My dream starting five — basketball_team 🇺🇸

Matchday 1 — vs Detroit Engine-Roar

79-123 (L)

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

The bench has completely lost its mind over the player! There are lifers in this league who never get a reaction like that. Hulk times the leap perfectly and swallows that layup whole. Put it on the front page, that is the play of the night.

The superhero just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. Read, screen, delivery, right on the money. A player making the right pass every single time, and the league is taking notes. 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.

Swing, swing, and Spider-Man finds Hulk on the wing before the help can even turn its head. The scientist takes the baseline and bends an entire defense out of shape. Absolutely absurd stuff in this building tonight. Heat check for Hulk and it is GOOD. He is COOKING, and this building knows exactly what it is watching.

Kisses the biceps, one and then the other, and Hulk strolls to the free throw line like a man on vacation. Galactus 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.

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

Break! Hulk has left a puddle of sweat at every step through the tunnel. Little secret: Hulk watches cat videos between quarters. Says it's relaxing. And now, our halftime TV game show The Dating Game Winner Gets Nothing! To win a bowling ball with the initials of a total stranger drilled into it, text HOOPS to 555-0698 and answer this question: 'How many rows back can you sit before the players become rumors?' Back on the court. The crowd greets them with a standing ovation.

Spider-Man feels the contact, spins off that shoulder, and the defender is left hugging a whole lot of nothing. The block is clean, the ball is gone, and Spider-Man is left staring at his empty hands like a man who lost his keys.

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

That is the pass that beats a zone, and Deadshot threw it before the help even committed. Baseline wide open. Thor said thank you. Feet already set, hands already ready. Thor takes the feed from Deadshot and cashes it.

Bucket for Detroit Engine-Roar. Wide open look, and nobody even ran at the shooter.

The defender crowded the middle, and Thor punished him along the baseline like it was drawn up in the huddle. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Two points in every gym in America except this one, and Thor is walking back with both hands on his head.

OHHHH the pin-down! Thor pops out clean while the defender is STILL tangled up with Galactus. Brutal. That is the shot chart lying to you. Thor did everything right on this possession and has zero points to show for it.

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

A single dribble is all Deadshot needed to get downhill, and the back side of that defense is in complete disarray. Two hands on the ball, then a fresh bounce. Somewhere a youth coach is watching the contract killer and quietly turning off the TV.

Screen, pop, SPLASH! Spider-Man kicks it out and that thing never touched iron. Down, up, and gone for Hulk. The rim is just toying with him now.

Down screen, and Deadshot curls hard into the middle of the floor with a full step of daylight. Easy read. The contract killer 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.

Spider-Man takes a sip of water and spits it right back out. Deadshot doesn't drink. Throat too tight. And here is the answer to our game show The Dating Game Winner Gets Nothing! Sharlene Boggs of Muleshoe Corner, Ohio, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'How many rows back can you sit before the players become rumors?' The answer was of course row thirty one, and after that it is basically folklore. Sharlene therefore wins a bowling ball with the initials of a total stranger drilled into it! Behind the scenes, I learned Deadshot was also a superhero in a past life. You can feel it in the game. That's all for tonight! Coming up: 'CSI: Underground Parking Garage.' Riveting stuff.

Matchday 2 — vs Miami Heart-Attack

80-124 (L)

The superhero runs a dribble handoff with the timing of a fifteen-year vet. Not bad for somebody who does this on weekends. Stuck out on the perimeter with no outlet, Galactus panics, re-dribbles, and hands the possession over on a silver platter.

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

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

Arm across the body, whistle, dead ball. Reach on Deadshot. Fourth foul on the contract killer and he is headed for the bench. Longest break the man has had since he took that job.

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

Halftime whistle. Galactus has dried blood on his elbow but plays tough. Fun fact: Galactus tried to negotiate a 'mandatory nap' clause in his contract. Denied. And now, our halftime TV game show Countdown to Nothing in Particular! To win a jigsaw puzzle with all four corner pieces missing, text HOOPS to 555-1207 and answer this question: 'How many hot dogs does a mascot eat before he stops enjoying it?' Back on the hardwood. The tension has gone up a notch.

Punish the help, that is the rule, and Spider-Man just did it by hitting Hulk on the back side with acres of room. OHHHH no, Hulk floats it crosscourt and it gets picked off clean. That thing is going the other way.

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

Reverse it, make them slide all over again, that is how Spider-Man breaks a shell down. The extra pass! Galactus had the look, gave it up anyway, and Spider-Man buries it. BANG! The superhero had that thing halfway down and the rim spat it back out. Nobody ever warns you that the iron has a personality.

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

Spider-Man gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Deadshot saw it a beat early. Spider-Man holds it, waits, waits some more, then lets it go at the last possible instant to Deadshot flying by. That is a half-second window and he threads it. There is no finesse in that, and there does not need to be. Deadshot simply decided the paint belonged to him.

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

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

The player is going shot for shot with the best scorer on this floor and refusing to flinch. On a weeknight. After a full shift.

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

Cross court, on a rope, from the superhero. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. The player pops to the arc and buries it, and nobody in this building believes that man clocks in somewhere in the morning. Two guys on the exact same page, Spider-Man and Hulk, and the defense is left holding a bag of nothing. OHHHH the FADEAWAY! Spider-Man rises over the defender and it falls through.

Both coaches are up off the bench pleading while the officials walk the Thor sequence back frame by frame. 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.

