My dream starting five — basketball_team 🇺🇸

Matchday 1 — vs Detroit Engine-Roar

73-118 (L)

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

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

No hero ball here: Pope Francis takes what the defense gives and moves it along. Full stop, full sprint, and the religious sister is in the paint! Nobody back at the workplace is going to believe this one. Getting to his spot and elevating, Mother Teresa puts it on the back iron, up over the front, and out. Half a rotation from two points.

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

Reverse it, make them slide all over again, that is how Mother Teresa breaks a shell down. Day job, then this: the farmer reads a rolling big like a coach with twenty years on the bench. The farmer launched one from the logo as the horn sounded. In fairness, nobody in that huddle gave him a better option.

Break time. Noah bolts to the locker room without looking at anyone. Did you know? Noah once signed an autograph for a referee. During the game. Mid free-throw. And now, our halftime TV game show Wheel of Slightly Damp Prizes! To win a wind chime built entirely out of old belt buckles, text HOOPS to 555-0081 and answer this question: 'How long does a squeaky sneaker stay squeaky?' And we're off! The energy in the arena just went up a notch.

The messiah fouled a shooter behind the arc. Three free throws, and a timeout that is going to be extremely unpleasant. Most defenders get to use their hands. Jesus Christ has five, so he is out there guarding with his eyebrows.

You can teach the jumper, you cannot teach the willingness, and Mother Teresa gives up a decent shot every single time a better one exists. The messiah 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. First one drops clean through, the second one never even touches iron. Cold blooded from Jesus Christ.

Look at that bench! Noah just lit the fuse! The chasedown is the hardest hustle play in this sport, and Mother Teresa just made it look routine.

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

Over the top of everybody. Pope Francis to Jesus Christ in the corner, wide open, catch and rise. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Jesus Christ put that man in a blender and the third row felt it! From eight feet Jesus Christ puts way too much on it, and the ball clears the rim entirely.

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

OHHHH the separation! Mother Teresa just manufactured three feet of daylight out of absolutely nothing. Mother Teresa takes two dribbles past halfcourt, rises from thirty five feet, and the net barely moves. Filthy.

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

Mother Teresa walks it up, two fingers in the air, and the whole offense shifts on his command. This is the work that never shows up on a stat sheet, Jesus Christ gets the credit and the guy setting the screen gets the bruise. Long and gone. Jesus Christ floats the teardrop over everything and bangs it off the back iron.

The farmer is parked under the rim while three grown men in stripes squint at a screen. Just another day at the office, apparently. OHHHH the cruelty! Two tenths, and Noah gets absolutely nothing.

Adam refuses the coach's embrace. Jesus Christ accepts it but his body is stiff. And here is the answer to our game Wheel of Slightly Damp Prizes! Geraldine Sump of Grimy Elbow, Washington, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How long does a squeaky sneaker stay squeaky?' The answer was of course until the exact second somebody else listens for it. Geraldine takes home a wind chime built entirely out of old belt buckles! Fun fact: my driver has been waiting in the parking lot for an hour. He's sent me 14 messages. We're out! And now, 'House Hunters: Broom Closet Edition.' Cozy open concept.

Matchday 2 — vs Miami Heart-Attack

87-116 (L)

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

Swing, swing, and Pope Francis finds Noah on the wing before the help can even turn its head. They do not teach that in the farmer handbook, and yet here we are. Beautiful little exchange. The big man never even contested it, and Jesus Christ still could not get the runner to drop. That one is on him.

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

Laser from Pope Francis, corner to corner, and that closeout gets there about a second and a half too late. Handoff, turn the corner, BUCKET! Jesus Christ did all the dirty work on that one. Jesus Christ whips the extra pass across the arc, Adam rises without a dribble, and SPLASH.

Nothing but a nod. Adam jogs back on defense with his eyes half closed, like the shot was a formality he had penciled in. The entire arena is levitating and he could not look less involved. The Miami Heart-Attack bench looks personally insulted.

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

Break! Noah rips his shoes off the second he reaches the locker room. Rumor has it Noah tried to recruit the pizza delivery guy for the team. The guy was 6'9". And now, our halftime TV game show Bowling for Buckets! To win a tackle box packed solid with loose buttons, text HOOPS to 555-1112 and answer this question: 'How many buckets fit in a bucket if the buckets are points?' The players are back. The court had time to dry, at least.

Jesus Christ launches it weak side, one pass, and the whole shell has to sprint. Good luck with that. The farmer just ran a give and go to perfection on national television! Somebody go tell his boss what he does after hours! The farmer tried the teardrop and never got it to the rim. Turns out soft touch does not come standard with that day job.

Four minutes without a point for Jesus Christ and his group. The offense has completely seized up. Two on the shot clock and the ball ends up with the chemist, which is how you get a twenty-eight footer off the wrong foot.

A religious sister breaking down a professional defender in front of a sold out house! Remember that day job, folks! TRAVEL! Mother Teresa took the scenic route to the rim and the whistle ended the tour.

Ball moves. Jesus Christ to Noah, on time and on target. Noah tries to force it through two bodies and finds nothing but the defender's hands.

Adam reaches, finds nothing but forearm, and the whistle comes right along with it. Fourth foul on the farmer and he is headed for the bench. Longest break the man has had since he took that job.

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.

The farmer misses absolutely everything, and honestly, the nerve to even attempt that shot deserves something. Not points. But something. The farmer outworked everybody on the glass! Effort does not care what is printed on your business card. Second chance points for Adam, tipping his own miss straight back in before his feet ever touched the floor.

