the man even blinks. So close. Barack Obama can only stare at the iron.

The players leave the court. Peter Griffin clings to the tunnel railing. Little scoop: Peter Griffin logs every game in a notebook. With stars and smiley faces. At that age. And now, our halftime TV game show Supermarket Sweep the Series! To win a jackalope postcard rack with no postcards in it, text HOOPS to 555-0398 and answer this question: 'What percentage of halftime shows are secretly the same guy?' We're back! Flushed cheeks and hungry eyes on the players.

Nobody told the player that chasedown blocks are supposed to be above his pay grade. Rebound to fast break in one motion, courtesy of the player. That is not a hobby, that is a skill set. Two defenders in the lane, Eric Cartman splits them, double clutches and kisses it off the square. Count it!

Right hand to the mouthguard, out, pointed at the rafters, back in. Eric Cartman does not break stride once. Two rows of fans are hugging total strangers. Complete loss of composure in the entire lower bowl, and the game is nowhere near over.

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

Push the pace! Barack Obama grabs it and hits Eric Cartman in stride before the defense can even match up. OHHHH he went BACKDOOR! Eric Cartman never broke stride and he has the ball UNDER THE RIM! The school student tried the teardrop and never got it to the rim. Turns out soft touch does not come standard with that day job.

That is the third body Galactus has turned away this quarter, and the entire lane is starting to think twice about coming in.

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

That is the pass nobody puts on a highlight reel, and Barack Obama makes it every single trip down the floor. The player pops to the arc and buries it, and nobody in this building believes that man clocks in somewhere in the morning. Barack Obama beat the clock by a tenth of a second and missed by about four feet. Technically legal, competitively pointless.

King Kong gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Barack Obama saw it a beat early. The player reads the screen perfectly, comes off shoulder to shoulder, and buys himself an open look. Veteran movement, rookie resume. Two defenders, one gap, and King Kong finds it. Onions on that pass. Somebody check that job title again: the school student hanging in the air like the paint owes him rent, and finishing anyway.

Backing all the way to half court with three fingers held over each eye, Eric Cartman keeps the goggles on for the entire trip. The bench mob copies it in unison. The broadcast cuts to twelve grown men wearing invisible glasses. Peak television, honestly.

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

The community organizer just created his own space with a stepback. Somewhere a scout is spitting coffee all over his notepad. Third look from distance for Barack Obama tonight and the arc keeps flattening out, tired legs writing checks the jumper cannot cash.

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

King Kong and Barack Obama walk side by side without looking at each other. The silence is deafening. And here is the answer to our game show Supermarket Sweep the Series! Cletus Ogletree of Hominy Corners, Oklahoma, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'What percentage of halftime shows are secretly the same guy?' The answer was of course eighty six percent, and his name is Gary. Cletus therefore wins a jackalope postcard rack with no postcards in it! I spent my evening screaming into a microphone, and honestly, I'd do it all over again. Alright, good evening! Now it's 'Love Is in the Parking Lot.' Romance guaranteed.

Matchday 4 — vs Philadelphia Injury-Report

73-118 (L)

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

Bucket for Philadelphia Injury-Report. Wide open look, and nobody even ran at the shooter.

The ball travels faster than five defenders can, and Eric Cartman has known that all night long. A full spin move through traffic from the player! Whatever they teach in that trade, footwork is apparently part of it. That is a throwback bucket: Peter Griffin with his back to the basket, and the defense has absolutely no answer for it.

Peter Griffin cups a hand to his ear and turns a slow full circle, milking every section. The upper deck answers louder than the lower bowl, so he points up there and nods. Eric Cartman joins the spin. Forty seconds of noise before anybody inbounds the ball.

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

Punish the help, that is the rule, and Eric Cartman just did it by hitting Peter Griffin on the back side with acres of room. Two guys on the exact same page, Peter Griffin and Galactus, and the defense is left holding a bag of nothing. Perfect drop-off from King Kong, and Peter Griffin answers with... whatever that was. Off the glass, off the rim, and gone.

Well-deserved break. Peter Griffin looks like someone who just ran a marathon. Little secret: Peter Griffin listens to Celine Dion to focus. I repeat, Celine Dion. And now, our halftime TV game show Fifty Fifty or Nothing! To win a decorative barometer that has read STORMY since 1998, text HOOPS to 555-0290 and answer this question: 'How many free throws could a horse make in one hour with no thumbs?' We're back! The DJ cranks the volume, the players charge onto the court.

Barack Obama kicks it over to Eric Cartman, no dribble, no drama, and this offense settles into a rhythm. Enough room out there to set up a lawn chair, and the school student made it himself. Total professional, in a completely unrelated profession. That is what heavy minutes do, Eric Cartman has run all night and the legs have nothing left to give the jumper.

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

That hesitation move is exactly why they keep sending a second body at Barack Obama the moment he crosses half court. Runner in the lane by Barack Obama, high off the fingertips, straight down through the net. Splash!

Straight to the logo at center court, Barack Obama 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.

