My dream starting five — basketball_team 🇺🇸

Matchday 1 — vs Detroit Engine-Roar

85-129 (L)

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

The player takes the baseline and bends an entire defense out of shape. Absolutely absurd stuff in this building tonight. That is a dime from Galactus that deserved so much better, and Thor knows it, head down, jogging back before the ball even lands.

The adventurer 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 player just double dribbled in front of a sold-out building. Nobody back at work is ever letting that one go.

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

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Doctor Doom whips that pass one-handed on the move and the roll man gathers it through contact. Filthy. BRICK! Thanos throws up a prayer and the iron sends it straight back out to half court!

Halftime whistle. Thanos has dried blood on his elbow but plays tough. I've been told Thanos always puts his left shoe on first. The one day he switched, gave up 40 points. And now, our halftime TV game show Church Picnic Wipeout! To win an above-ground pool ladder with no pool attached, text HOOPS to 555-0158 and answer this question: 'How much popcorn is in a large at the concession stand, honestly?' The players are back. The court had time to dry, at least.

The player makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. Watch the change of pace from Doctor Doom, half speed into full speed in one step, and that is a blow-by every time. Contested, off balance, fading away from the wrong shoulder, that is a shot Doctor Doom should never take with three teammates standing wide open.

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

Doctor Doom eats the contact so Thor can run free along the baseline, and the catch-and-shoot look is right there. The player just had his shot delivered into the courtside seats. Tough scene, but at least the day job is safe.

Somebody explain how the adventurer reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. Venom comes off the screen and the big man drops WAY back. Thor just fades to the arc for the cleanest look of the night. Thor rises up from fifteen feet and OHHHH, that rattled in and OUT!

Here is the part that never makes the highlight package: Doctor Doom controlling tempo, burning clock, hunting the mismatch the second one shows up. The vigilante pulls out the crossover of his life, and Monday morning he clocks in like nothing ever happened. Not a hand on him. Venom flat missed the bunny.

So close. Thanos can only stare at the iron. Second-chance points are how you steal games on the road, and Doctor Doom has now cleaned up four misses tonight. Second chance points for Doctor Doom, tipping his own miss straight back in before his feet ever touched the floor.

Doctor Doom 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.

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

Thor gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Thanos saw it a beat early. Watch Doctor Doom plant his feet, absorb the hit, and spring Thor out of that corner in a blink. Down, up, and gone for Thor. The rim is just toying with him now.

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

The adventurer 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. Nobody put a body on Doctor Doom and he made them pay, tipping it to himself and coming down with two hands in the trees. Rebounding is effort, and effort is apparently what the adventurer does for a living. Second chance points, all guts.

Galactus walks in slow motion, arms dangling. Doctor Doom speeds up. Wants it to be over. And here is the answer to our game Church Picnic Wipeout! Charlene Pigg of Hatchet Handle, North Carolina, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How much popcorn is in a large at the concession stand, honestly?' The answer was of course a medium and a rumor. Charlene takes home an above-ground pool ladder with no pool attached! I got a text from Galactus after the game. Just kidding. Nobody texts me. Off to bed! And now: 'Jeopardy: Cafeteria Trivia Edition.'

Matchday 2 — vs Miami Heart-Attack

87-131 (L)

Shot clock violation! Venom owns the nail, the middle is a no fly zone, and that possession just expired in their hands.

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

The player just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. Ball into Thor at the elbow, Venom plants his foot and goes backdoor, and the pass meets him in the air. Filthy. Stepback three from the vigilante, ice in his veins. You cannot teach that, and apparently you cannot keep it out of the workforce either.

This is the part of the league nobody loves and everybody watches: Galactus waits with both hands on top of his head. Off the defender! Ball back to Galactus!

Nobody boxed out. Tip in, Miami Heart-Attack, and two of ours were standing right there watching it happen.

Coach calls everyone back. Thanos drags his feet toward the tunnel. Rumor has it Thanos talks to his basketball in the locker room. Nobody dares say it's weird. And now, our halftime TV game show Last Team Standing Around! To win a chest freezer that only reaches room temperature, text HOOPS to 555-1248 and answer this question: 'How loud is a gym after a buzzer beater on a school night?' Second half! The hardwood is about to shake again.

Doctor Doom 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 Doctor Doom cannot make it count, the defense secures the board and takes off in transition.

Laser from Doctor Doom, corner to corner, and that closeout gets there about a second and a half too late. GONE down the baseline! Galactus beat him on the first step and the paint is collapsing. BANG is what Galactus was hearing in his head. Clang is what this building actually got.

That is the pass nobody puts on a highlight reel, and Thanos makes it every single trip down the floor. Full stop, full sprint, and the vigilante is in the paint! Nobody back at the workplace is going to believe this one. Getting to his spot and elevating, Venom puts it on the back iron, up over the front, and out. Half a rotation from two points.

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.

Venom did that, and now the loudest twelve people in this arena are all wearing the same uniform he is.

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

That hesitation move is exactly why they keep sending a second body at Doctor Doom the moment he crosses half court. A jump hook over a grown professional defender, from the adventurer? That is the most unexpected fundamentals clinic of the night.

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

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

The adventurer pops to the arc and buries it, and nobody in this building believes that man clocks in somewhere in the morning. That is the shot chart lying to you. Galactus did everything right on this possession and has zero points to show for it.

Not pretty, but this is arithmetic now. Thanos trades one foul for one more possession, and down five with a minute left, that math works.