SKIP PASS! Jesus Christ fires it cross court to Noah and the defense is dead in the water! Watch the sell from Noah here, he leans in, he gets the defender leaning with him, and then he backs away into all that space. The farmer launched one from the logo as the horn sounded. In fairness, nobody in that huddle gave him a better option.

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

Pope Francis refuses the coach's embrace. Jesus Christ accepts it but his body is stiff. And here is the answer to our game show Bowling for Buckets! Tammy Lynn Housewright of Big Elbow, Washington, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'How many buckets fit in a bucket if the buckets are points?' The answer was of course two per bucket, three from way out, and one if somebody fouls you. Tammy Lynn therefore wins a tackle box packed solid with loose buttons! Confession: I bet against my favorite team tonight. Superstition. It works half the time. Thanks for being here. Coming up: 'Forbidden Zone: Behind the Scenes of a Vending Machine.'

Matchday 3 — vs Orlando Magic-Beans

98-104 (L)

Three guys in warmups are halfway onto the floor celebrating what Jesus Christ just did, and an official has to wave them back to their seats.

The religious sister just created his own space with a stepback. Somewhere a scout is spitting coffee all over his notepad. Not close, not warm, not anywhere for Mother Teresa, straight into the hands of a defender who never had to leave his feet.

The messiah just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. Read, screen, delivery, right on the money. A religious sister making the right pass every single time, and the league is taking notes. Buzzer on the shot clock, Adam heaves it off one leg, and the ball comes up short of everything.

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

Total control. Mother Teresa has this thing on a string. Pope Francis takes flight, catches the Jesus Christ lob one-handed and drops it in a foot over the cylinder. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

Back to the locker room. Noah's shorts are torn but he couldn't care less. Anecdote: Noah threw up before his first pro game. No more pre-game burgers ever since. 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?' We're back at it. The crowd had time to reload at the snack bar.

Clean feed from Jesus Christ, nothing forced, just the offense breathing. OHHHH he went BACKDOOR! Pope Francis never broke stride and he has the ball UNDER THE RIM! Twenty-four seconds of standing around, and Pope Francis has to eat the last two of them. Possession wasted long before the shot went up.

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

Cross court, on a rope, from the religious sister. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. Here comes Noah sprinting off the elbow. Pope Francis slides it into his pocket and that chase defender is buried. The farmer had that thing halfway down and the rim spat it back out. Nobody ever warns you that the iron has a personality.

The ball travels faster than five defenders can, and Jesus Christ has known that all night long. Mother Teresa gives it up to Pope Francis on the move, the built-in screen erases the chase, and there is a clean runway to the rim. The chemist just spun through two defenders and reversed that in. Nothing about this is a normal Tuesday!

Kisses the biceps, one and then the other, and Pope Francis strolls to the free throw line like a man on vacation. Jesus Christ 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.

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

Rough look for the messiah there. In his line of work you get to take that one back, out here it is two points going the other way.

Ball up the floor, change of speed right at the logo, and Mother Teresa already has the defense a full step behind. Nobody is getting a hand near that. Jesus Christ has all the room in the world. A cruel spin-out for the messiah, and whatever that day job is, tonight it came with a brand new way to break your heart.

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

Right through the window. Pope Francis to Mother Teresa on the roll, and the help was a half step late. Look at Mother Teresa mouthing an apology toward his own bench before the call is even announced. He knew instantly.

Noah's lip is trembling. Adam dodges the cameras by pulling up his hood. 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! During the game, I counted how many times I said 'incredible.' Seventeen. A personal record. That's it for tonight. Coming up: 'True Confessions: I Put Ketchup on Pasta.'

Matchday 4 — vs Philadelphia Injury-Report

95-111 (L)

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

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.

Pope Francis attacks the baseline and the ENTIRE defense has to rotate behind him! Oh, that is rough. Pope Francis killed his own dribble and then started a brand new one.

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

Screened, toasted, done. Jesus Christ is loose and the defense is scrambling to find him. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! That was IN for Jesus Christ!

The players leave the court. Jesus Christ clings to the tunnel railing. Locker room anecdote: Jesus Christ talks to a sock called 'Assistant Coach.' We don't judge. And now, our halftime TV game show Double Dare You! To win a three-pound bag of gas station beef jerky, text HOOPS to 555-0091 and answer this question: 'How many times does a basketball bounce before it forgives you?' The show goes on. Players take position. Silence. Whistle.

Here is the part that never makes the highlight package: Mother Teresa controlling tempo, burning clock, hunting the mismatch the second one shows up. OHHHH the pocket pass! Pope Francis splits the coverage and the roll man is loose under the basket! In, around, and gone. The iron gives Noah nothing.

Pope Francis kicks it over to Adam, no dribble, no drama, and this offense settles into a rhythm. A cut with that timing from the farmer? He is on the clock somewhere else all week and he still found time to learn the two-man game. Somebody check that job title again: the farmer hanging in the air like the paint owes him rent, and finishing anyway.

Ohhh no. Corner three, Philadelphia Injury-Report in rhythm now, and our side of the building goes silent.

That is the pass nobody puts on a highlight reel, and Jesus Christ makes it every single trip down the floor. Straight down the baseline goes the religious sister! Whatever shift he worked this morning, he clearly left plenty in the tank. The religious sister gets it handed over on a silver platter at point blank range and drops it. Somewhere in this building a coach is questioning every decision that led here.

The defender planted his feet, and Mother Teresa said thank you very much and drove straight through his front pocket. Mother Teresa rises from deep, the defender flies in a half second late, and the officials put up three fingers.