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

SKIP PASS! Peter Griffin fires it cross court to Galactus and the defense is dead in the water! A player breaking down a professional defender in front of a sold out house! Remember that day job, folks! The player 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.

You want basketball IQ? Ask the school student, who just moved the rock on time without one wasted dribble. Off the pin-down comes the player with nobody inside a zip code. Somebody out there knows how to use a screen, and it is not who you would guess. The player misses absolutely everything, and honestly, the nerve to even attempt that shot deserves something. Not points. But something.

Nobody boxed out. Tip in, Philadelphia Injury-Report, and two of ours were standing right there watching it happen.

Barack Obama walks it up, two fingers in the air, and the whole offense shifts on his command. Rough look for the player there. In his line of work you get to take that one back, out here it is two points going the other way.

The player baits the contact, gets the whistle, and struts to the line like a ten-year pro. His boss is watching this and quietly rethinking next week's schedule. The player just airballed a FREE THROW, and somewhere a group chat has already saved that clip forever.

The player 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 player, who owned the shot of a lifetime for about ninety seconds. Back to the day job with nothing but the story.

Barack Obama turns back to look at the court one last time. Peter Griffin doesn't turn around. And here is the answer to our game show Fifty Fifty or Nothing! Merle Bodkin of Dry Fork Holler, West Virginia, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'How many free throws could a horse make in one hour with no thumbs?' The answer was of course two, and both of them were technically goaltending. Merle therefore wins a decorative barometer that has read STORMY since 1998! Confession: I nearly fell asleep during the second quarter. The third woke me right up. Until next time! Up next: 'Life Unplugged: A Day Without WiFi.' A shocking documentary.

Matchday 5 — vs Phoenix No-Defense

74-118 (L)

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

Hands up, one stomp, a short speech, and the whistle answers. Technical foul on Eric Cartman, and the bench is stunned. Gone. Eric Cartman walks off, and honestly he looks relieved to have finally said his piece.

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

The community organizer fouled a shooter behind the arc. Three free throws, and a timeout that is going to be extremely unpleasant. Third whistle on Barack Obama. He could argue the first two. This one he cannot.

The community organizer pulls out the crossover of his life, and Monday morning he clocks in like nothing ever happened. A cruel spin-out for the community organizer, and whatever that day job is, tonight it came with a brand new way to break your heart.

Halftime whistle. Galactus spits into the trash can walking into the locker room. Rumor has it Galactus tried to recruit the pizza delivery guy for the team. The guy was 6'9". And now, our halftime TV game show Fear Factor Lite! To win a scented candle that smells exactly like a bowling alley, text HOOPS to 555-0402 and answer this question: 'What is the wind speed inside a ceiling fan?' The players are back. The court had time to dry, at least.

Swing, swing, and Barack Obama finds King Kong on the wing before the help can even turn its head. STOP AND GO! King Kong hit the brakes, hit the gas, and the lane opened up like a garage door. The player had that thing halfway down and the rim spat it back out. Nobody ever warns you that the iron has a personality.

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

Shot is up, Galactus loses the wrestling match on the block, and the ball comes down in enemy hands.

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

Set called, Peter Griffin waved out to the corner, and Barack Obama watches the spacing open up like a front door. Peter Griffin turns the corner off the screen from Eric Cartman, the help never rotates, and the lane is WIDE open! Gift wrapped by Galactus, and Eric Cartman cannot finish the two footer. That one is going to sting.

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

CHARGE! Eric Cartman runs a set defender straight over and the arm goes the other way.

The community organizer is out here running a pro offense with hand signals, not one hint of panic, and he clocks in somewhere else in the morning. That crossover was not about getting a shot up. King Kong pulled it out to tell everybody in the gym whose possession this is. Prayer from King Kong. Not answered.

Ball up the floor, change of speed right at the logo, and Barack Obama already has the defense a full step behind. The defender planted his feet, and Peter Griffin said thank you very much and drove straight through his front pocket. Catch on the block, shoulder into the chest, one dribble, and Peter Griffin finishes over the top. Textbook.

Down by the baseline, Peter Griffin points at the arena DJ, who obliges with the loudest thing in the catalog. The whole lower bowl is up. Barack Obama is dancing badly and fully aware of it. The Phoenix No-Defense coach signals for time and gets ignored by his own players.

This is the work that never shows up on a stat sheet, Barack Obama gets the credit and the guy setting the screen gets the bruise. Not a hand on him. Barack Obama flat missed the bunny. OFFENSIVE GLASS! Barack Obama beats three men to the spot! The community organizer just went up over everybody and put that miss back with two hands. That is a night he tells his grandkids about!

Peter Griffin sighs so loudly that the reporters hear it. King Kong winces. And here is the answer to our game Fear Factor Lite! Alvin Kluck of Cheese Ridge, Minnesota, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What is the wind speed inside a ceiling fan?' The answer was of course the same as outside it, only angrier. Alvin takes home a scented candle that smells exactly like a bowling alley! Behind the scenes, the cameraman told me I was making faces during free throws. I had no idea. See you at the next game! In the meantime: 'Pawn Stars: Selling a Pen Without a Cap.'