Galactus rips off his headband and throws it on the ground. Doctor Doom picks up his own and folds it carefully. And here is the answer to our game show Last Team Standing Around! Deloris Whitmire of Slow Creek Bend, Hawaii, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'How loud is a gym after a buzzer beater on a school night?' The answer was of course loud enough to wake a man three counties over, also named Gary. Deloris therefore wins a chest freezer that only reaches room temperature! Tonight I had a revelation: Doctor Doom runs exactly like my neighbor when he misses the bus. That's it for tonight. Coming up: 'True Confessions: I Put Ketchup on Pasta.'

Matchday 3 — vs Orlando Magic-Beans

73-117 (L)

You want basketball IQ? Ask the player, who just moved the rock on time without one wasted dribble. Screen, hesitation, delivery, Doctor Doom drops it off perfectly for Thor diving to the rim. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! That was IN for Thor!

Ohhh no. Corner three, Orlando Magic-Beans in rhythm now, and our side of the building goes silent.

Cross court, on a rope, from the player. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. Watch the sell from Galactus here, he leans in, he gets the defender leaning with him, and then he backs away into all that space. Nobody moved, nobody cut, nobody set a screen, so Galactus launches a contested jumper with the horn already going. Ugly offense.

Count it and the foul. Brutal. Orlando Magic-Beans with a three point play and a gut punch in the same possession.

Hesitate, GO. Doctor Doom is by that hip before the man even blinks. Clang. Doctor Doom wants that one back.

Players head to the locker room. Thor has tape on three fingers. Little secret: Thor listens to Celine Dion to focus. I repeat, Celine Dion. 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 are back. The court had time to dry, at least.

This is the work that never shows up on a stat sheet, Thanos gets the credit and the guy setting the screen gets the bruise. 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. Spin, one dribble, up and in. Then Thanos does the whole thing again. Zero drama, two points.

Thanos 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.

SKIP PASS! Thor fires it cross court to Galactus and the defense is dead in the water! Kick out to Galactus, one more to Doctor Doom, splash from the wing and this bench is on its feet. The adventurer tried the teardrop and never got it to the rim. Turns out soft touch does not come standard with that day job.

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

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

The player just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. Enough room out there to set up a lawn chair, and the vigilante made it himself. Total professional, in a completely unrelated profession. Pull-up from the elbow by Venom, halfway down, spinning inside the iron, and it pops right back out.

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 player just got T'd up for running his mouth at a referee. Somewhere his boss is watching this and slowly closing his eyes.

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

Awful shot by Galactus with eleven still on the shot clock, off the front rim and out to the wing. Muscled away at the second jump by Thor, and this offense resets with a fresh shot clock. Follow the ball there: four sets of hands, Thor makes the last read, and the defense never gets set. That is training camp offense. The vigilante just dropped a teardrop over a seven footer. Soft hands must run in that trade!

Chest bump so violent that Venom and Thanos 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.

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

Doctor Doom has bags under his eyes that weren't there before the game. Thor has aged ten years in forty minutes. 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 held it together all evening without a bathroom break. That's professionalism. We're signing off. And now: 'Musical Chairs: Subway Seat Edition.' Winner takes all.

Matchday 4 — vs Philadelphia Injury-Report

85-129 (L)

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

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

Ball moves. Doctor Doom to Thanos, on time and on target. 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 adventurer just froze a grown professional with a hesitation dribble. This man punches a clock and he is out here doing THAT. Rim, backboard, none of the above from the adventurer! Ladies and gentlemen, that is a person with a real job, and we have all just been reminded of it.

Pass, cut, catch, wide open. Four things in about a second and a half from Thanos. The defense keeps turning contested looks by Thanos into free points. STOP REACHING. This is exactly why the coach wants the ball in his hands late. Thanos has been money at that line all season long.

Golf swing follow-through, perfect form, Thanos tracks the imaginary ball into the upper deck with a hand shading his eyes. Somebody in the front row yells about a hole in one. The referee has now warned this team twice and been ignored twice.

Halftime whistle. Thanos high-fives his teammates on the way out. Rumor has it Thanos talks to his basketball in the locker room. Nobody dares say it's weird. And now, our halftime TV game show The Gong Show Is Broken! To win a fishing rod with no reel and a badly bent tip, text HOOPS to 555-0781 and answer this question: 'How long is one minute during the fourth quarter?' The players are back on the court. Here we go again!

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

Whistle! Thor gets him on the arm. Personal foul, nothing clever about it. The player is in foul trouble already! Whatever hands-on skills that job teaches, none of them are legal in this league.

The extra pass! Doctor Doom had the look, gave it up anyway, and Thanos buries it. BANG! REJECTED! Thanos takes it in and gets it sent straight back into his own chest.

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.

Thor kicks it over to Galactus, no dribble, no drama, and this offense settles into a rhythm. Oldest play in the book and it still works: Galactus passes, the defender peeks at the ball, and that one beat is the whole possession. 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.

Watch the spacing there, Thanos hits Galactus right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. STOP AND GO! Galactus hit the brakes, hit the gas, and the lane opened up like a garage door. OHHHH, Galactus from WAY downtown off the catch! The defense rotated a half second late and paid full price.

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

The adventurer turns clean out of two bodies in the paint. That is nowhere in the job description and yet here we are. Doctor Doom gets both toes behind the line and the contest arrives through his forearm. Here comes the gift.