Noah gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Jesus Christ saw it a beat early. Down screen, and Noah curls hard into the middle of the floor with a full step of daylight. Easy read. Two guys on the exact same page, Noah and Mother Teresa, and the defense is left holding a bag of nothing. Two defenders in the lane, Noah splits them, double clutches and kisses it off the square. Count it!

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

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

Watch the spacing there, Mother Teresa hits Jesus Christ right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. The messiah just froze a grown professional with a hesitation dribble. This man punches a clock and he is out here doing THAT. Contested, off balance, fading away from the wrong shoulder, that is a shot Jesus Christ should never take with three teammates standing wide open.

Adam rides the ball handler all the way up the floor and finally puts a forearm in his back. Officials blow it dead. Careful now. Three fouls this early means Adam plays the next stretch with his hands straight up in the air.

Mother Teresa walks toward the tunnel without a word. Adam stares at the scoreboard as if it might change. And here is the answer to our game Double Dare You! Opal Sisk of Nickel Plate, Colorado, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many times does a basketball bounce before it forgives you?' The answer was of course six, and the seventh is only out of politeness. Opal takes home a three-pound bag of gas station beef jerky! Behind the scenes, I learned Adam was also a religious sister in a past life. You can feel it in the game. Off to bed! And now: 'Jeopardy: Cafeteria Trivia Edition.'

Matchday 5 — vs Phoenix No-Defense

92-120 (L)

Whistle! Pope Francis gets him on the arm. Personal foul, nothing clever about it. OHHHH the whistle! Number five on Pope Francis, and this bench cannot believe what it just saw.

Watch the spacing there, Jesus Christ hits Noah right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. Off the pin-down comes the farmer with nobody inside a zip code. Somebody out there knows how to use a screen, and it is not who you would guess. So close. Noah can only stare at the iron.

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

That is vision. Pope Francis sees the pocket open for a tenth of a second and puts the ball in it. Jesus Christ had that one all the way, perfect release, perfect arc, and the rim simply refuses to let it drop.

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

Players head to the locker room. Noah has tape on three fingers. Little secret: Noah has a secret TikTok account with 12 followers. Posts cooking tutorials. And now, our halftime TV game show Guess My Salary Cap! To win a sun visor that says FLORIDA but was manufactured in Indiana, text HOOPS to 555-1136 and answer this question: 'What is the exact salary of a mascot with no contract?' Let's go, we're back. The crowd claps in rhythm.

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

That is the pass that beats a zone, and Mother Teresa threw it before the help even committed. Adam drives, draws two bodies, and swings it one more time to the corner. That is the pass nobody is required to make. BRICK! Jesus Christ throws up a prayer and the iron sends it straight back out to half court!

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

Pope Francis kicks it over to Jesus Christ, no dribble, no drama, and this offense settles into a rhythm. Two defenders, one gap, and Jesus Christ finds it. Onions on that pass. Fifth possession this half where Pope Francis has been left to bail everybody out with the clock at zero. He cannot keep doing this alone.

Eight seconds off the shot clock and Mother Teresa has not wasted one of them, the ball reaching Jesus Christ precisely where the play wanted it. Jesus Christ rips it back into the stepback and suddenly there is a country mile between him and that defender. The whistle blows, the crowd erupts, and Jesus Christ hangs on the iron just long enough to make his point.

Kisses the biceps, one and then the other, and Jesus Christ strolls to the free throw line like a man on vacation. Mother Teresa 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.

Noah gets driven under the rim and the offensive board goes the other way. Fresh shot clock for them.

Careless. Noah had the entire frontcourt open in front of him and chose to reverse into a violation.

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

One hard step and Jesus Christ owns that whole side of the floor, which means the low man has to make a decision he does not want. Jesus Christ attacks the baseline, the big man steps up to meet him, and it does not matter one bit. FILTHY.

Jesus Christ 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.

Adam's eyes are glassy. Noah mumbles 'we'll get them next time' without believing it. And here is the answer to our game show Guess My Salary Cap! Marvin Hollopeter of Sandy Britches, New Jersey, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'What is the exact salary of a mascot with no contract?' The answer was of course free pizza on Thursdays and all the applause he can carry. Marvin therefore wins a sun visor that says FLORIDA but was manufactured in Indiana! Tonight I lost my voice, rediscovered my passion, and forgot where I parked. A complete evening. That's all for tonight. And now: 'Deadliest Catch: Rush Hour on the Beltway.' Documentary.

Matchday 6 — vs Los Angeles Nursing-Home

79-111 (L)

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

More second chance points for Los Angeles Nursing-Home, and our bench is up screaming for a timeout. Rightly so.

The help defender committed way too early, and Jesus Christ made him pay for it with a spin they will be replaying all week. That is a dime from Mother Teresa that deserved so much better, and Jesus Christ knows it, head down, jogging back before the ball even lands.

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

Swing, swing, and Mother Teresa finds Noah on the wing before the help can even turn its head. Dribble alive, patient, patient, and then Noah slips it to Mother Teresa right in the pocket. Surgical. That is the shot Mother Teresa wants every trip down the floor, it drops nine nights out of ten, and tonight is the tenth.

Halftime whistle. Jesus Christ high-fives his teammates on the way out. Juicy anecdote: Jesus Christ was caught dancing the Macarena in the showers. Alone. 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?' Break's over, the players take their positions.