Matchday 6 — vs Los Angeles Nursing-Home

82-126 (L)

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

Nobody told the community organizer that a hot hand expires, and there he is launching from thirty feet with a defender draped all over him. Back to work.

Bucket for Los Angeles Nursing-Home. Wide open look, and nobody even ran at the shooter.

The coach saw the contact on Galactus and absolutely LOST it. One whistle later, that is a T on the sideline.

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.

Off to the locker room. Eric Cartman has already drained two water bottles. I've been told Eric Cartman always puts her left shoe on first. The one day she switched, gave up 40 points. And now, our halftime TV game show Pawn Stars of the Neighborhood! To win a corn dog the size of a mailbox, already gone cold, text HOOPS to 555-0433 and answer this question: 'What is the average airspeed of a paper airplane thrown from the upper deck?' We're back! Flushed cheeks and hungry eyes on the players.

Help defense from the player! Somebody in this league is getting paid millions to be a full step slower than that.

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

That is the pass that beats a zone, and Eric Cartman threw it before the help even committed. Beautiful footwork on that one from Barack Obama, the pivot foot never budges, which is precisely why the whistle stays in the pocket. That is the kind of finish that changes a defense's body language, and Barack Obama has already done it twice this quarter.

Barack Obama finds the courtside camera lens, leans all the way in and says absolutely nothing. Just breathes on it. Eight seconds of national television filled by one enormous face. Galactus photobombs with crossed eyes, and the clip runs on every highlight show by midnight.

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

This is the counter: Barack Obama punished a defense that kept going under, and now they have to rip up the game plan. AROUND the cylinder and OUT! Peter Griffin cannot believe it, and neither can this building.

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

Ball moves. Peter Griffin to Barack Obama, on time and on target. Screen, roll, DELIVERY from Barack Obama! Nothing but runway to the rim! Ball into Barack Obama at the elbow, King Kong plants his foot and goes backdoor, and the pass meets him in the air. Filthy. Off the dribble, a full step behind the logo, straight down. Tomorrow the player goes back to work, tonight he owns this arena.

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

Nobody dribbled, nobody isolated, Peter Griffin and King Kong just played basketball and the defense got shredded. The player launched one from the logo as the horn sounded. In fairness, nobody in that huddle gave him a better option.

Cross court, on a rope, from the player. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. Look how low King Kong keeps that shoulder on the drive, that is how you turn a sliver of space into a walk to the rim. OHHHH, the cylinder rejects the player! Somewhere a whole workplace just yelled at a television.

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

Galactus stares at the floor while Barack Obama mutters something inaudible under his breath. And here is the answer to our game Pawn Stars of the Neighborhood! Bud Applewhite of Cornbread Hill, Oregon, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What is the average airspeed of a paper airplane thrown from the upper deck?' The answer was of course roughly one usher per second. Bud takes home a corn dog the size of a mailbox, already gone cold! Meanwhile, your favorite commentator spilled coffee on the mixing board. Twice. That was beautiful. And now: 'House Hunters International: 90-Square-Foot Studio, Wall View.' A steal.

Matchday 7 — vs Toronto Border-Patrol

79-123 (L)

Toronto Border-Patrol again, and again nobody is home. Three straight trips down the floor with zero resistance.

The whistle goes, the crew huddles at the monitor, and Eric Cartman gets the thumb, flagrant two, straight to the locker room.

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

You cannot teach that: the player sacrifices the body, and every soul on that bench loses their mind.

OHHHH the separation! Peter Griffin just manufactured three feet of daylight out of absolutely nothing. Fifth possession this half where Peter Griffin has been left to bail everybody out with the clock at zero. He cannot keep doing this alone.

Back to the locker room. Eric Cartman punches her locker. Anecdote: Eric Cartman once shot at the wrong basket during warm-ups. Nobody has forgotten. 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?' Back at it! The coach said two words. Two words that were enough.

Watch the arms on Galactus, straight up, no arm bar, nothing for the officials to blow. That is coaching and discipline.

No hero ball here: Eric Cartman takes what the defense gives and moves it along. Off the pin-down comes the player with nobody inside a zip code. Somebody out there knows how to use a screen, and it is not who you would guess. The player just threaded a pocket pass through two defenders. Where exactly did that vision come from? Peter Griffin loses his angle on the baseline and still finds a way to flip it home with the off hand. Bucket!

Peter Griffin rocks an imaginary baby down the sideline, cradling nothing at all and completely serious about it. Eric Cartman 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.

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

Somebody explain the arc to the player. He gave away three shots on a prayer, and you can watch the coach age in real time. Fourth personal on Galactus. The arena groans, the bench goes silent, and the other team just spotted daylight.

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

Reverse it, make them slide all over again, that is how Barack Obama breaks a shell down. Oldest play in the book, and Galactus runs it in his sleep. That drop coverage never had a prayer. Pass, cut, catch, wide open. Four things in about a second and a half from Peter Griffin. The player just fired one in from the logo and the roof nearly came off this place. That is in nobody's job description.