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

Full audition from Thor, arms flailing, head snapping back, and not one official buys a ticket to the show.

Galactus watches the crowd file out in silence. Venom prefers not to look. And here is the answer to our game show The Gong Show Is Broken! Gwendolyn Pyle of Half Moon Gulch, Montana, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'How long is one minute during the fourth quarter?' The answer was of course somewhere between four and nineteen minutes, depending on the score. Gwendolyn therefore wins a fishing rod with no reel and a badly bent tip! Evening confession: I'm wearing Galactus's jersey under my shirt. For morale. Good night! And now, 'The Bachelor: Stray Cat Edition.' Who will find love in this dumpster?

Matchday 5 — vs Phoenix No-Defense

80-125 (L)

Tip goes to the player, who spends most of the week nowhere near a gym. Explain that one to me.

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

The adventurer just jumped a passing lane like a ten-year pro and took it the distance. What a league this is! Everything starts with that release, Doctor Doom hitting Galactus in full flight before the defense has even turned around. The player just dunked on two grown men and drew the foul. Whatever that job pays, it is not enough.

Galactus freezes in his follow-through, wrist still hanging, and holds it while the Phoenix No-Defense coach burns a timeout out of pure desperation. He holds it through the whistle. He holds it into the huddle. The cameras eat every single second of it.

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

Cross court, on a rope, from the player. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. One hard step and Thor owns that whole side of the floor, which means the low man has to make a decision he does not want. OHHHH, the cylinder rejects the player! Somewhere a whole workplace just yelled at a television.

Break. Thor's socks are soaking wet — quick change on the spot. Did you know Thor once tried to start an ASMR podcast of sneaker squeaks on the hardwood? One episode. Deleted. And now, our halftime TV game show Storage Wars of the Half-Empty Unit! To win a bag of nine hundred rubber bands from a post office, text HOOPS to 555-0278 and answer this question: 'How many folding tables does a county fair actually own?' Both teams return. You can tell the coach gave them an earful.

Clean block, all ball, no whistle, and Galactus jogs back down the floor like nothing happened.

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.

The adventurer just froze a grown professional with a hesitation dribble. This man punches a clock and he is out here doing THAT. Two hands on the ball, then a fresh bounce. Somewhere a youth coach is watching the adventurer and quietly turning off the TV.

Doctor Doom is barking at the official, arms out, eyes wide, and there it is. The T comes flying in.

Phoenix No-Defense again, and again nobody is home. Three straight trips down the floor with zero resistance.

Hustle does not check your job title: the adventurer tips it away and the possession is ours. OUTLET! Venom rips the board and fires it ahead to Thanos before anybody gets back! Somewhere a defender is explaining to his family why the player is going to be on the front page tomorrow morning.

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

POCKET PASS! Thor threads it to Venom between two bodies and the rim is wide open! Straight back to the office for the vigilante, and the group chat has already seen it twice.

Over the top of everybody. Thor to Galactus in the corner, wide open, catch and rise. Second pass beats the rotation, Galactus to Venom, and the closeout gets there about half a second too late. Rising into two defenders, Venom launches a jumper that finds nothing but backboard and bad decisions.

Eight seconds off the shot clock and Doctor Doom has not wasted one of them, the ball reaching Galactus precisely where the play wanted it. One little shoulder dip from Galactus and the guy guarding him turned into a traffic cone in real time. AROUND the cylinder and OUT! Galactus cannot believe it, and neither can this building.

Thor takes a sip of water and spits it right back out. Thanos doesn't drink. Throat too tight. And here is the answer to our game Storage Wars of the Half-Empty Unit! Verna Lou Cottongim of Flat Tire, Arizona, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many folding tables does a county fair actually own?' The answer was of course nobody knows, because they multiply in the off-season. Verna Lou takes home a bag of nine hundred rubber bands from a post office! My wife texted me: 'when are you coming home?' I said 'after the game.' That was two hours ago. That's it. Up next: 'Anthony Bourdain Visits: The Park-and-Ride in Poughkeepsie.' Culture shock.

Matchday 6 — vs Los Angeles Nursing-Home

82-126 (L)

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

Turnover, layup, Los Angeles Nursing-Home straight through us in transition. Careless basketball.

No hero ball here: Thanos takes what the defense gives and moves it along. Not an inch to spare on the endline, but Doctor Doom keeps both feet in bounds and the help gets there a beat too late. That little shot is what keeps guards employed in this league, and Doctor Doom has it on a string tonight.

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

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

Five bodies moving as one, Doctor Doom barking out every rotation, and there is not a crack anywhere in this thing. Four live-ball turnovers now for Galactus, and every single one of them has turned into a bucket.

Off to the locker room. Venom has already drained two water bottles. Fun fact: Venom is unbeatable at arm wrestling in the locker room. Even the center is scared. 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?' The players emerge from the tunnel. Stern faces, clenched fists.

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

Across half court, a quick survey, a point to the weak side, and Doctor Doom drops it off to Thanos on time and on target. Full stop, full sprint, and the player is in the paint! Nobody back at the workplace is going to believe this one. Catch on the block, shoulder into the chest, one dribble, and Thanos finishes over the top. Textbook.

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

Look at that bench! Galactus just lit the fuse! He had a clear runway, he had two steps of daylight, and Galactus took it all away anyway.

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

Unselfish basketball. Thor passes up a good shot and hands Doctor Doom a GREAT one. Stuck holding it as the clock bleeds out, Doctor Doom fades away from twenty-six feet, and it is not close.