Deadshot refuses to watch the replay on the jumbotron. Galactus watches it and immediately regrets it. And here is the answer to our game show Countdown to Nothing in Particular! Norma Jean Sprinkle of Butterbean Flats, Alaska, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'How many hot dogs does a mascot eat before he stops enjoying it?' The answer was of course nine, and the tenth one is purely professional. Norma Jean therefore wins a jigsaw puzzle with all four corner pieces missing! Confession: I nearly fell asleep during the second quarter. The third woke me right up. And now, a brand new episode of 'Desperately Seeking My Cat.' Good night, everyone.

Matchday 3 — vs Orlando Magic-Beans

78-122 (L)

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.

Eight seconds off the shot clock and Spider-Man has not wasted one of them, the ball reaching Hulk precisely where the play wanted it. Galactus just took a shoulder to the chest to buy Hulk half a second, and half a second in this league is an eternity. The scientist tried the teardrop and never got it to the rim. Turns out soft touch does not come standard with that day job.

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

Watch the spacing there, Deadshot hits Hulk right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. The help defender committed way too early, and Hulk made him pay for it with a spin they will be replaying all week. The whistle blows, the crowd erupts, and Hulk hangs on the iron just long enough to make his point.

Backing all the way to half court with three fingers held over each eye, Hulk 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.

The superhero is out here running a pro offense with hand signals, not one hint of panic, and he clocks in somewhere else in the morning. Right idea, no zip on it, and at this level Deadshot either puts some heat on that ball or he keeps it in his hands.

Cut! Halftime. Deadshot's jersey is completely drenched in sweat. Physio's confession: Deadshot purrs when you massage his calves. Like a cat. A big cat. And now, our halftime TV game show Backyard Survivor: Aisle Nine! To win a riding mower that will only turn left, text HOOPS to 555-0384 and answer this question: 'How many raccoons live at an average county fairgrounds?' We pick up right where we left off. Time to play.

You can teach the jumper, you cannot teach the willingness, and Spider-Man gives up a decent shot every single time a better one exists. The player just put somebody on a POSTER! That defender is going to see this clip for the rest of his life!

Three fingers up, walking backward the length of the floor, Thor 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.

No hero ball here: Thor takes what the defense gives and moves it along. Full stop, full sprint, and the scientist is in the paint! Nobody back at the workplace is going to believe this one. That is a forced shot from the scientist that was doomed the moment it left the hand, and the bench has quietly decided to look at the floor for a moment.

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

Whistle! Spider-Man got hacked on the way up. Two shots coming. The crowd has already started the chant, and Spider-Man can hear every syllable. There is no hiding at that line.

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

Across half court, a quick survey, a point to the weak side, and Spider-Man drops it off to Thor on time and on target. Beautiful footwork on that one from Thor, the pivot foot never budges, which is precisely why the whistle stays in the pocket. Missed layup for the player and the whole arena groans as one. Great hands in the day job, apparently they do not travel.

Thor launches it weak side, one pass, and the whole shell has to sprint. Good luck with that. Kick out to Hulk, one more to Galactus, splash from the wing and this bench is on its feet. The player hammers a brick off the backboard so hard the rim is still shaking. Nothing in that resume prepared anybody for this.

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

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Deadshot put that man in a blender and the third row felt it! Getting to his spot and elevating, Deadshot puts it on the back iron, up over the front, and out. Half a rotation from two points.

The longer they stay at that monitor, the louder this place gets, and Galactus is refusing to look at the big screen. The player is finding out what this league does to people. It hands you the moment, then it rolls the tape.

Spider-Man's gaze is cold, distant. Deadshot's gaze is hot, angry. And here is the answer to our game Backyard Survivor: Aisle Nine! Roberta Klump of Pumpkin Center, Utah, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many raccoons live at an average county fairgrounds?' The answer was of course six during the day and considerably more after dark. Roberta takes home a riding mower that will only turn left! Tonight I chewed through two pens. The office supply budget is going to explode. We're out. Up next: 'Say Yes to the Dress: Budget Three Fifty, Theme: Elastic.' Good luck.

Matchday 4 — vs Philadelphia Injury-Report

73-118 (L)

Cold blooded from Philadelphia Injury-Report, way out beyond the arc, and our defense is scrambling in rotation.

Over the top of everybody. Thor to Deadshot in the corner, wide open, catch and rise. Straight down the baseline goes the contract killer! Whatever shift he worked this morning, he clearly left plenty in the tank. Twenty-four seconds of standing around, and Deadshot has to eat the last two of them. Possession wasted long before the shot went up.

One little shoulder dip from Deadshot and the guy guarding him turned into a traffic cone in real time. Stonewalled at the top of the square! The big man meets Deadshot up there and returns it with interest.

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

Right through the window. Thor to Galactus on the roll, and the help was a half step late. Somewhere there is a coaching video being edited right now, and the player is the star of it. Three steps and a prayer.

Break. Galactus asks the medical staff for coffee. Request denied. Intel: Galactus refuses to play if the ball isn't inflated to exactly 8 PSI. Not 7.9, not 8.1. Eight. And now, our halftime TV game show Whistle While You Guess! To win a five year supply of individually wrapped mints from a bank lobby, text HOOPS to 555-1291 and answer this question: 'How many times does a referee blink during a single overtime period?' Play resumes. The DJ drops a beat to hype up the crowd.

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

The ball travels faster than five defenders can, and Deadshot has known that all night long. Off the pin-down comes the scientist with nobody inside a zip code. Somebody out there knows how to use a screen, and it is not who you would guess. The scientist launched one from the logo as the horn sounded. In fairness, nobody in that huddle gave him a better option.