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

Total control. Barack Obama has this thing on a string. King Kong tries to force it through two bodies and finds nothing but the defender's hands.

Watch the change of pace from Peter Griffin, half speed into full speed in one step, and that is a blow-by every time. That is a shot selection problem, plain and simple. Peter Griffin drove into three bodies and the help defender was waiting the whole way.

A whole possession dies in the hands of the community organizer without a single attempt going up. Back to the day job for a rethink.

Eric Cartman's gaze is cold, distant. Peter Griffin's gaze is hot, angry. 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! As for me, I powered through three coffees and a gas station sandwich. The glamorous life of sports journalism. We're done for tonight. And now: 'Ancient Aliens: The True History of the Coffee Break.'

Matchday 8 — vs Minnesota Ice-Wall

79-123 (L)

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.

Eric Cartman launches it weak side, one pass, and the whole shell has to sprint. Good luck with that. A player breaking down a professional defender in front of a sold out house! Remember that day job, folks! Down, up, and gone for King Kong. The rim is just toying with him now.

OHHHH the help side! King Kong comes flying out of nowhere and that drive is DEAD on arrival! The shooter saw King Kong rising into his eyeline, rushed the release, and caught nothing but the side of the rim.

The community organizer is out here running a pro offense with hand signals, not one hint of panic, and he clocks in somewhere else in the morning. Read, screen, delivery, right on the money. A player making the right pass every single time, and the league is taking notes. Two points left on the floor by Eric Cartman, and those are exactly the ones that come back to bite you in the fourth.

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

The players disappear. Galactus has a makeshift neck brace out of a towel. Little secret: Galactus listens to Celine Dion to focus. I repeat, Celine Dion. 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?' Here they come. You can read the determination on their faces.

Somebody explain how the community organizer reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. Screened, toasted, done. Peter Griffin is loose and the defense is scrambling to find him. Peter Griffin blows the wide open layup!

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

King Kong slides, closes out, recovers. The ball goes all the way around the perimeter and comes back with nothing. Active hands, quiet stat sheet. Barack Obama has been poking at everything that moves for two straight quarters.

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

Reach-in on Peter Griffin. He wanted the steal, he bought a foul. The player sits down with four. You want to be furious, but honestly, he came here straight off a full shift.

The extra pass! Peter Griffin had the look, gave it up anyway, and Eric Cartman buries it. BANG! Rim, backboard, none of the above from the school student! Ladies and gentlemen, that is a person with a real job, and we have all just been reminded of it.

Late rotation from Peter Griffin, he arrives half a beat behind the drive and the contact is obvious to everybody in the building.

Laser from Eric Cartman, corner to corner, and that closeout gets there about a second and a half too late. The player reads the screen perfectly, comes off shoulder to shoulder, and buys himself an open look. Veteran movement, rookie resume. The player just ran a give and go to perfection on national television! Somebody go tell his boss what he does after hours! OHHHH that is SILKY! Peter Griffin with the teardrop, and it kisses through.

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

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

Watch the spacing there, Eric Cartman hits Galactus right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Galactus spun out of a double team like it was a revolving door! Perfect arc. Galactus makes seven feet of rim protection completely irrelevant.

Barack Obama snaps at the bench on his way out. Peter Griffin says nothing, but his look says everything. 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! Your commentator broke his personal screaming record tonight. My throat is not thanking me. Alright, good night! Up next: 'Secret Life of Your Mailman.' Episode 47.

Matchday 9 — vs Houston Blast-Off

80-125 (L)

The community organizer makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. Give and go! Galactus gives it up, cuts, and gets it right back with a clear lane to the cup! Two on the shot clock and the ball ends up with the player, which is how you get a twenty-eight footer off the wrong foot.

DENIED! Galactus pins it flush on the backboard and screams NOT HERE, NOT TODAY.

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

Eric Cartman hands it off to Peter Griffin, slices through the seam, and the return pass is sitting there waiting at the rim. Twenty-four seconds of standing around, and Eric Cartman has to eat the last two of them. Possession wasted long before the shot went up.

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

Halftime. The physio pounces on Eric Cartman to massage her thighs. The staff told me Eric Cartman sings in the shower. Badly. Very badly. And now, our halftime TV game show Win, Lose, or Shrug! To win a giant novelty check made out for two dollars, text HOOPS to 555-0075 and answer this question: 'How many pieces are missing from a jigsaw puzzle at a lake house?' Back in action! The coach got the message across.

Somewhere out there a player is learning that the day job never included defensive slides. Rough little moment.

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

Pressure the length of the floor, Galactus splits one trap but not the second, and the eight count expires two feet short of halfcourt.

Cold blooded from Houston Blast-Off, way out beyond the arc, and our defense is scrambling in rotation.

Whole bench is up, the coach is redder than the jersey, and Eric Cartman is the only man out there keeping his head.

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.

OHHHH the theater from Barack Obama! Barely a brush and he is flat on his back studying the scoreboard.

Get the ball up the floor! Barack Obama has turned a routine inbound pass into a full-blown crisis. The entry pass goes in, Galactus beats the big man to it, and this building is already standing up. Off the day job and straight into the open floor: the player runs the break like he does this for a living. He does not.