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

The adventurer just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. The defender planted his feet, and Venom said thank you very much and drove straight through his front pocket. The vigilante gets it handed over on a silver platter at point blank range and drops it. Somewhere in this building a coach is questioning every decision that led here.

NO! Doctor Doom fouls a shooter behind the arc. Three free throws. That is malpractice. The best defender on this floor is headed to the bench with four. Doctor Doom goes off with his hand still up, insisting he was straight up and down.

Baseline spin from Doctor Doom at full speed, and his man never even gets a hand into the picture. Filthy stuff. Somewhere an assistant coach is throwing a clipboard, because the adventurer baited that closeout from deep like a decade of film study went into it.

Foul to give, and Galactus gives it. Clock stops.

Galactus pulls his cap down over his eyes. Doctor Doom doesn't have a cap, and it shows. 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! Fun fact: my sound engineer fell asleep during the second quarter. I woke him with an elbow. See you soon. In the meantime: 'Wipeout: IKEA on a Saturday.' Worse than the actual obstacles.

Matchday 7 — vs Toronto Border-Patrol

73-118 (L)

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

The player makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. OHHHH the pocket pass! Thanos splits the coverage and the roll man is loose under the basket! That is the shot Galactus wants every trip down the floor, it drops nine nights out of ten, and tonight is the tenth.

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

Iron AGAIN for Thanos! Somebody put a lid on that rim and every possession has turned into pure suffering. Twenty-four seconds of standing around, and Thor has to eat the last two of them. Possession wasted long before the shot went up.

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

Intermission. Thor dumps an entire water bottle over his head. I've been told Thor always puts his left shoe on first. The one day he switched, gave up 40 points. And now, our halftime TV game show Minute to Win It Back! To win a lawn ornament goose with exactly one seasonal outfit, text HOOPS to 555-0319 and answer this question: 'What is the halftime score of a game that nobody is watching?' Back to business. The players bounce around to warm up.

Somebody explain the arc to the adventurer. He gave away three shots on a prayer, and you can watch the coach age in real time.

Doctor Doom walks it up, two fingers in the air, and the whole offense shifts on his command. Full stop, full sprint, and the player is in the paint! Nobody back at the workplace is going to believe this one. Isolation on the wing, shot clock draining, and Thanos rocks the defender to sleep before dropping it through.

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

The ball travels faster than five defenders can, and Doctor Doom has known that all night long. A player breaking down a professional defender in front of a sold out house! Remember that day job, folks! It went halfway down! The ball sat in the cylinder, thought about it, and rolled off the far side on Thanos. Cruel.

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

Foul on the three-point shooter, and it is Galactus. The coach is off the bench with both arms out. You can watch the math happen on that sideline: Galactus has four, there are big minutes left, and somebody has to hold the fort.

Reverse it, make them slide all over again, that is how Thor breaks a shell down. Look how low Venom keeps that shoulder on the drive, that is how you turn a sliver of space into a walk to the rim. Perfect drop-off from Doctor Doom, and Venom answers with... whatever that was. Off the glass, off the rim, and gone.

Nobody boxed out. Tip in, Toronto Border-Patrol, and two of ours were standing right there watching it happen.

Ice in his veins for a guy who answers to adventurer the rest of the week. Professional shot, amateur resume. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Two points in every gym in America except this one, and Galactus is walking back with both hands on his head.

The assistant points at the far corner, the head coach points at Galactus, and the other three get told exactly where to stand. Look at the spacing here, two shooters lifting to drag the help, and that leaves Thanos an easy read to Venom in the pocket. Chess.

Galactus sighs so loudly that the reporters hear it. Doctor Doom winces. And here is the answer to our game Minute to Win It Back! Otis Fenstermacher of Tin Roof, Virginia, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What is the halftime score of a game that nobody is watching?' The answer was of course still tied, philosophically speaking. Otis takes home a lawn ornament goose with exactly one seasonal outfit! My evening? I spent it holding back tears. Of joy? Of exhaustion? Both. Thanks everyone! Up next: 'Ice Road Truckers: Uber Eats Delivery on a Rainy Night.'

Matchday 8 — vs Minnesota Ice-Wall

89-134 (L)

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

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

Thanos hands it off to Doctor Doom, slices through the seam, and the return pass is sitting there waiting at the rim. Thanos backs his man down, feels the contact, spins middle and drops it in over both hands. Fundamentals!

Nobody on the bench is sitting. Not the coaches, not the trainers, not the guy in the suit who never plays. Thanos 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.

A probe, a plant of the outside foot, and Doctor Doom pushes off while his man is still fighting to recover his balance. Doctor Doom fires that thing at the backboard like it owes him money. No chance from the moment it left his hand.

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

Both teams head to the locker room. Venom wipes his forehead with his jersey. Anecdote: Venom once shot at the wrong basket during warm-ups. Nobody has forgotten. And now, our halftime TV game show Press Your Luck, Buddy! To win a metal detector that only ever finds bottle caps, text HOOPS to 555-0451 and answer this question: 'Who was the first person in recorded history to yell defense at a wedding?' Back on the floor, faces full of determination.

A full spin move through traffic from the player! Whatever they teach in that trade, footwork is apparently part of it. Catching it right at the cup with nobody within eight feet, Thor goes up too strong and the ball rides high off the backboard.

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

Onions from the sideline! The head man eats a technical standing up for Venom, and that entire bench LOVED it.