Hulk sets it and slides out instead of rolling, Spider-Man finds him late, and the defense pays for cheating under the screen. A cruel spin-out for the scientist, and whatever that day job is, tonight it came with a brand new way to break your heart.

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.

OHHHH he went BACKDOOR! Thor never broke stride and he has the ball UNDER THE RIM! Long miss from the player and the rebound goes the other way, but let the record show that most people in that line of work never even get to take that shot.

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

You judge a locker room by moments like this. Galactus makes the play, and every man on that sideline erupts right along with him. Verticality, timing, discipline: Spider-Man never bites on the pump fake and still finds a way to erase the shot.

Laser from Thor, corner to corner, and that closeout gets there about a second and a half too late. Court vision like that on the contract killer is absurd. Whatever the day job pays him, the assist numbers say he is badly underpriced. The scientist spots up in the corner and drills it like it is nothing. Somewhere a shooting coach is crying tears of joy.

Hulk 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.

Thor comes flying off that screen and he is WIDE open! Watch the feet on Thor there, still drifting sideways at the release, and that is exactly why the floater sails wide left of everything.

The assistant points at the far corner, the head coach points at Galactus, and the other three get told exactly where to stand. Sixty seconds in the huddle and Hulk cashes it without a single wasted dribble. Textbook.

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

Thor walks in slow motion, arms dangling. Galactus speeds up. Wants it to be over. And here is the answer to our game show Whistle While You Guess! Wilma Jean Puckett of Sorghum Switch, Kansas, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'How many times does a referee blink during a single overtime period?' The answer was of course exactly 1,412 times, and 1,413 if the arena air conditioning is broken. Wilma Jean therefore wins a five year supply of individually wrapped mints from a bank lobby! On my end, I discovered the arena's coffee machine was broken. The game nearly went uncommentated. We're out. Up next: 'Say Yes to the Dress: Budget Three Fifty, Theme: Elastic.' Good luck.

Matchday 5 — vs Phoenix No-Defense

78-123 (L)

The player just out-jumped a guy half a foot taller for the opening tip. Somebody check the day job again.

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

Screen, roll, DELIVERY from Spider-Man! Nothing but runway to the rim! Galactus wanted the contact so badly that he forgot the small detail where your feet have to be planted.

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

Personal foul on the contract killer. Somewhere a shift is going uncovered and not one soul in this arena cares. One last reach-in from Deadshot, the whistle blows, and he is already walking before the official even reports it.

The locker room fills up. Thor has already eaten three oranges. Little scoop: Thor tried to bribe the DJ to play his song. The DJ agreed. Nobody liked it. And now, our halftime TV game show The Big Spin Cycle! To win a toaster that only toasts one side of the bread, text HOOPS to 555-1057 and answer this question: 'What is the resale value of a game worn wristband?' Both teams emerge from the tunnel. The second half can begin.

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

The superhero just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. Deadshot eats the contact so Hulk can run free along the baseline, and the catch-and-shoot look is right there. OHHHH, what a read by Hulk! He never even glanced at the rim and it is CASH on the other end. Deep. Deeper. GONE. Deadshot drops it in from a spot the scouting report never even listed.

The whole second unit is on the floor before the ball is out of the net. Deadshot disappears underneath them. Somewhere in the pile shoe comes off. Spider-Man is on the outside of it screaming straight up at the ceiling.

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

The superhero makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. They do not teach that in the player handbook, and yet here we are. Beautiful little exchange. Textbook footwork, textbook release from Hulk, cruel result as it spins out and both teams go up for a contested board.

The player is in a full blown heat check and the building has stopped pretending this is normal. That is not a hot streak, that is a takeover. Heat check from Thor, and the heat is officially OFF. Three feet behind the arc with a hand in his face.

Thor drives, draws two bodies, and swings it one more time to the corner. That is the pass nobody is required to make. A cruel spin-out for the scientist, and whatever that day job is, tonight it came with a brand new way to break your heart.

Spider-Man kicks it over to Deadshot, no dribble, no drama, and this offense settles into a rhythm. Screened, toasted, done. Deadshot is loose and the defense is scrambling to find him. That is what heavy minutes do, Deadshot has run all night and the legs have nothing left to give the jumper.

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

The superhero just froze a grown professional with a hesitation dribble. This man punches a clock and he is out here doing THAT. The superhero just fired one in from the logo and the roof nearly came off this place. That is in nobody's job description.

Spider-Man 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. Deadshot refuses to touch him. This building has never been happier about anything.

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

Spider-Man bites the inside of his cheek. Deadshot pinches the bridge of his nose. And here is the answer to our game show The Big Spin Cycle! Virgil Stanback of Buzzard Roost Landing, North Dakota, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'What is the resale value of a game worn wristband?' The answer was of course two dollars and a firm handshake. Virgil therefore wins a toaster that only toasts one side of the bread! 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 all! Coming up: 'Hotel Hell: Airbnb With No Lock Edition.' Chills guaranteed.

Matchday 6 — vs Los Angeles Nursing-Home

85-129 (L)

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

Here comes Deadshot sprinting off the elbow. Spider-Man slides it into his pocket and that chase defender is buried. The contract killer 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.

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

The drive comes baseline, Hulk slides over late, and the layup gets ERASED. The rim is closed for business. Rebound, look, gone. Hulk to Spider-Man and this is a footrace now. Somebody check that job title again: the superhero hanging in the air like the paint owes him rent, and finishing anyway.

Enough room out there to set up a lawn chair, and the contract killer made it himself. Total professional, in a completely unrelated profession. Rising up out of the corner, Deadshot sends it LONG, clanging off the far side and out to the wing.