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

Watch the spacing there, Jesus Christ hits Pope Francis right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. The chemist just made the extra pass with a clean look of his own! You do not run into that kind of selflessness at the office! Soft off the fingertips, the ball takes a full lap of the rim on Jesus Christ, and spits straight back out. That is theft.

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

Ball moves. Jesus Christ to Adam, on time and on target. Everybody in the arena knew the stepback was coming from Adam, and not one single soul could do anything about it. Stop on a dime, up and over those outstretched arms, and the center can only stand there and watch Adam walk away from it.

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

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

Push the pace! Mother Teresa grabs it and hits Adam in stride before the defense can even match up. Look how low Adam keeps that shoulder on the drive, that is how you turn a sliver of space into a walk to the rim. The farmer just fired one in from the logo and the roof nearly came off this place. That is in nobody's job description.

Adam pretends to check a watch that is not on his wrist, taps it, then shows it to the arena. Time is up. Pope Francis mimes an enormous yawn. The visiting coach is shouting at officials who have no jurisdiction over sarcasm.

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

A probe, a plant of the outside foot, and Jesus Christ pushes off while his man is still fighting to recover his balance. OHHHH, the cylinder rejects the messiah! Somewhere a whole workplace just yelled at a television.

The religious sister runs a dribble handoff with the timing of a fifteen-year vet. Not bad for somebody who does this on weekends. Nobody touched him, nobody trapped him, and Noah still coughed it up. Easiest whistle these officials will blow all night.

Under review. Adam does not know yet whether he is the hero or the footnote. Late by a blink. Adam is going to see that frame in his sleep tonight.

Mother Teresa kicks her towel across the floor. Jesus Christ has already left for the locker room, alone. 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! My evening in one word? Epic. In two words? Epic and loud. And now, a brand new episode of 'Desperately Seeking My Cat.' Good night, everyone.

Matchday 7 — vs Toronto Border-Patrol

80-111 (L)

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

The religious sister just ran that two-man game like he has a decade of film on it. Somebody get this man a contract. AROUND the cylinder and OUT! Jesus Christ cannot believe it, and neither can this building.

Across half court, a quick survey, a point to the weak side, and Mother Teresa drops it off to Pope Francis on time and on target. The chemist 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 chemist and the whole arena groans as one. Great hands in the day job, apparently they do not travel.

The farmer 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.

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

Halftime! Noah is limping slightly heading off the court. Staff confession: Noah is afraid of pigeons. Not 7-foot centers, no. Pigeons. And now, our halftime TV game show The Chase to the Dollar Store! To win a boxed set of instructional VHS tapes about gutter care, text HOOPS to 555-0225 and answer this question: 'How long is a minute on a stopwatch held by somebody in a hurry?' Back on the court. The crowd greets them with a standing ovation.

Watch Adam plant his feet, absorb the hit, and spring Mother Teresa out of that corner in a blink. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Two points in every gym in America except this one, and Mother Teresa is walking back with both hands on his head.

Somebody explain how the religious sister reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. That is a self-created look of the highest order, and there might be five guys in this league who get to it on demand the way Jesus Christ does. Down, up, and gone for Jesus Christ. The rim is just toying with him now.

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

Cross court, on a rope, from the chemist. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. Court vision like that on the farmer is absurd. Whatever the day job pays him, the assist numbers say he is badly underpriced. Runner in the lane by Noah, high off the fingertips, straight down through the net. Splash!

Noah 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.

Bench energy is real currency over a long season, and Pope Francis just handed his teammates a full bank account.

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

The religious sister 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 messiah made it himself. Total professional, in a completely unrelated profession. Stepback three from the messiah, ice in his veins. You cannot teach that, and apparently you cannot keep it out of the workforce either.

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

The big rolls, the defense collapses, and Mother Teresa punishes it with a read most guys never even see. The block is clean, the ball is gone, and Jesus Christ is left staring at his empty hands like a man who lost his keys.

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

Noah taps the tunnel wall as if trying to pass through it. Jesus Christ walks through the door without pushing it. And here is the answer to our game The Chase to the Dollar Store! Lurlene Dobbins of Rusty Spoon, New Mexico, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How long is a minute on a stopwatch held by somebody in a hurry?' The answer was of course fifty-one seconds, give or take a conscience. Lurlene takes home a boxed set of instructional VHS tapes about gutter care! Tonight my colleague told me I smell like stress. I told him it was my cologne. That's all for tonight. And now: 'Deadliest Catch: Rush Hour on the Beltway.' Documentary.

Matchday 8 — vs Minnesota Ice-Wall

86-131 (L)

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

Enough room out there to set up a lawn chair, and the religious sister made it himself. Total professional, in a completely unrelated profession. The religious sister just had his shot delivered into the courtside seats. Tough scene, but at least the day job is safe.

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

The farmer is running this zone like he has been drawing it up his entire life. Wrong career, my friend, absolutely the wrong career. Lazy crosscourt pass, and Adam makes them pay. Clean pick, no whistle, two easy ones before that coach can sit back down.

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

First half is done. Noah is chugging Gatorade like it's water. Anecdote: Noah fell asleep on the bench during an exhibition game. Still got named MVP. 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?' The arena lights up, the players are back. Game on.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! The messiah just drew a shooting foul with a veteran pump fake. Two free throws for somebody who clocks in at a real job tomorrow morning. Bless him. Jesus Christ put so much arc on that thing it never came within a foot of the rim.

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.

Punish the help, that is the rule, and Mother Teresa just did it by hitting Adam on the back side with acres of room. Beautiful footwork on that one from Adam, the pivot foot never budges, which is precisely why the whistle stays in the pocket. Rises, releases, and Adam sends the ball through the exact patch of sky where the rim is not.