Doctor Doom slides, closes out, recovers. The ball goes all the way around the perimeter and comes back with nothing. He tried to rise over Galactus. That was a mistake, and the ball is now several rows deep.

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

Five straight misses now for Thanos, and every voice in that huddle has gone quiet. Doctor Doom beat the clock by a tenth of a second and missed by about four feet. Technically legal, competitively pointless.

Nobody boxed out. Tip in, Minnesota Ice-Wall, and two of ours were standing right there watching it happen.

The player 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. The player sits down with four. You want to be furious, but honestly, he came here straight off a full shift.

The player just handed that one straight to the other team. Hey, nobody is perfect at two jobs at once.

The coach just drew up the biggest play of the night for the player, a sentence I did not expect to say out loud this evening. Coach spent a timeout on a play for the player and it worked to the inch. That is trust you do not fake.

Thanos's gaze is cold, distant. Venom's gaze is hot, angry. And here is the answer to our game Press Your Luck, Buddy! Vergie Cornsilk of Hominy Bend, Arkansas, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'Who was the first person in recorded history to yell defense at a wedding?' The answer was of course an uncle, and he has not been invited back since. Vergie takes home a metal detector that only ever finds bottle caps! I learned tonight that Thanos used to be an adventurer. That explains the unique running style. Off to bed! Or stay for 'Real Housewives of the DMV.' The line is around the block.

Matchday 9 — vs Houston Blast-Off

85-130 (L)

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

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

This is the foul that gets your night cut short. Galactus has to contest with a high hand and land in his own space. Three fouls on the player before halftime. He clocks in, he throws two elbows, he clocks right back out.

Hand check on Thanos. That is a foul in this league every single time.

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

Finally a breather. Thanos has calf cramps, the physio rushes over. Rumor has it Thanos has been wearing the same lucky underwear for three seasons. The medical staff is concerned. And now, our halftime TV game show The Weakest Ankle! To win a laminated placemat showing every single county in Nebraska, text HOOPS to 555-0212 and answer this question: 'How many minutes are in a halftime that feels like forever?' Here they come. You can read the determination on their faces.

The adventurer 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. Thanos has all the room in the world. Textbook footwork, textbook release from Thanos, cruel result as it spins out and both teams go up for a contested board.

Clean feed from Thor, nothing forced, just the offense breathing. Down screen, and Thanos curls hard into the middle of the floor with a full step of daylight. Easy read. Oh my. Thanos did not even draw iron.

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.

That is the pass that beats a zone, and Doctor Doom threw it before the help even committed. They do not teach that in the player handbook, and yet here we are. Beautiful little exchange. The help defender had position, leverage, everything but a chance. Venom rose straight over the top of him, and one.

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

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

Swing, swing, and Thanos finds Thor on the wing before the help can even turn its head. The player just ran that two-man game like he has a decade of film on it. Somebody get this man a contract. So close. Doctor Doom can only stare at the iron.

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 Doctor Doom does. The crowd has found its chant, and Doctor Doom is going to be hearing it all night.

Somebody explain how the adventurer reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. Venom feels the contact, spins off that shoulder, and the defender is left hugging a whole lot of nothing. Venom went for the deep heat check and produced the loudest silence of the night, roar to OHHHH in half a second.

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

You want basketball IQ? Ask the player, who just moved the rock on time without one wasted dribble. The adventurer turns clean out of two bodies in the paint. That is nowhere in the job description and yet here we are. Straight through the traffic, straight through the contact. The adventurer finishes with a free throw coming and the paint suddenly feels very small.

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

Venom unclasps his chain and squeezes it in his fist. Thanos runs a hand down his face. And here is the answer to our game The Weakest Ankle! Delbert Yoakum of Cold Biscuit, Missouri, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many minutes are in a halftime that feels like forever?' The answer was of course fifteen, though eleven of those are purely spiritual. Delbert takes home a laminated placemat showing every single county in Nebraska! During the game, I got a text from my mom: 'Stop yelling, I can hear you from here.' She lives 120 miles away. That's a wrap! Coming up: 'American Idol: Accountant Edition.' Singing, dancing, and spreadsheets.

Matchday 10 — vs Denver Horse-Track

80-124 (L)

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

Two guys on the exact same page, Doctor Doom and Thor, and the defense is left holding a bag of nothing. In, around, and gone. The iron gives Doctor Doom nothing.

The bench has completely lost its mind over the player! There are lifers in this league who never get a reaction like that. PICKED HIS POCKET! Galactus jumps the passing lane and he is GONE the other way!

Thor launches it weak side, one pass, and the whole shell has to sprint. Good luck with that. Left, right, gone. Doctor Doom put that defender on skates and never even looked back. OHHHH, that one died in the air! Doctor Doom put nothing into it and the front rim eats the floater.

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

Back in the locker room, Thor sits down and stares at the ceiling. Bus driver's confession: Thor raps gibberish during road trips. Loudly. And now, our halftime TV game show Foul Line Confessions! To win a hood ornament from a truck that was never built, text HOOPS to 555-1098 and answer this question: 'Why does every gym in the country smell exactly the same?' Back for the second half. The coach slammed his fist on the table.

The help defender committed way too early, and Thor made him pay for it with a spin they will be replaying all week. 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. OHHHH the hesi! Galactus froze him solid and he is already gone! The player just created that shot from scratch and drained it. Not bad for somebody clocking in at a real job tomorrow morning.

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

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

Outlet pass, immediate pressure, and Thanos retreats right back across the half-court line. That is over and back.