Coach calls everyone back. Deadshot drags his feet toward the tunnel. True story: Deadshot had his parking spot stolen by Los Angeles Nursing-Home's mascot. Still talks about it. 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?' The players are back on the court. Here we go again!

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

Push the pace! Spider-Man grabs it and hits Thor in stride before the defense can even match up. This is the work that never shows up on a stat sheet, Thor gets the credit and the guy setting the screen gets the bruise. Gift wrapped by Deadshot, and Thor cannot finish the two footer. That one is going to sting.

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

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.

Cross court, on a rope, from the superhero. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. The player reads the screen perfectly, comes off shoulder to shoulder, and buys himself an open look. Veteran movement, rookie resume. Buzzer on the shot clock, Galactus heaves it off one leg, and the ball comes up short of everything.

Somebody explain how the superhero reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. The player turns clean out of two bodies in the paint. That is nowhere in the job description and yet here we are. Missed layup for the player and the whole arena groans as one. Great hands in the day job, apparently they do not travel.

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

Careless stuff from Galactus. That is a free trip to the line for a steal that was never happening. Galactus slides in late on the drive, the official punches the fourth, and the coach is already waving for a sub.

The contract killer just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. STOP AND GO! Hulk hit the brakes, hit the gas, and the lane opened up like a garage door. Hulk beat the clock by a tenth of a second and missed by about four feet. Technically legal, competitively pointless.

The coach just drew up the biggest play of the night for the scientist, a sentence I did not expect to say out loud this evening. OHHHH that is BEAUTIFUL basketball! Deadshot finishes the set and the whole bench is up.

Deadshot isolates in a corner, back against the wall. Spider-Man tries to talk. He raises a hand to say no. 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! Tonight my colleague told me I smell like stress. I told him it was my cologne. That's a wrap! Coming up: 'American Idol: Accountant Edition.' Singing, dancing, and spreadsheets.

Matchday 7 — vs Toronto Border-Patrol

81-126 (L)

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

BAAAANG! Spider-Man sets the table and the pick-and-pop three goes down like somebody scripted it. Not close, not warm, not anywhere for Galactus, straight into the hands of a defender who never had to leave his feet.

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

That hesitation move is exactly why they keep sending a second body at Deadshot the moment he crosses half court. Deadshot rises from deep, the defender flies in a half second late, and the officials put up three fingers.

Follow the ball there: four sets of hands, Thor makes the last read, and the defense never gets set. That is training camp offense. OHHHHH POSTERIZED! Spider-Man just ENDED that defender at the rim!

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

Break! Deadshot has left a puddle of sweat at every step through the tunnel. Fun fact: Deadshot failed the driving test three times. On the court it's a different story, thankfully. And now, our halftime TV game show Legends of the Hidden Thermostat! To win a snow globe of a town that has never once had snow, text HOOPS to 555-0247 and answer this question: 'Which came first, the tailgate or the truck?' Play resumes! The coach set a few things straight in the locker room.

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

You want basketball IQ? Ask the player, who just moved the rock on time without one wasted dribble. Ice in his veins for a guy who answers to superhero the rest of the week. Professional shot, amateur resume. Oldest play in the book and it still works: Hulk passes, the defender peeks at the ball, and that one beat is the whole possession. Watch the footwork from Hulk: one-two into the paint, no charge, feathery touch off the glass. Filthy craft.

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

Clean feed from Deadshot, nothing forced, just the offense breathing. No roll this time. Galactus swings it right back to Spider-Man above the break, and it is PURE. Fifth possession this half where Spider-Man has been left to bail everybody out with the clock at zero. He cannot keep doing this alone.

Count it and the foul. Brutal. Toronto Border-Patrol with a three point play and a gut punch in the same possession.

Ball up the floor, change of speed right at the logo, and Spider-Man already has the defense a full step behind. Lazy one-hander from Galactus through the middle of the floor, and the defender did not even have to leave his feet to take it.

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

The superhero just created his own space with a stepback. Somewhere a scout is spitting coffee all over his notepad. Two on the shot clock and the ball ends up with the superhero, which is how you get a twenty-eight footer off the wrong foot.

That is the pass nobody puts on a highlight reel, and Deadshot makes it every single trip down the floor. A full spin move through traffic from the superhero! Whatever they teach in that trade, footwork is apparently part of it. The superhero launched one from the logo as the horn sounded. In fairness, nobody in that huddle gave him a better option.

SKIP PASS! Deadshot fires it cross court to Galactus and the defense is dead in the water! Bodies everywhere in the paint and it does not matter one bit to Galactus, one spin and the ball never leaves the string. Up goes the shot from Galactus and that is nothing but AIR, and every soul in this building saw it happen.

Deadshot walks toward the tunnel without a word. Galactus stares at the scoreboard as if it might change. And here is the answer to our game Legends of the Hidden Thermostat! Duane Grubbs of Sour Lake Flats, Louisiana, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'Which came first, the tailgate or the truck?' The answer was of course the tailgate, and it waited nineteen years. Duane takes home a snow globe of a town that has never once had snow! During halftime, I tried to interview the mascot. It ignored me. I'll recover eventually. Thanks for being here. Coming up: 'Forbidden Zone: Behind the Scenes of a Vending Machine.'

Matchday 8 — vs Minnesota Ice-Wall

77-122 (L)

Count it and the foul. Brutal. Minnesota Ice-Wall with a three point play and a gut punch in the same possession.

The beauty of it is that Spider-Man never has to set a screen at all, the exchange IS the screen. Nightmare to guard. Count it AND the foul! Galactus refused to be denied at the rim.