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

Full stop, full sprint, and the messiah is in the paint! Nobody back at the workplace is going to believe this one. BAAAANG! Jesus Christ gets hammered, banks it in anyway, and here comes the bonus.

Down by the baseline, Jesus Christ points at the arena DJ, who obliges with the loudest thing in the catalog. The whole lower bowl is up. Noah is dancing badly and fully aware of it. The Minnesota Ice-Wall coach signals for time and gets ignored by his own players.

The farmer is the engine of a 10-0 run in front of a sold out arena! Somebody go check the schedule, this is not how the day was supposed to go! A head coach with a full staff and a scouting report just called timeout because of the farmer. Read that sentence back slowly.

The drive comes baseline, Adam slides over late, and the layup gets ERASED. The rim is closed for business.

Not a bad shot, not a blocked shot, just no shot at all from Adam. Somehow the worst outcome available.

Baseline spin from Jesus Christ at full speed, and his man never even gets a hand into the picture. Filthy stuff. Rip through, one dribble, contact. Jesus Christ plays that little game better than anybody on this floor. Two for two from the messiah, calm as a Tuesday afternoon. Whatever that job involves all day, it clearly builds very steady hands.

Slow walk, no expression. Jesus Christ backpedals past the Minnesota Ice-Wall huddle close enough to hear what is being said and never turns his head. The crowd noise is a physical object at this point. One of their assistants stands up, and nothing comes of it.

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

Pope Francis and Noah share a single look. Just one. It contains all the disappointment in the world. 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! Tonight I learned Pope Francis used to be a religious sister before basketball. Found out during a timeout. Threw me off completely. Good evening! Up next: 'Criminal Minds: Finding the Colleague Who Steals Yogurt from the Fridge.'

Matchday 9 — vs Houston Blast-Off

88-132 (L)

Pope Francis launches it weak side, one pass, and the whole shell has to sprint. Good luck with that. The religious sister takes the baseline and bends an entire defense out of shape. Absolutely absurd stuff in this building tonight. It went halfway down! The ball sat in the cylinder, thought about it, and rolled off the far side on Mother Teresa. Cruel.

Punish the help, that is the rule, and Jesus Christ just did it by hitting Noah on the back side with acres of room. Hard drive, hard stop, and Noah retreats into an ocean of open hardwood. A timeout is coming, because no defense recovers from watching Noah do that to one of their own.

Somebody explain the arc to the chemist. He gave away three shots on a prayer, and you can watch the coach age in real time. No argument at all. Pope Francis claps once, hands the ball to the official and heads for the chair. Four fouls, night on pause.

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

In a game this tight, Adam cannot be giving away a free point over a call that was never coming back. Unforgivable.

Break time. Jesus Christ bolts to the locker room without looking at anyone. Fun fact: Jesus Christ got rejected at a casting for a deodorant commercial. The irony. 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?' Let's go, we're back. The crowd claps in rhythm.

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

Set called, Jesus Christ waved out to the corner, and Mother Teresa watches the spacing open up like a front door. Noah just took a shoulder to the chest to buy Jesus Christ half a second, and half a second in this league is an eternity. Jesus Christ gets to his spot in the lane, lifts the runner over the big man, and leaves it a foot short. No dice.

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

Jesus Christ slides, closes out, recovers. The ball goes all the way around the perimeter and comes back with nothing. Hands like that on the chemist? Whatever he does all day, by night he is robbing people blind.

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

The messiah just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. The farmer just created his own space with a stepback. Somewhere a scout is spitting coffee all over his notepad. Watch the feet on Adam there, still drifting sideways at the release, and that is exactly why the floater sails wide left of everything.

Two free throws and the ball for the other side, that is the price of a flagrant two, and Adam pays it from the tunnel.

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

Take fouls are a coaching decision, but never that one. Mother Teresa fouled in the open floor with nothing to protect, and the scoreboard is about to punish him for it. Mother Teresa goes up in transition and gets HAMMERED across the head. The crew heads to the monitor, and this one is getting upgraded.

Two decoy screens, a flare to the weak side, then Adam coming off the second one. That is the whole thing. Out of the timeout, Jesus Christ hits Adam right on schedule and it drops! Drawn up, run, done.

Pope Francis avoids the cameras like the plague. Mother Teresa gets caught. Just says 'we'll be better'. 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! Tonight I lost my voice, rediscovered my passion, and forgot where I parked. A complete evening. That's all! Coming up: 'Hotel Hell: Airbnb With No Lock Edition.' Chills guaranteed.

Matchday 10 — vs Denver Horse-Track

79-124 (L)

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

Cross court, on a rope, from the messiah. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. GONE down the baseline! Noah beat him on the first step and the paint is collapsing. Rising up out of the corner, Noah sends it LONG, clanging off the far side and out to the wing.

Laser from Jesus Christ, corner to corner, and that closeout gets there about a second and a half too late. Nobody dribbled, nobody isolated, Adam and Noah just played basketball and the defense got shredded. Missed layup for the farmer and the whole arena groans as one. Great hands in the day job, apparently they do not travel.

Hard drive, hard stop, and Jesus Christ retreats into an ocean of open hardwood. Count them with me: one step, two steps, and a third one nobody asked for. The official has seen enough of Jesus Christ.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Mother Teresa whips that pass one-handed on the move and the roll man gathers it through contact. Filthy. Noah wanted the contact so badly that he forgot the small detail where your feet have to be planted.