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

Late rotation from Doctor Doom, he arrives half a beat behind the drive and the contact is obvious to everybody in the building. OHHHH the whistle! Number five on Doctor Doom, and this bench cannot believe what it just saw.

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

Hard drive, hard stop, and Thor retreats into an ocean of open hardwood. Nobody drew up that arc. The player floated one halfway to the rafters, and the rim never even got a say. Another extra possession courtesy of the player, a man who evidently boxes out at work too. Some habits do not clock out. The whole possession dies right there without Thor on the offensive glass, and instead it becomes the two easiest points of the quarter.

SPIN and GO! Doctor Doom pirouettes right through the traffic and comes out the other side clean! Straight back to the office for the adventurer, and the group chat has already seen it twice.

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

Venom punches his locker when he gets to the locker room. Thanos slides down the wall to the floor. And here is the answer to our game show Foul Line Confessions! Wendell Crabtree of Lost Mitten, Colorado, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'Why does every gym in the country smell exactly the same?' The answer was of course floor wax, popcorn, and forty years of accumulated nervousness. Wendell therefore wins a hood ornament from a truck that was never built! On my end, I discovered the arena's coffee machine was broken. The game nearly went uncommentated. Thanks for the game! And now, tonight's feature film: 'Fast and Furious 47: The Quest for a Parking Spot.'

Matchday 11 — vs New York Over-Timers

85-129 (L)

Bench energy is real currency over a long season, and Galactus just handed his teammates a full bank account. Hands like that on the player? Whatever he does all day, by night he is robbing people blind.

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

Bodies everywhere in the paint and it does not matter one bit to Doctor Doom, one spin and the ball never leaves the string. Buzzer on the shot clock, Doctor Doom heaves it off one leg, and the ball comes up short of everything.

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.

You want basketball IQ? Ask the adventurer, who just moved the rock on time without one wasted dribble. The big rolls, the defense collapses, and Thanos punishes it with a read most guys never even see. Textbook footwork, textbook release from Galactus, cruel result as it spins out and both teams go up for a contested board.

The locker room fills up. Thanos has already eaten three oranges. Anecdote: Thanos tried to impress the New York Over-Timers players with a warm-up dunk. Hit the rim. With his face. 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 at it! The players jog toward center court.

Venom turns and points at his teammates, and the entire bench comes up as one. The player just blocked a jump shot into the stands and went back on defense like it was a normal Tuesday.

Swing, swing, and Thor finds Doctor Doom on the wing before the help can even turn its head. Give and go! Doctor Doom gives it up, cuts, and gets it right back with a clear lane to the cup! Prayer from Doctor Doom. Not answered.

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

The adventurer just created his own space with a stepback. Somewhere a scout is spitting coffee all over his notepad. The adventurer just had his shot delivered into the courtside seats. Tough scene, but at least the day job is safe.

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

OHHHH, the cylinder rejects the player! Somewhere a whole workplace just yelled at a television. The shot is short, and Thor is the only man moving. He rips it out of the crowd and the possession lives. The player just went up over everybody and put that miss back with two hands. That is a night he tells his grandkids about!

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

Watch the spacing there, Thanos hits Galactus right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. Galactus stutters at the elbow, the defender bites on it, and now there is nothing but open floor between him and the rim. OFF THE IRON and halfway to the bench! Galactus missed that one with real conviction.

Reverse it, make them slide all over again, that is how Doctor Doom breaks a shell down. OHHHH that is filthy! Thor on the handoff and the man guarding it is still fighting over the top. The vigilante just ran a give and go to perfection on national television! Somebody go tell his boss what he does after hours! Off the dribble, a full step behind the logo, straight down. Tomorrow the vigilante goes back to work, tonight he owns this arena.

Venom steps over the defender who ended up on the floor and keeps walking, never looks down. Cold as a meat locker. The building erupts twice, once for the bucket and once for the disrespect. The replay gets its own dedicated camera angle.

The strategy of the desperate, executed to perfection by Galactus. Foul, stop the clock, pray at the other end, repeat.

Venom lets out a big exhale walking through the door. Doctor Doom holds his in. 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! During the break, I tried to juggle three balls. My cameraman filmed everything. It'll come out someday. We're out. Up next: 'Say Yes to the Dress: Budget Three Fifty, Theme: Elastic.' Good luck.

Matchday 12 — vs Cleveland Twin-Towers

83-128 (L)

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

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.

Ball up the floor, change of speed right at the logo, and Doctor Doom already has the defense a full step behind. OHHHH the separation! Venom just manufactured three feet of daylight out of absolutely nothing. That is a throwback bucket: Venom with his back to the basket, and the defense has absolutely no answer for it.

STOP AND GO! Doctor Doom hit the brakes, hit the gas, and the lane opened up like a garage door. Look at Doctor Doom mouthing an apology toward his own bench before the call is even announced. He knew instantly.

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

The players disappear into the tunnel. Galactus asks for an ice pack. Small detail: Galactus whistles the national anthem before every game. Off-key. Consistently off-key. And now, our halftime TV game show American Idle! To win a two-year subscription to a newsletter about gravel, text HOOPS to 555-0059 and answer this question: 'What is the recommended number of nacho cheese pumps per tray?' Here they come. You can read the determination on their faces.

The player just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. The vigilante runs a dribble handoff with the timing of a fifteen-year vet. Not bad for somebody who does this on weekends. Down, up, and gone for Thor. The rim is just toying with him now.