Watch Hulk plant his feet, absorb the hit, and spring Spider-Man out of that corner in a blink. Thor threads a BEAUTY to Spider-Man under the rim and... he lays it off the bottom of the iron! Ohhhh, no.

The superhero is out here running a pro offense with hand signals, not one hint of panic, and he clocks in somewhere else in the morning. Galactus tries to force it through two bodies and finds nothing but the defender's hands.

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.

Halftime. The doctor examines Hulk's shoulder while the others catch their breath. True story: Hulk had his parking spot stolen by Minnesota Ice-Wall's mascot. Still talks about it. And now, our halftime TV game show Triple Dog Dare Hour! To win two pails of driveway sealer that have never once been opened, text HOOPS to 555-0405 and answer this question: 'How many peanuts are dropped on the floor of an average arena per game?' Break's over, the players take their positions.

Spider-Man wound up and clubbed the driver across the head on the way to the rim, and this building has gone completely silent.

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

Spider-Man comes flying off that screen and he is WIDE open! Spider-Man attacks the baseline, the big man steps up to meet him, and it does not matter one bit. FILTHY.

Spider-Man 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. Deadshot refuses to touch him. This building has never been happier about anything.

Look how low Deadshot keeps that shoulder on the drive, that is how you turn a sliver of space into a walk to the rim. BANG is what Deadshot was hearing in his head. Clang is what this building actually got.

Somebody explain how the superhero reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. OHHHH the separation! Thor just manufactured three feet of daylight out of absolutely nothing. No touch. Thor left the soft hands in the locker room tonight.

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

Second pass beats the rotation, Spider-Man to Galactus, and the closeout gets there about half a second too late. The player just had his shot delivered into the courtside seats. Tough scene, but at least the day job is safe.

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

OHHHH the bench is GONE! Towels over heads, bodies off the chairs, all because of Spider-Man!

The player just rotated over and shut the paint down like a shift change. Where does THAT defensive IQ come from? The player walls up like a closed door and the shot never gets home. Nine to five, and now this.

Thor's lip is trembling. Deadshot dodges the cameras by pulling up his hood. And here is the answer to our game show Triple Dog Dare Hour! Maureen Skaggs of North Fork Elbow, Idaho, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'How many peanuts are dropped on the floor of an average arena per game?' The answer was of course four thousand and nine, not counting the ones nobody will admit to. Maureen therefore wins two pails of driveway sealer that have never once been opened! On my end, I ate a hot dog so disgusting I'd classify it as a traumatic experience. Off to bed! Or stay for 'Real Housewives of the DMV.' The line is around the block.

Matchday 9 — vs Houston Blast-Off

86-130 (L)

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

Somebody explain how the superhero reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. 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 Deadshot, halfway down, spinning inside the iron, and it pops right back out.

Dagger from Houston Blast-Off. You could hear the air leave this arena on that one.

Watch the change of pace from Deadshot, half speed into full speed in one step, and that is a blow-by every time. From WAY downtown! Deadshot launched that one from the parking lot!

The contract killer makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. Two defenders, one gap, and Galactus finds it. Onions on that pass. The player had that thing halfway down and the rim spat it back out. Nobody ever warns you that the iron has a personality.

The locker room. Hulk sprawls out full-length on the bench. Did you know? Hulk launched a basketball podcast. Two episodes. Zero listeners. Still going. 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?' And we're off! The energy in the arena just went up a notch.

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 a clean blow-by on Galactus, and the help defense was nowhere in the same area code. Deadshot does not love that call. Both hands in the air, a long look at the official, and the whistle still counts.

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

The officials swallow a LOT of noise in this league, so understand exactly what it took for Galactus to get whistled up for that one.

The superhero is out here running a pro offense with hand signals, not one hint of panic, and he clocks in somewhere else in the morning. The player just caught a lob at the top of the rim and hammered it! That is nowhere in the job description!

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

A cut with that timing from the superhero? He is on the clock somewhere else all week and he still found time to learn the two-man game. The superhero just had his shot delivered into the courtside seats. Tough scene, but at least the day job is safe.

The defender planted his feet, and Deadshot said thank you very much and drove straight through his front pocket. OHHHH, the cylinder rejects the contract killer! Somewhere a whole workplace just yelled at a television.

Unselfish basketball. Deadshot passes up a good shot and hands Galactus a GREAT one. Every highlight show in the country runs that clip tonight, and unfortunately for Galactus he is on the wrong end of it.

This is the foul that gets your night cut short. Deadshot has to contest with a high hand and land in his own space. That is number THREE on Deadshot, and we have not even reached the half.

Deadshot pushes away the reporter's microphone with a gesture. Spider-Man takes the interview and says 'not tonight'. 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! I got a text from Deadshot after the game. Just kidding. Nobody texts me. We're done here. Up next: 'Top Chef: Microwave Edition.' Bon appetit.

Matchday 10 — vs Denver Horse-Track

88-132 (L)

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

Somebody explain how the superhero reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. Thor does not even look, just floats it over the top, and Hulk is already gliding to the rim. Dimes. That is the kind of finish that changes a defense's body language, and Hulk has already done it twice this quarter.

Hulk rocks an imaginary baby down the sideline, cradling nothing at all and completely serious about it. Spider-Man 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.

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

Here is the part that never makes the highlight package: Spider-Man controlling tempo, burning clock, hunting the mismatch the second one shows up. The contract killer just froze a grown professional with a hesitation dribble. This man punches a clock and he is out here doing THAT. Prayer from Deadshot. Not answered.