Salute: sharp, military, held. Galactus delivers it toward the loudest corner of the building and does not drop his hand until the noise starts to hurt. King Kong snaps to attention beside him and the bench follows. Twelve saluting maniacs and a coach with his head in his hands.

A cut with that timing from the community organizer? He is on the clock somewhere else all week and he still found time to learn the two-man game. Rim out for Barack Obama, the crowd came up and sat right back down, and you can hear the groan from every corner of the arena.

The assistant points at the far corner, the head coach points at King Kong, and the other three get told exactly where to stand. Out of the timeout, King Kong hits Eric Cartman right on schedule and it drops! Drawn up, run, done.

Peter Griffin lets out a nervous laugh that sends chills down your spine. Barack Obama decides not to comment. And here is the answer to our game Win, Lose, or Shrug! Maxine Skaggs of Bitter Root Draw, New Jersey, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many pieces are missing from a jigsaw puzzle at a lake house?' The answer was of course two, always the same two, and one of them is sky. Maxine takes home a giant novelty check made out for two dollars! Confession: I bet against my favorite team tonight. Superstition. It works half the time. That's it for tonight. Coming up: 'Nailed It: Cakes Ruined by My Mother-in-Law.'

Matchday 10 — vs Denver Horse-Track

84-129 (L)

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

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

Watch the spacing, Barack Obama drags two bodies toward the ball and Peter Griffin is standing alone behind the line. Geometry, not luck. Up goes the shot from Peter Griffin and that is nothing but AIR, and every soul in this building saw it happen.

BAAAANG! Ten straight for Barack Obama and this place is a volcano! Galactus buries it, turns to the crowd on the way back, and the other side immediately calls time. Dagger and a timeout in the same breath.

Barack Obama gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Peter Griffin saw it a beat early. The community organizer just made the extra pass with a clean look of his own! You do not run into that kind of selflessness at the office! Eric Cartman fires that thing at the backboard like it owes him money. No chance from the moment it left his hand.

Break time. King Kong bolts to the locker room without looking at anyone. Quick anecdote about King Kong: apparently he eats pasta with ketchup before every game. To each their own ritual. And now, our halftime TV game show Sale of the Half Century! To win a bread machine with a manual in three languages, none of them English, text HOOPS to 555-0673 and answer this question: 'What is the wingspan of a man who claims he could have gone pro?' Both teams emerge from the tunnel. The second half can begin.

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

Eric Cartman kicks it over to Peter Griffin, no dribble, no drama, and this offense settles into a rhythm. Screen, hesitation, delivery, Peter Griffin drops it off perfectly for King Kong diving to the rim. Buzzer on the shot clock, King Kong heaves it off one leg, and the ball comes up short of everything.

Enough room out there to set up a lawn chair, and the community organizer made it himself. Total professional, in a completely unrelated profession. Oh my. Barack Obama did not even draw iron.

Ball moves. Eric Cartman to Galactus, on time and on target. Court vision like that on the player is absurd. Whatever the day job pays him, the assist numbers say he is badly underpriced. Getting to his spot and elevating, King Kong puts it on the back iron, up over the front, and out. Half a rotation from two points.

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.

A full spin move through traffic from the player! Whatever they teach in that trade, footwork is apparently part of it. Somewhere a defender is explaining to his family why the player is going to be on the front page tomorrow morning.

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

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

The community organizer just ran that two-man game like he has a decade of film on it. Somebody get this man a contract. Illegal screen on Peter Griffin. All that effort, and the reward is a whistle and a long walk back on defense.

Cold blooded from Denver Horse-Track, way out beyond the arc, and our defense is scrambling in rotation.

Clean feed from Barack Obama, nothing forced, just the offense breathing. One little shoulder dip from Eric Cartman and the guy guarding him turned into a traffic cone in real time. Isolation on the wing, shot clock draining, and Eric Cartman rocks the defender to sleep before dropping it through.

Barack Obama slams his fist on the bench. King Kong places his palm flat, as if to calm the surface. And here is the answer to our game show Sale of the Half Century! Orville Duckworth of Slush Pile, Michigan, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'What is the wingspan of a man who claims he could have gone pro?' The answer was of course roughly the length of the story he is telling. Orville therefore wins a bread machine with a manual in three languages, none of them English! I drank so much coffee tonight I'm going to commentate in my sleep. We're done for tonight. And now: 'Ancient Aliens: The True History of the Coffee Break.'

Matchday 11 — vs New York Over-Timers

87-131 (L)

More second chance points for New York Over-Timers, and our bench is up screaming for a timeout. Rightly so.

The community organizer just made the extra pass with a clean look of his own! You do not run into that kind of selflessness at the office! Catching it right at the cup with nobody within eight feet, Eric Cartman goes up too strong and the ball rides high off the backboard.

Second charge drawn by Eric Cartman tonight, and that big fella is going to think twice before lowering a shoulder again.