OHHHH the hesi! Thor froze him solid and he is already gone! OHHHH, the cylinder rejects the player! Somewhere a whole workplace just yelled at a television.

Punish the help, that is the rule, and Thanos just did it by hitting Doctor Doom on the back side with acres of room. You can teach the jumper, you cannot teach the willingness, and Doctor Doom gives up a decent shot every single time a better one exists. AIRBALL! Thor missed the rim, the backboard and everything in between!

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

Towels are FLYING for the player! Going back to the day job on Monday is going to feel extremely strange after a night like this. Hands like that on the player? Whatever he does all day, by night he is robbing people blind.

You want basketball IQ? Ask the player, who just moved the rock on time without one wasted dribble. OHHHH, what a read by Thor! He never even glanced at the rim and it is CASH on the other end. Rises, releases, and Venom sends the ball through the exact patch of sky where the rim is not.

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

The adventurer just froze a grown professional with a hesitation dribble. This man punches a clock and he is out here doing THAT. That is what heavy minutes do, Doctor Doom has run all night and the legs have nothing left to give the jumper.

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

Whirl, and GONE! Doctor Doom leaves the defender grabbing at a jersey that stopped being there half a second ago. Doctor Doom pump fakes, gets the defender airborne, and walks right into his chest. Free throws. No wasted motion at all from Doctor Doom. Both free throws split the net and the scoreboard ticks over twice.

Galactus turns back to look at the court one last time. Venom doesn't turn around. And here is the answer to our game American Idle! Lamar Twitty of Little Sandy Corner, Delaware, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What is the recommended number of nacho cheese pumps per tray?' The answer was of course three, and anything past three is a lifestyle. Lamar takes home a two-year subscription to a newsletter about gravel! I spent the evening standing up and sitting down every thirty seconds. My Fitbit is congratulating me. See you soon. And now: '911: My Cat Climbed on Top of the Wardrobe.'

Matchday 13 — vs Boston Ring-Chasers

78-123 (L)

The player reads the screen perfectly, comes off shoulder to shoulder, and buys himself an open look. Veteran movement, rookie resume. Two points left on the floor by Thor, and those are exactly the ones that come back to bite you in the fourth.

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

The adventurer runs a dribble handoff with the timing of a fifteen-year vet. Not bad for somebody who does this on weekends. Two hands on the ball, then a fresh bounce. Somewhere a youth coach is watching the player and quietly turning off the TV.

Day job, then this: the player reads a rolling big like a coach with twenty years on the bench. The big man never even contested it, and Venom still could not get the runner to drop. That one is on him.

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

Cut! Halftime. Thanos's jersey is completely drenched in sweat. Fun fact: Thanos tried to negotiate a 'mandatory nap' clause in his contract. Denied. 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?' The players jog toward the court. The air is electric.

The ball travels faster than five defenders can, and Doctor Doom has known that all night long. Court vision like that on the player is absurd. Whatever the day job pays him, the assist numbers say he is badly underpriced. You can hear that rim ringing from up here, Doctor Doom has forced three in a row now and the whole offense has stopped moving.

Reverse it, make them slide all over again, that is how Doctor Doom breaks a shell down. OHHHH he went BACKDOOR! Venom never broke stride and he has the ball UNDER THE RIM! Nobody bothered to contest it, because nobody believed Venom would shoot from there. Lesson learned the hard way.

OHHHH the pin-down! Thor pops out clean while the defender is STILL tangled up with Venom. Brutal. A cruel spin-out for the player, and whatever that day job is, tonight it came with a brand new way to break your heart.

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

Thor kicks it over to Doctor Doom, no dribble, no drama, and this offense settles into a rhythm. Oldest play in the book, and Doctor Doom runs it in his sleep. That drop coverage never had a prayer. Thanos fires that thing at the backboard like it owes him money. No chance from the moment it left his hand.

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

Thanos launches it weak side, one pass, and the whole shell has to sprint. Good luck with that. Thanos sets it and slides out instead of rolling, Venom finds him late, and the defense pays for cheating under the screen. Deep. Deeper. GONE. Thanos drops it in from a spot the scouting report never even listed.

Thanos freezes in his follow-through, wrist still hanging, and holds it while the Boston Ring-Chasers coach burns a timeout out of pure desperation. He holds it through the whistle. He holds it into the huddle. The cameras eat every single second of it.

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

A cut with that timing from the adventurer? He is on the clock somewhere else all week and he still found time to learn the two-man game. Long and gone. Doctor Doom floats the teardrop over everything and bangs it off the back iron.

Nobody dribbled, nobody isolated, Thor and Doctor Doom just played basketball and the defense got shredded. DOUBLE DRIBBLE! Thor picked it up, put it back down, and the whistle went off like a smoke alarm.

Galactus watches the crowd file out in silence. Venom prefers not to look. 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! I spent this game nervously chewing gum. I'm on my seventh piece. Thanks for being here. Now put down the remote, it's time for 'Wheel of Misfortune.'

Matchday 14 — vs San Antonio Skyscrapers

80-124 (L)

The vigilante gets whistled for the swipe. Forty honest hours a week and here he is, picking pockets in front of twenty thousand witnesses. Careful now. Three fouls this early means Venom plays the next stretch with his hands straight up in the air.

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

The adventurer just froze a grown professional with a hesitation dribble. This man punches a clock and he is out here doing THAT. The adventurer misses absolutely everything, and honestly, the nerve to even attempt that shot deserves something. Not points. But something.