End of the second quarter. Mother Teresa is breathing so loud you can hear it from here. Small detail: Mother Teresa whistles the national anthem before every game. Off-key. Consistently off-key. And now, our halftime TV game show Pawn Stars of the Neighborhood! To win a corn dog the size of a mailbox, already gone cold, text HOOPS to 555-0433 and answer this question: 'What is the average airspeed of a paper airplane thrown from the upper deck?' We're back at it. The crowd had time to reload at the snack bar.

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

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

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

Watch the spacing there, Jesus Christ hits Noah right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. OHHHH the pin-down! Noah pops out clean while the defender is STILL tangled up with Adam. Brutal. Count it AND the foul! Noah refused to be denied at the rim.

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

The messiah just got T'd up for running his mouth at a referee. Somewhere his boss is watching this and slowly closing his eyes. Two technicals and the messiah is out. Whatever happened at work today, he clearly brought every bit of it to the arena.

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.

Arm across the body, whistle, dead ball. Reach on Pope Francis.

Ball moves. Mother Teresa to Adam, on time and on target. Mother Teresa eats the contact so Adam can run free along the baseline, and the catch-and-shoot look is right there. Watch the footwork there from Adam on the catch, squared up before the ball ever arrives. That is exactly why it goes down so clean.

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

Jesus Christ does not love that call. Both hands in the air, a long look at the official, and the whistle still counts.

Jesus Christ bites the inside of his cheek. Adam pinches the bridge of his nose. And here is the answer to our game Pawn Stars of the Neighborhood! Bud Applewhite of Cornbread Hill, Oregon, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What is the average airspeed of a paper airplane thrown from the upper deck?' The answer was of course roughly one usher per second. Bud takes home a corn dog the size of a mailbox, already gone cold! On my end, the AC in the booth broke down. I sweated more than Adam. Good night everyone! Coming up: 'Boot Camp: Supermarket Checkout Line Edition.' Discipline.

Matchday 11 — vs New York Over-Timers

91-127 (L)

Third reach charged to Pope Francis. At some point the officials stop giving you the benefit of the doubt, and that point was two whistles ago.

Onions from Adam! He plants himself in front of a freight train and just wears the whole thing. This is the work that never shows up in a box score, and Adam just took two points off the board without a single stat.

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

Jesus Christ launches it weak side, one pass, and the whole shell has to sprint. Good luck with that. Read, screen, delivery, right on the money. A religious sister making the right pass every single time, and the league is taking notes. Straight through the traffic, straight through the contact. The messiah finishes with a free throw coming and the paint suddenly feels very small.

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

Nobody boxed out. Tip in, New York Over-Timers, and two of ours were standing right there watching it happen.

Halftime whistle! Noah grabs a towel and collapses on the bench. Anecdote: Noah once shot at the wrong basket during warm-ups. Nobody has forgotten. And now, our halftime TV game show Whammy Watch Live! To win a barrel of packing peanuts and absolutely nothing else, text HOOPS to 555-1073 and answer this question: 'How tall is the shortest player who ever dunked in a dream?' Both teams emerge from the tunnel. The second half can begin.

Another board lost, and the farmer is finding out that boxing out never came up in the training manual.

You want basketball IQ? Ask the chemist, who just moved the rock on time without one wasted dribble. Unselfish basketball. Adam passes up a good shot and hands Mother Teresa a GREAT one. Textbook footwork, textbook release from Mother Teresa, cruel result as it spins out and both teams go up for a contested board.

Watch the sell from Mother Teresa here, he leans in, he gets the defender leaning with him, and then he backs away into all that space. That is the shot chart lying to you. Mother Teresa did everything right on this possession and has zero points to show for it.

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

Enough room out there to set up a lawn chair, and the messiah made it himself. Total professional, in a completely unrelated profession. The crowd has found its chant, and Jesus Christ is going to be hearing it all night.

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

Noah got the ball, but he got it on the way down, and they are awarded the two anyway.

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

The bench is up, the defender is begging for help, and Pope Francis keeps walking into the same spot and cashing. Range like that bends a defense completely out of shape, and Pope Francis keeps proving the arc is only a suggestion.

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

That is the second personal charged to Noah and the bench is already staring at the clipboard. Foul trouble rewrites a rotation in a hurry. Brutal timing on that whistle. This team loses its rim protection the moment Noah takes a seat, and the paint is wide open now.

Mother Teresa taps the tunnel wall as if trying to pass through it. Jesus Christ walks through the door without pushing it. And here is the answer to our game show Whammy Watch Live! Doris Ann Pickerel of Skunk Cabbage, Connecticut, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'How tall is the shortest player who ever dunked in a dream?' The answer was of course five foot two, and the dream was extremely convincing. Doris Ann therefore wins a barrel of packing peanuts and absolutely nothing else! While you were watching the game, I was desperately searching for my pen. Still haven't found it. See you tomorrow. In the meantime, it's 'Who Wants to Marry My Goldfish.' Good luck with that.

Matchday 12 — vs Cleveland Twin-Towers

73-118 (L)

The chemist makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. Adam comes flying off that screen and he is WIDE open! The farmer had that thing halfway down and the rim spat it back out. Nobody ever warns you that the iron has a personality.

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.

The religious sister runs a dribble handoff with the timing of a fifteen-year vet. Not bad for somebody who does this on weekends. Noah threads a BEAUTY to Pope Francis under the rim and... he lays it off the bottom of the iron! Ohhhh, no. Adam SKIES for it! Extra life for this offense. Rebounding is effort, and effort is apparently what the farmer does for a living. Second chance points, all guts.