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

Here is the part that never makes the highlight package: Barack Obama controlling tempo, burning clock, hunting the mismatch the second one shows up. OHHHH the pin-down! Peter Griffin pops out clean while the defender is STILL tangled up with King Kong. Brutal. That is a dime from Galactus that deserved so much better, and Peter Griffin knows it, head down, jogging back before the ball even lands.

The players file out. Galactus exchanges a tense look with the coach. Locker room intel: Galactus has a tattoo of a basketball hoop on his butt. That's commitment. 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?' And we're off! The energy in the arena just went up a notch.

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

Somebody explain how the community organizer reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. A probe, a plant of the outside foot, and Eric Cartman pushes off while his man is still fighting to recover his balance. Eric Cartman gets to his spot in the lane, lifts the runner over the big man, and leaves it a foot short. No dice.

That is the second personal charged to Galactus and the bench is already staring at the clipboard. Foul trouble rewrites a rotation in a hurry. Fourth foul on the player and he is headed for the bench. Longest break the man has had since he took that job.

Galactus gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Peter Griffin saw it a beat early. The player just handed that one straight to the other team. Hey, nobody is perfect at two jobs at once.

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

Barack Obama stutters at the elbow, the defender bites on it, and now there is nothing but open floor between him and the rim. A cruel spin-out for the community organizer, and whatever that day job is, tonight it came with a brand new way to break your heart.

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

Kick out to Barack Obama, one more to Galactus, splash from the wing and this bench is on its feet. The player just dunked on two grown men and drew the foul. Whatever that job pays, it is not enough.

Chest bump so violent that Galactus and Eric Cartman 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.

The community organizer is out here running a pro offense with hand signals, not one hint of panic, and he clocks in somewhere else in the morning. GONE down the baseline! Peter Griffin beat him on the first step and the paint is collapsing. The player just fired one in from the logo and the roof nearly came off this place. That is in nobody's job description.

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

Peter Griffin clenches his left fist, unclenches, clenches again. King Kong fidgets with his wristband nervously. 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! Yours truly held it together all evening without a bathroom break. That's professionalism. That was beautiful. And now: 'House Hunters International: 90-Square-Foot Studio, Wall View.' A steal.

Matchday 12 — vs Cleveland Twin-Towers

77-121 (L)

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

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

The community organizer just ran that two-man game like he has a decade of film on it. Somebody get this man a contract. Hang time like that on the school student? You do not pick that up on the day job, folks. Absolutely ridiculous.

Kisses the biceps, one and then the other, and Eric Cartman strolls to the free throw line like a man on vacation. Peter Griffin 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.

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

Barack Obama feels the contact, spins off that shoulder, and the defender is left hugging a whole lot of nothing. Two on the shot clock and the ball ends up with the community organizer, which is how you get a twenty-eight footer off the wrong foot.

Rest time. Peter Griffin isolates in a corner of the locker room, headphones on. Fun fact: Peter Griffin tried to patent a celebration after a three-pointer. The application was rejected. And now, our halftime TV game show Go Fish for Answers! To win a porch swing missing every single chain, text HOOPS to 555-0468 and answer this question: 'What is the average lifespan of a whistle used in a middle school gym?' The players are back. Some look fresh, others... Not so much.

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

Watch the spacing there, Peter Griffin hits Eric Cartman right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. The school student reads the screen perfectly, comes off shoulder to shoulder, and buys himself an open look. Veteran movement, rookie resume. BANG! Eric Cartman steps back, creates the daylight, and buries it right in the defender's eye.

Here is the part that never makes the highlight package: Barack Obama controlling tempo, burning clock, hunting the mismatch the second one shows up. Galactus just took a shoulder to the chest to buy King Kong half a second, and half a second in this league is an eternity. It went halfway down! The ball sat in the cylinder, thought about it, and rolled off the far side on King Kong. Cruel.

Ball moves. Eric Cartman to King Kong, on time and on target. That is vision. King Kong sees the pocket open for a tenth of a second and puts the ball in it. The community organizer 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.

Ball up the floor, change of speed right at the logo, and Barack Obama already has the defense a full step behind. Peter Griffin comes off the screen and the big man drops WAY back. Barack Obama just fades to the arc for the cleanest look of the night. Clang. Barack Obama wants that one back.

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! Barack Obama grabs it and hits Peter Griffin in stride before the defense can even match up. Whirl, and GONE! Peter Griffin leaves the defender grabbing at a jersey that stopped being there half a second ago. Catching it right at the cup with nobody within eight feet, Peter Griffin goes up too strong and the ball rides high off the backboard.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Peter Griffin put that man in a blender and the third row felt it! Peter Griffin catches on the wing, jab step, spin move, and that pivot foot comes clean off the hardwood. Traveling.

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

Peter Griffin is on the floor pointing at his own forearm, the coach is halfway to midcourt, and the officials have heard plenty.