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

That's a cut. Thor stumbles slightly reaching the locker room. Physio's confession: Thor purrs when you massage his calves. Like a cat. A big cat. And now, our halftime TV game show Let Us Make a Deal! To win a jar of pickles from 1997 with the label soaked clean off, text HOOPS to 555-0044 and answer this question: 'Why do referees always walk faster than everybody else in the building?' Here we go again. The players have changed jerseys.

Deadshot drives, draws two bodies, and swings it one more time to the corner. That is the pass nobody is required to make. Awful shot by Hulk with eleven still on the shot clock, off the front rim and out to the wing.

Deadshot stutters at the elbow, the defender bites on it, and now there is nothing but open floor between him and the rim. Three free throws for the contract killer! That is the single most expensive mistake in basketball, and a person with a real day job just engineered it.

The contract killer makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. The player just created his own space with a stepback. Somewhere a scout is spitting coffee all over his notepad. Way short from Galactus off the bounce, the ball dies on the front of the rim and drops into traffic.

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

Whirl, and GONE! Spider-Man leaves the defender grabbing at a jersey that stopped being there half a second ago. Perfect drop-off from Deadshot, and Spider-Man answers with... whatever that was. Off the glass, off the rim, and gone.

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

Ball moves. Thor to Galactus, on time and on target. OHHHH the hesi! Galactus froze him solid and he is already gone! HAMMER! Galactus goes right through the trees and throws it DOWN with the foul!

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.

Give the man credit for the effort, because Thor contested that from three feet behind, which is technically a contest. The player gets whistled for the swipe. Forty honest hours a week and here he is, picking pockets in front of twenty thousand witnesses.

Back at the shop they have got this review up on every phone with the superhero in the frame, and nobody is getting any work done. The officials come back out, cross their arms, and Spider-Man goes from hero to spectator on one signal.

Thor mutters while walking out. Deadshot watches from the corner of his eye, worried. And here is the answer to our game Let Us Make a Deal! Herschel Bumgarner of Two Silos, Nebraska, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'Why do referees always walk faster than everybody else in the building?' The answer was of course because somewhere in that building there is a sandwich with their name on it. Herschel takes home a jar of pickles from 1997 with the label soaked clean off! Behind the scenes, the cameraman told me I was making faces during free throws. I had no idea. 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

74-118 (L)

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

Galactus gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Deadshot saw it a beat early. You can teach the jumper, you cannot teach the willingness, and Galactus gives up a decent shot every single time a better one exists. AIRBALL! Spider-Man missed the rim, the backboard and everything in between!

Ejection for the contract killer. Forty hours a week of keeping it together, and it all came apart in one swing under the rim.

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

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

Break. Hulk asks the medical staff for coffee. Request denied. Did you know Hulk entered the dunk contest... At 5'9"? Courage knows no height. And now, our halftime TV game show Password Please Try Again! To win an exercise machine holding the same folded laundry since 2009, text HOOPS to 555-0891 and answer this question: 'What do you call the fifth quarter if nobody agrees it happened?' Break's over, time for basketball. Let's go.

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

Take fouls are a coaching decision, but never that one. Galactus fouled in the open floor with nothing to protect, and the scoreboard is about to punish him for it.

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

The superhero makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. OHHHH the pocket pass! Thor splits the coverage and the roll man is loose under the basket! Pass, cut, catch, wide open. Four things in about a second and a half from Deadshot. Off the dribble, a full step behind the logo, straight down. Tomorrow the contract killer goes back to work, tonight he owns this arena.

Spider-Man 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 takes two dribbles past halfcourt, rises from thirty five feet, and the net barely moves. Filthy.

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

Total control. Spider-Man has this thing on a string. OHHHH the pin-down! Deadshot pops out clean while the defender is STILL tangled up with Hulk. Brutal. Catching it right at the cup with nobody within eight feet, Deadshot goes up too strong and the ball rides high off the backboard.

Over the top of everybody. Deadshot to Hulk in the corner, wide open, catch and rise. Everybody in the arena knew the stepback was coming from Hulk, and not one single soul could do anything about it. OHHHH, that one died in the air! Hulk put nothing into it and the front rim eats the floater.

Bucket for New York Over-Timers. Wide open look, and nobody even ran at the shooter.

The player just made the extra pass with a clean look of his own! You do not run into that kind of selflessness at the office! Rises, releases, and Hulk sends the ball through the exact patch of sky where the rim is not.

The player is parked under the rim while three grown men in stripes squint at a screen. Just another day at the office, apparently. Waved off. Thor got the entire celebration in before the officials even reached the monitor.

Deadshot's face is locked shut, zero emotion. Hulk hides his eyes under a towel. And here is the answer to our game show Password Please Try Again! Curtis Pruitt of Bent Spoon, Utah, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'What do you call the fifth quarter if nobody agrees it happened?' The answer was of course the honor quarter, and the score from it is kept exclusively by uncles. Curtis therefore wins an exercise machine holding the same folded laundry since 2009! Final confession: I still don't know how to pronounce Deadshot's name. Forgive me. That's it for tonight. Coming up: 'True Confessions: I Put Ketchup on Pasta.'

Matchday 12 — vs Cleveland Twin-Towers

89-133 (L)

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

Dagger from Cleveland Twin-Towers. You could hear the air leave this arena on that one.

The shooter saw Hulk rising into his eyeline, rushed the release, and caught nothing but the side of the rim. OUTLET! Deadshot rips the board and fires it ahead to Thor 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.