Adam sets an invisible crown on his own head, adjusts it twice, and carries the thing off like it weighs forty pounds. The Cleveland Twin-Towers bench does not find it funny. Noah pounds the crown down with one fist and steers him away before the technical arrives.

Reverse it, make them slide all over again, that is how Mother Teresa breaks a shell down. The messiah just made the extra pass with a clean look of his own! You do not run into that kind of selflessness at the office! Up goes the shot from Adam and that is nothing but AIR, and every soul in this building saw it happen.

SKIP PASS! Mother Teresa fires it cross court to Jesus Christ and the defense is dead in the water! The messiah just handed that one straight to the other team. Hey, nobody is perfect at two jobs at once.

Halftime. Jesus Christ glances at his phone for two seconds and puts it back. Physio's confession: Jesus Christ purrs when you massage his calves. Like a cat. A big cat. And now, our halftime TV game show Blockbusters at the Laundromat! To win a mannequin torso wearing a borrowed letterman jacket, text HOOPS to 555-0388 and answer this question: 'What is the boiling point of a chili at a firehouse cook-off?' Resetting the counters for this second half. Well, not really.

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

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

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

Cross court, on a rope, from the messiah. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. The chemist just created his own space with a stepback. Somewhere a scout is spitting coffee all over his notepad. Pope Francis beat the clock by a tenth of a second and missed by about four feet. Technically legal, competitively pointless.

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

The farmer just rotated over and shut the paint down like a shift change. Where does THAT defensive IQ come from?

Ball moves. Mother Teresa to Pope Francis, on time and on target. This is the work that never shows up on a stat sheet, Pope Francis gets the credit and the guy setting the screen gets the bruise. A cut with that timing from the chemist? He is on the clock somewhere else all week and he still found time to learn the two-man game. The chemist just dunked on two grown men and drew the foul. Whatever that job pays, it is not enough.

Nobody is getting a hand near that. Mother Teresa has all the room in the world. A cruel spin-out for the religious sister, and whatever that day job is, tonight it came with a brand new way to break your heart.

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

Late rotation from Pope Francis, he arrives half a beat behind the drive and the contact is obvious to everybody in the building. Pope Francis throws his head back, because he knows exactly what it means. His minutes are somebody else's decision now.

Pope Francis presses his forehead against the tunnel glass. Mother Teresa walks right past without noticing. And here is the answer to our game Blockbusters at the Laundromat! Reba Mae Odom of Skillet Fork, California, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What is the boiling point of a chili at a firehouse cook-off?' The answer was of course slightly above the legal limit. Reba Mae takes home a mannequin torso wearing a borrowed letterman jacket! Tonight I learned Pope Francis used to be a religious sister before basketball. Found out during a timeout. Threw me off completely. Off to bed! And now: 'Jeopardy: Cafeteria Trivia Edition.'

Matchday 13 — vs Boston Ring-Chasers

79-124 (L)

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

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

Punish the help, that is the rule, and Pope Francis just did it by hitting Mother Teresa on the back side with acres of room. Mother Teresa stutters at the elbow, the defender bites on it, and now there is nothing but open floor between him and the rim. Catching it right at the cup with nobody within eight feet, Mother Teresa goes up too strong and the ball rides high off the backboard.

The messiah 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 chemist made it himself. Total professional, in a completely unrelated profession. That stepback is unguardable once the drive gets sold, and Pope Francis has had that defender guessing wrong all night long.

Golf swing follow-through, perfect form, Pope Francis 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.

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

End of the first half. Pope Francis is beet red but still standing. Staff confession: Pope Francis is afraid of pigeons. Not 7-foot centers, no. Pigeons. And now, our halftime TV game show Win Lose or Draw a Foul! To win a decorative plate commemorating the wedding of two strangers, text HOOPS to 555-0759 and answer this question: 'What is the exact temperature of a gym with one working fan?' Resetting the counters for this second half. Well, not really.

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

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

The chemist just made the extra pass with a clean look of his own! You do not run into that kind of selflessness at the office! Straight back to the office for the religious sister, and the group chat has already seen it twice.

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

Ball moves. Pope Francis to Mother Teresa, on time and on target. Pass, cut, catch, wide open. Four things in about a second and a half from Mother Teresa. Shot clock at one, and Mother Teresa just has to throw something at the rim. Nothing doing.

No roll this time. Mother Teresa swings it right back to Noah above the break, and it is PURE. The farmer just had his shot delivered into the courtside seats. Tough scene, but at least the day job is safe.

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

The religious sister is full-court pressing grown professionals and they look genuinely worried. Absolute chaos. The messiah just jumped a passing lane like a ten-year pro and took it the distance. What a league this is! Off the day job and straight into the open floor: the messiah runs the break like he does this for a living. He does not.

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

From WAY downtown off the pop! Mother Teresa with the extra pass and CASH. Prayer from Adam. Not answered.

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

Mother Teresa slams her fist on the bench. Jesus Christ places his palm flat, as if to calm the surface. And here is the answer to our game show Win Lose or Draw a Foul! Elmer Sizemore of Wet Sock, Louisiana, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'What is the exact temperature of a gym with one working fan?' The answer was of course ninety four degrees near the fan and ninety six everywhere else. Elmer therefore wins a decorative plate commemorating the wedding of two strangers! I spent the fourth quarter standing. Not by choice. My chair gave out in the third. Thanks for being here. Now put down the remote, it's time for 'Wheel of Misfortune.'