Eric Cartman refuses to watch the replay on the jumbotron. Peter Griffin watches it and immediately regrets it. And here is the answer to our game show Go Fish for Answers! Peggy Ann Winterbottom of Two Chairs, Nebraska, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'What is the average lifespan of a whistle used in a middle school gym?' The answer was of course six years, or two seasons of an especially loud coach. Peggy Ann therefore wins a porch swing missing every single chain! My chair squeaked the entire game. Everyone thinks it was me. It was not me. See you soon. And now: '911: My Cat Climbed on Top of the Wardrobe.'

Matchday 13 — vs Boston Ring-Chasers

90-134 (L)

A community organizer breaking down a professional defender in front of a sold out house! Remember that day job, folks! Put him on skates, then put him on a POSTER. Barack Obama owns the highlight reel tonight.

Shimmy from the corner all the way to half court, shoulders loose, chin high. Barack Obama 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.

Dagger from Boston Ring-Chasers. You could hear the air leave this arena on that one.

Lazy feed into the middle, Barack Obama read it the whole way, and that possession is over before it started.

Eight seconds off the shot clock and Barack Obama has not wasted one of them, the ball reaching King Kong precisely where the play wanted it. King Kong comes flying off that screen and he is WIDE open! The player misses absolutely everything, and honestly, the nerve to even attempt that shot deserves something. Not points. But something.

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

Buzzer sounds, halftime! King Kong walks head down toward the tunnel. Rumor has it King Kong does 100 push-ups before every game. Or 10. Depends who you ask. And now, our halftime TV game show Three in a Row Probably! To win a crock pot with the lid from a completely different crock pot, text HOOPS to 555-0607 and answer this question: 'What happens to the air inside a basketball left in a truck overnight?' The locker room empties, the court fills up. Act 2.

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

Watch the spacing there, Barack Obama hits Peter Griffin right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. The player runs a dribble handoff with the timing of a fifteen-year vet. Not bad for somebody who does this on weekends. Nobody drew up that arc. The community organizer floated one halfway to the rafters, and the rim never even got a say.

Boston Ring-Chasers again, and again nobody is home. Three straight trips down the floor with zero resistance.

Free throw coming the other way and the coach is STILL talking. Barack Obama finally gets him seated, and this building is ROARING.

Count it and the foul. Brutal. Boston Ring-Chasers with a three point play and a gut punch in the same possession.

Nobody is touching the paint with the player parked in the middle of it. That is a full time defender doing a part time job, or the other way around. OHHHH what a hustle play from Galactus! He had no business getting a finger on that basketball.

The community organizer just created his own space with a stepback. Somewhere a scout is spitting coffee all over his notepad. There is no finesse in that, and there does not need to be. Barack Obama simply decided the paint belonged to him.

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

Set called, Galactus waved out to the corner, and Barack Obama watches the spacing open up like a front door. OHHHH the hesi! Galactus froze him solid and he is already gone! Shot clock at one, and Galactus just has to throw something at the rim. Nothing doing.

Hold everything, they are going to the replay on Barack Obama, and this building has stopped breathing. OHHHH the cruelty! Two tenths, and Barack Obama gets absolutely nothing.

Eric Cartman pushes away the reporter's microphone with a gesture. Barack Obama takes the interview and says 'not tonight'. And here is the answer to our game show Three in a Row Probably! Colleen Hackenberg of Rusty Nail, Pennsylvania, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'What happens to the air inside a basketball left in a truck overnight?' The answer was of course it becomes a slightly smaller basketball, and everybody in the gym agrees to say nothing about it. Colleen therefore wins a crock pot with the lid from a completely different crock pot! Evening confession: I'm wearing Eric Cartman's jersey under my shirt. For morale. We're out. Up next: 'Say Yes to the Dress: Budget Three Fifty, Theme: Elastic.' Good luck.

Matchday 14 — vs San Antonio Skyscrapers

75-119 (L)

Careless stuff from Eric Cartman. That is a free trip to the line for a steal that was never happening. Hands off, feet moving, no reaching. That is the entire instruction sheet for Eric Cartman the rest of the way.

Second pass beats the rotation, Barack Obama to Eric Cartman, and the closeout gets there about half a second too late. Nobody drew up that arc. The school student floated one halfway to the rafters, and the rim never even got a say. Second-chance points are how you steal games on the road, and Peter Griffin has now cleaned up four misses tonight. That is pure want-to: Peter Griffin was the only man on the floor who decided that rebound belonged to him.

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

Swing, swing, and Barack Obama finds King Kong on the wing before the help can even turn its head. The player just created his own space with a stepback. Somewhere a scout is spitting coffee all over his notepad. Not close, not warm, not anywhere for King Kong, straight into the hands of a defender who never had to leave his feet.

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

Buzzer sounds, halftime! Eric Cartman walks head down toward the tunnel. Locker room intel: Eric Cartman has a tattoo of a basketball hoop on her butt. That's commitment. And now, our halftime TV game show Dancing with the Substitutes! To win a deep fryer with a note taped to it reading DO NOT USE INDOORS, text HOOPS to 555-0421 and answer this question: 'Who decides which sock goes missing in the dryer?' Back at it! The players jog toward center court.

Full stop, full sprint, and the community organizer is in the paint! Nobody back at the workplace is going to believe this one. The community organizer launched one from the logo as the horn sounded. In fairness, nobody in that huddle gave him a better option.