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

More second chance points for Cleveland Twin-Towers, and our bench is up screaming for a timeout. Rightly so.

Punish the help, that is the rule, and Deadshot just did it by hitting Hulk on the back side with acres of room. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Hulk spun out of a double team like it was a revolving door! Hulk backs his man down, feels the contact, spins middle and drops it in over both hands. Fundamentals!

Halftime whistle! Deadshot slides down against the hallway wall. Anecdote of the day: Deadshot forgot his shorts on the last road trip. Played in borrowed shorts two sizes too big. And now, our halftime TV game show Shark Tank of Guppies! To win a hand-stitched quilt featuring nine unrecognizable presidents, text HOOPS to 555-0138 and answer this question: 'How many miles per gallon does a zamboni get?' Both teams retake the hardwood. Everything is still up for grabs.

Turnover, layup, Cleveland Twin-Towers straight through us in transition. Careless basketball.

Look at the shoulders on the player. Everybody has a rough shift at work, but most people do not have twenty thousand witnesses. Two on the shot clock and the ball ends up with the scientist, which is how you get a twenty-eight footer off the wrong foot.

He sets it late, he sets it wide, and he sets it while jogging. Three for three, Hulk, and the possession is gone.

Spider-Man hands it off to Thor, slices through the seam, and the return pass is sitting there waiting at the rim. Rim out for Spider-Man, the crowd came up and sat right back down, and you can hear the groan from every corner of the arena.

Straight down the baseline goes the contract killer! Whatever shift he worked this morning, he clearly left plenty in the tank. Oh, that is rough. Deadshot killed his own dribble and then started a brand new one.

Ball moves. Deadshot to Thor, on time and on target. Two defenders collide on the handoff and Deadshot is gone, so Thor earned that one even if the box score disagrees. Third one of these from Deadshot this quarter, third time the arc is wrong. The lane is not open real estate anymore.

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

Laser from Thor, corner to corner, and that closeout gets there about a second and a half too late. Follow the ball there: four sets of hands, Deadshot makes the last read, and the defense never gets set. That is training camp offense. The big man never even contested it, and Galactus still could not get the runner to drop. That one is on him.

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

Galactus gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Deadshot saw it a beat early. Watch Thor plant his feet, absorb the hit, and spring Galactus out of that corner in a blink. So close. Galactus can only stare at the iron.

Hulk leaves the court at a jog. Spider-Man stays there, planted at center court, motionless. And here is the answer to our game Shark Tank of Guppies! Curtis Boggs of Hog Waller, Florida, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many miles per gallon does a zamboni get?' The answer was of course enough, and it does not care for the question. Curtis takes home a hand-stitched quilt featuring nine unrecognizable presidents! I spent the evening standing up and sitting down every thirty seconds. My Fitbit is congratulating me. Alright, good night! Up next: 'Planet Earth: Exploring the World from My Couch.' Immersive documentary.

Matchday 13 — vs Boston Ring-Chasers

87-132 (L)

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

Court vision like that on the player is absurd. Whatever the day job pays him, the assist numbers say he is badly underpriced. Hulk went for the deep heat check and produced the loudest silence of the night, roar to OHHHH in half a second.

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

The contract killer just froze a grown professional with a hesitation dribble. This man punches a clock and he is out here doing THAT. The crowd has found its chant, and Deadshot is going to be hearing it all night.

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

Halftime. Hulk is holding his ribs walking toward the tunnel. Rumor has it Hulk does 100 push-ups before every game. Or 10. Depends who you ask. 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?' We resume. Eyes locked in, jaws clenched.

Eighty-four feet of pure pressure from the contract killer! Whatever that day job is, the cardio clearly comes included. Tipped away by Deadshot! Loose ball, scramble, bodies everywhere, and it ends up in our hands. Wide open runway! Galactus gets to the rim before the defense even crosses halfcourt!

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

Watch the spacing there, Spider-Man hits Galactus right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. SPIN and GO! Galactus pirouettes right through the traffic and comes out the other side clean! Shot clock at one, and Galactus just has to throw something at the rim. Nothing doing.

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

The contract killer just ran a give and go to perfection on national television! Somebody go tell his boss what he does after hours! From eight feet Deadshot puts way too much on it, and the ball clears the rim entirely. Second-chance points are how you steal games on the road, and Galactus has now cleaned up four misses tonight. The whole possession dies right there without Galactus on the offensive glass, and instead it becomes the two easiest points of the quarter.

Ball moves. Deadshot to Galactus, on time and on target. They do not teach that in the player handbook, and yet here we are. Beautiful little exchange. Nobody drew up that arc. The scientist floated one halfway to the rafters, and the rim never even got a say.

More second chance points for Boston Ring-Chasers, and our bench is up screaming for a timeout. Rightly so.

Unsportsmanlike foul on Hulk, and this one costs double.

Spider-Man forces a contested fadeaway with a hand in his face, front rim, and the drought rolls on. Nobody moved, nobody cut, nobody set a screen, so Galactus launches a contested jumper with the horn already going. Ugly offense.

This is the part of the league nobody loves and everybody watches: Spider-Man waits with both hands on top of his head. The building went up, the building came right back down, and Spider-Man is staring at a scoreboard that never moved.

Galactus scratches the back of his neck nervously. Thor has the look of someone who has seen things. 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! During the third quarter, I spilled my soup. Yes, I had soup in the booth. Don't judge. This was your favorite commentator. Coming up: 'Extreme Makeover: Garage Edition.' Don't change the channel. Or do.