Matchday 14 — vs San Antonio Skyscrapers

78-122 (L)

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

Working him at the top of the key, low dribble, low dribble, then Jesus Christ rips it across and his man lunges at a ghost. That is twice tonight Jesus Christ has tried to create with the dribble already dead, and this league does not reward that.

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

Mother Teresa splits the coverage with a bounce pass you need slow motion to appreciate. Dimes. A cruel spin-out for the farmer, and whatever that day job is, tonight it came with a brand new way to break your heart.

Laser from Jesus Christ, corner to corner, and that closeout gets there about a second and a half too late. Screen, hesitation, delivery, Adam drops it off perfectly for Mother Teresa diving to the rim. Rim out for Mother Teresa, the crowd came up and sat right back down, and you can hear the groan from every corner of the arena.

Rest. Mother Teresa buries her head in a wet towel and doesn't move. Rumor has it Mother Teresa talks to her basketball in the locker room. Nobody dares say it's weird. 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?' The players come back running. Did someone set the locker room on fire?

Ball moves. Jesus Christ to Pope Francis, on time and on target. POCKET PASS! Pope Francis threads it to Jesus Christ between two bodies and the rim is wide open! The defender fronted him, so Jesus Christ sealed, waited for the entry and went to work. Patient, mean, effective.

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

Push the pace! Mother Teresa grabs it and hits Noah in stride before the defense can even match up. That hesitation move is exactly why they keep sending a second body at Noah the moment he crosses half court. A jump hook over a grown professional defender, from the farmer? That is the most unexpected fundamentals clinic of the night.

Jesus Christ sets the pick and DIVES to the cup. Mother Teresa lays it right on his hands in traffic! Two points left on the floor by Jesus Christ, and those are exactly the ones that come back to bite you in the fourth.

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

No hero ball here: Mother Teresa takes what the defense gives and moves it along. This is the work that never shows up on a stat sheet, Pope Francis gets the credit and the guy setting the screen gets the bruise. That is what heavy minutes do, Pope Francis has run all night and the legs have nothing left to give the jumper.

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

A single dribble is all Pope Francis needed to get downhill, and the back side of that defense is in complete disarray. Every highlight show in the country runs that clip tonight, and unfortunately for Pope Francis he is on the wrong end of it.

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

Across half court, a quick survey, a point to the weak side, and Mother Teresa drops it off to Jesus Christ on time and on target. The other bench sent their best perimeter stopper out on Jesus Christ, and they are learning in real time that it will not be enough tonight. Nobody moved, nobody cut, nobody set a screen, so Jesus Christ launches a contested jumper with the horn already going. Ugly offense.

Adam closes his eyes walking out. Pope Francis keeps his wide open, fixed, empty. 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! I learned backstage that Pope Francis also does religious sister on weekends. That explains those reflexes. See you soon. Coming up: 'Extreme Couponing: Family of Eight at Walmart.' Double episode.

Matchday 15 — vs Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest

87-132 (L)

The messiah just created his own space with a stepback. Somewhere a scout is spitting coffee all over his notepad. Oh my. Jesus Christ did not even draw iron.

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

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

Eight seconds off the shot clock and Mother Teresa has not wasted one of them, the ball reaching Pope Francis precisely where the play wanted it. The chemist takes the baseline and bends an entire defense out of shape. Absolutely absurd stuff in this building tonight. Pope Francis gets into the paint, sees the shot blocker rising, and simply lifts it over the top of him. Never had a prayer.

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

Somebody get the farmer a rim protection bonus! Clocks out at five, guarding the paint by seven. This league is a wonderful place.

Back to the locker room. Jesus Christ's shorts are torn but he couldn't care less. Little scoop: Jesus Christ tried to bribe the DJ to play his song. The DJ agreed. Nobody liked it. 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 at it! The coach said two words. Two words that were enough.

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

The messiah just made the extra pass with a clean look of his own! You do not run into that kind of selflessness at the office! Adam rises up from fifteen feet and OHHHH, that rattled in and OUT!

The crossover comes, Pope Francis bites hard, and the lane opens up like the front door was left unlocked. The farmer gets whistled for the swipe. Forty honest hours a week and here he is, picking pockets in front of twenty thousand witnesses.

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

Cross court, on a rope, from the chemist. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. Straight down the baseline goes the religious sister! Whatever shift he worked this morning, he clearly left plenty in the tank. Mother Teresa had that one all the way, perfect release, perfect arc, and the rim simply refuses to let it drop.

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.

Enough room out there to set up a lawn chair, and the messiah made it himself. Total professional, in a completely unrelated profession. OHHHH, that one died in the air! Jesus Christ put nothing into it and the front rim eats the floater. The shot is short, and Jesus Christ is the only man moving. He rips it out of the crowd and the possession lives. OHHHH he went and GOT that! Jesus Christ with the putback jam over two bodies.

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

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

Watch the spacing there, Jesus Christ hits Noah right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. The farmer just threaded a pocket pass through two defenders. Where exactly did that vision come from? Missed layup for the farmer and the whole arena groans as one. Great hands in the day job, apparently they do not travel.

Foul to give, and Jesus Christ gives it. Clock stops.

Jesus Christ looks like someone who hasn't slept in three days. Mother Teresa looks like someone who won't sleep tonight. 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! Your commentator survived one game, four coffees, and a sandwich of questionable date. That's a wrap for tonight. Coming up: 'The Amazing Race: Subway Line 13.' Viewer discretion advised.