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

No hero ball here: Eric Cartman takes what the defense gives and moves it along. Ball into Barack Obama at the elbow, Galactus plants his foot and goes backdoor, and the pass meets him in the air. Filthy. Stuck holding it as the clock bleeds out, Galactus fades away from twenty-six feet, and it is not close.

The player swatted that one off the glass and handed over two free points. Somebody go over the cylinder rule at the next staff meeting.

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

The school student just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. King Kong sets the pick and DIVES to the cup. Barack Obama lays it right on his hands in traffic! The player just spun through two defenders and reversed that in. Nothing about this is a normal Tuesday!

King Kong 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.

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

Peter Griffin launches it weak side, one pass, and the whole shell has to sprint. Good luck with that. 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 Barack Obama does. That is the shot Barack Obama wants every trip down the floor, it drops nine nights out of ten, and tonight is the tenth.

Barack Obama gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Eric Cartman saw it a beat early. Left, right, gone. Barack Obama put that defender on skates and never even looked back. A cruel spin-out for the community organizer, and whatever that day job is, tonight it came with a brand new way to break your heart.

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

Barack Obama walks head down toward the tunnel. Eric Cartman drags her feet behind, shoulders slumped. And here is the answer to our game Dancing with the Substitutes! Ethelene Chumley of Cracker Barrel Bottom, Maryland, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'Who decides which sock goes missing in the dryer?' The answer was of course a committee, and they meet on Tuesdays. Ethelene takes home a deep fryer with a note taped to it reading DO NOT USE INDOORS! Your favorite commentator survived. It's not much, but it's honest work. Good evening! Up next: 'Fixer Upper: Renovating a Studio on a Twelve-Dollar Budget.' Challenge accepted.

Matchday 15 — vs Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest

74-118 (L)

Eight seconds off the shot clock and Barack Obama has not wasted one of them, the ball reaching Eric Cartman precisely where the play wanted it. Ice in his veins for a guy who answers to school student the rest of the week. Professional shot, amateur resume. Catch, rise, splash. The community organizer owns the cleanest jumper on this floor and still has a shift to work in the morning.

The player just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. OHHHH the pocket pass! Galactus splits the coverage and the roll man is loose under the basket! Barack Obama blows the wide open layup!

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

Punish the help, that is the rule, and Peter Griffin just did it by hitting Eric Cartman on the back side with acres of room. Baseline wide open. Eric Cartman said thank you. That is the shot chart lying to you. Eric Cartman did everything right on this possession and has zero points to show for it.

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

Buzzer sounds, halftime! King Kong walks head down toward the tunnel. Rumor has it King Kong talks to his basketball in the locker room. Nobody dares say it's weird. And now, our halftime TV game show Go Fish for Answers! To win a porch swing missing every single chain, text HOOPS to 555-0468 and answer this question: 'What is the average lifespan of a whistle used in a middle school gym?' Act two! The bench players are fired up, the starters too.

BAAAANG! Barack Obama sets the table and the pick-and-pop three goes down like somebody scripted it. Stonewalled at the top of the square! The big man meets King Kong up there and returns it with interest.

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

Off the shin, out of bounds, and Barack Obama cannot bring himself to look at his own bench.

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

Peter Griffin kicks it over to Barack Obama, no dribble, no drama, and this offense settles into a rhythm. Here comes Eric Cartman sprinting off the elbow. Barack Obama slides it into his pocket and that chase defender is buried. Third one of these from Eric Cartman this quarter, third time the arc is wrong. The lane is not open real estate anymore.

And there it is, a walk-in layup for Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest with not one hand raised in the paint. Somebody has to protect that rim.

You can teach a lot of things at this level, but not lateral quickness. King Kong is doing a fine traffic cone impression. The community organizer 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.

Dribble alive, patient, patient, and then Barack Obama slips it to Peter Griffin right in the pocket. Surgical. No touch. Peter Griffin left the soft hands in the locker room tonight.

That is the pass nobody puts on a highlight reel, and Peter Griffin makes it every single trip down the floor. Watch Peter Griffin plant his feet, absorb the hit, and spring Eric Cartman out of that corner in a blink. Somebody check that job title again: the school student hanging in the air like the paint owes him rent, and finishing anyway.

Peter Griffin rips it back into the stepback and suddenly there is a country mile between him and that defender. Bless him, Peter Griffin tried a move he has clearly only ever pulled off in an empty gym at midnight. Walk.

Eric Cartman presses her forehead against the tunnel glass. King Kong walks right past without noticing. And here is the answer to our game show Go Fish for Answers! Peggy Ann Winterbottom of Two Chairs, Nebraska, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'What is the average lifespan of a whistle used in a middle school gym?' The answer was of course six years, or two seasons of an especially loud coach. Peggy Ann therefore wins a porch swing missing every single chain! Behind the scenes, I learned King Kong was also a community organizer in a past life. You can feel it in the game. Good night! And now, 'The Bachelor: Stray Cat Edition.' Who will find love in this dumpster?