Matchday 14 — vs San Antonio Skyscrapers

86-131 (L)

Hard drive, hard stop, and Deadshot retreats into an ocean of open hardwood. Deadshot lets it FLY from way downtown and... front rim. Not this time.

That is the pass nobody puts on a highlight reel, and Thor makes it every single trip down the floor. The contract killer runs a dribble handoff with the timing of a fifteen-year vet. Not bad for somebody who does this on weekends. Third look from distance for Hulk tonight and the arc keeps flattening out, tired legs writing checks the jumper cannot cash.

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 contract killer. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. Thor splits the coverage with a bounce pass you need slow motion to appreciate. Dimes. The superhero 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.

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

Back to the locker room. Hulk punches his locker. Physio's confession: Hulk purrs when you massage his calves. Like a cat. A big cat. And now, our halftime TV game show Big Brother-in-Law! To win a novelty license plate that spells HOTDOG incorrectly, text HOOPS to 555-0296 and answer this question: 'How many pockets can cargo shorts have before they legally become furniture?' Second half! The hardwood is about to shake again.

Not an inch to spare on the endline, but Thor keeps both feet in bounds and the help gets there a beat too late. The player 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.

Spider-Man walks it up, two fingers in the air, and the whole offense shifts on his command. This is the counter: Hulk punished a defense that kept going under, and now they have to rip up the game plan. OHHHH, Deadshot from WAY downtown off the catch! The defense rotated a half second late and paid full price.

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

Turnover, layup, San Antonio Skyscrapers straight through us in transition. Careless basketball.

The player just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. Screened, toasted, done. Deadshot is loose and the defense is scrambling to find him. A jump hook over a grown professional defender, from the contract killer? That is the most unexpected fundamentals clinic of the night.

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

The superhero just ran a give and go to perfection on national television! Somebody go tell his boss what he does after hours! The gather was clean, the decision after it was not. Spider-Man had a live pivot foot and threw it away for a bounce he did not need.

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

Set called, Hulk waved out to the corner, and Spider-Man watches the spacing open up like a front door. Nobody dribbled, nobody isolated, Hulk and Spider-Man just played basketball and the defense got shredded. It went halfway down! The ball sat in the cylinder, thought about it, and rolled off the far side on Hulk. Cruel.

Hesitate, GO. Deadshot is by that hip before the man even blinks. Oh my. Deadshot did not even draw iron.

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.

The superhero fouled a shooter behind the arc. Three free throws, and a timeout that is going to be extremely unpleasant. OHHHH the whistle! Number five on Spider-Man, and this bench cannot believe what it just saw.

Deadshot snaps at the bench on his way out. Hulk says nothing, but his look says everything. And here is the answer to our game Big Brother-in-Law! Peggy Ann Hollifield of Sassafras Gap, South Carolina, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many pockets can cargo shorts have before they legally become furniture?' The answer was of course eleven, and at twelve you have to register them with the county. Peggy Ann takes home a novelty license plate that spells HOTDOG incorrectly! Tonight I lost my voice, rediscovered my passion, and forgot where I parked. A complete evening. Until next time! Up next: 'Life Unplugged: A Day Without WiFi.' A shocking documentary.

Matchday 15 — vs Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest

73-117 (L)

The scientist just out-jumped a guy half a foot taller for the opening tip. Somebody check the day job again.

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

Beaten on the glass again, and Galactus needs help down there.

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.

Hulk sets the pick and DIVES to the cup. Spider-Man lays it right on his hands in traffic! AROUND the cylinder and OUT! Hulk cannot believe it, and neither can this building.

Halftime whistle! Thor grabs a towel and collapses on the bench. Confession: Thor believes the away locker room is haunted. Refuses to go in alone. 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?' Resumption imminent. The players wrap up their express warm-up.

SKIP PASS! Deadshot fires it cross court to Hulk and the defense is dead in the water! They do not teach that in the scientist handbook, and yet here we are. Beautiful little exchange. 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.

Spider-Man walks it up, two fingers in the air, and the whole offense shifts on his command. Deadshot attacks the baseline and the ENTIRE defense has to rotate behind him! Deadshot gets into the paint, sees the shot blocker rising, and simply lifts it over the top of him. Never had a prayer.

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

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

Here is the part that never makes the highlight package: Spider-Man controlling tempo, burning clock, hunting the mismatch the second one shows up. From WAY downtown off the pop! Deadshot with the extra pass and CASH. Not close, not warm, not anywhere for Thor, straight into the hands of a defender who never had to leave his feet.

Ball moves. Deadshot to Spider-Man, on time and on target. Baseline spin from Spider-Man at full speed, and his man never even gets a hand into the picture. Filthy stuff. The superhero launched one from the logo as the horn sounded. In fairness, nobody in that huddle gave him a better option.

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

Across half court, a quick survey, a point to the weak side, and Spider-Man drops it off to Deadshot on time and on target. Deadshot comes flying off that screen and he is WIDE open! The contract killer 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.

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

Deadshot launches it weak side, one pass, and the whole shell has to sprint. Good luck with that. Kick out to Galactus, one more to Deadshot, splash from the wing and this bench is on its feet. Nobody expects touch like that from the contract killer, but that floater had more feel than half the starting guards in the league.

Whistles. Monitor. And Spider-Man standing frozen at midcourt. Call on the floor is overturned, that bench got its challenge right, and Spider-Man steps out to inbound from the wing.

Hulk is the last one off the court, shoulders hunched. Deadshot waits at the tunnel entrance. 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! I learned that Hulk's father was a superhero. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. We're done for tonight. And now: 'Ancient Aliens: The True History of the Coffee Break.'