Push the pace! Doctor Doom grabs it and hits Venom in stride before the defense can even match up. One little shoulder dip from Venom and the guy guarding him turned into a traffic cone in real time. Missed layup for the vigilante and the whole arena groans as one. Great hands in the day job, apparently they do not travel.

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.

Players head to the locker room. Galactus has tape on three fingers. Rumor has it Galactus talks to his basketball in the locker room. Nobody dares say it's weird. And now, our halftime TV game show Name That Casserole! To win a folding chair with one leg noticeably shorter than the others, text HOOPS to 555-0177 and answer this question: 'What is the official state bird of a parking lot?' On to the next chapter. The court is just waiting for the ball.

Thanos kicks it over to Thor, no dribble, no drama, and this offense settles into a rhythm. The player just threaded a pocket pass through two defenders. Where exactly did that vision come from? The player 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.

Total control. Doctor Doom has this thing on a string. Galactus comes flying off that screen and he is WIDE open! The player had that thing halfway down and the rim spat it back out. Nobody ever warns you that the iron has a personality.

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

The whistle blows, Venom throws his hands up in protest, and the replay is going to make that argument very short.

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

Textbook two three with Thanos manning the back line, and they have not seen a clean look in three trips. Nobody gambles less and steals more than Thanos. He does not reach, he anticipates, and that is the whole difference.

Pass, cut, catch, wide open. Four things in about a second and a half from Thanos. Thanos rises, the big man rises higher, and the shot is stuffed into the second row. Return to sender.

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

Cross court, on a rope, from the player. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. The vigilante just ran a give and go to perfection on national television! Somebody go tell his boss what he does after hours! The defender fronted him, so Venom sealed, waited for the entry and went to work. Patient, mean, effective.

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

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

Venom refuses the coach's embrace. Doctor Doom accepts it but his body is stiff. And here is the answer to our game Name That Casserole! Bobbie Jo Tatum of Mule Shoe Flats, Texas, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What is the official state bird of a parking lot?' The answer was of course the seagull, even nine hundred miles inland. Bobbie Jo takes home a folding chair with one leg noticeably shorter than the others! I spent the fourth quarter standing. Not by choice. My chair gave out in the third. We're done for tonight. And now: 'Ancient Aliens: The True History of the Coffee Break.'

Matchday 15 — vs Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest

76-120 (L)

Beautiful footwork on that one from Doctor Doom, the pivot foot never budges, which is precisely why the whistle stays in the pocket. Fifth possession this half where Doctor Doom has been left to bail everybody out with the clock at zero. He cannot keep doing this alone.

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

Doctor Doom drives, draws two bodies, and swings it one more time to the corner. That is the pass nobody is required to make. Shot clock at one, and Galactus just has to throw something at the rim. Nothing doing.

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

The beauty of it is that Doctor Doom never has to set a screen at all, the exchange IS the screen. Nightmare to guard. You are about to see a coach put his entire face in both hands, and Venom has earned every second of that reaction.

Halftime! Thanos looks in the mirror and shakes his head. True story: Thanos walked into the wrong locker room during his first game against Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest. Awkward. And now, our halftime TV game show Truth or Consequences, New Mexico! To win a set of steak knives that cannot cut steak, text HOOPS to 555-0288 and answer this question: 'How many hours can a casserole sit on a church table before it becomes a hazard?' The players come back running. Did someone set the locker room on fire?

Everybody in the arena knew the stepback was coming from Thor, and not one single soul could do anything about it. Down, up, and gone for Thor. The rim is just toying with him now.

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

Cross court, on a rope, from the adventurer. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. Straight down the baseline goes the vigilante! Whatever shift he worked this morning, he clearly left plenty in the tank. The vigilante 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.

The adventurer makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. The extra pass! Thanos had the look, gave it up anyway, and Venom buries it. BANG! Not close, not warm, not anywhere for Venom, straight into the hands of a defender who never had to leave his feet.

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

Set called, Thanos waved out to the corner, and Doctor Doom watches the spacing open up like a front door. 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.

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

They do not teach that in the adventurer handbook, and yet here we are. Beautiful little exchange. The vigilante just dunked on two grown men and drew the foul. Whatever that job pays, it is not enough.

Somebody's towel goes up, then thirty of them, and the bench turns into a laundry emergency. Venom stands in the middle of it with his arms out, letting them rain down on his head. An assistant coach is spinning one like a helicopter. Institutional collapse.

Kick out to Doctor Doom, one more to Venom, splash from the wing and this bench is on its feet. Contact on the elbow, Venom keeps his legs underneath him, splash from deep, then he steps to the line and calmly makes it four.

The vigilante is parked under the rim while three grown men in stripes squint at a screen. Just another day at the office, apparently. The bench behind Venom is going crazy, and it should be, that is a stolen possession without stealing anything.

Galactus kicks his towel across the floor. Thanos has already left for the locker room, alone. And here is the answer to our game Truth or Consequences, New Mexico! Idella Prather of Lonesome Water, Mississippi, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many hours can a casserole sit on a church table before it becomes a hazard?' The answer was of course two hours, or one if somebody brought mayonnaise. Idella takes home a set of steak knives that cannot cut steak! My evening? I spent it holding back tears. Of joy? Of exhaustion? Both. That's a wrap! Coming up: 'American Idol: Accountant Edition.' Singing, dancing, and spreadsheets.