My dream starting five — basketball_team 🇺🇸

Matchday 1 — vs Detroit Engine-Roar

74-118 (L)

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

You want basketball IQ? Ask the tv host, who just moved the rock on time without one wasted dribble. The scientist just froze a grown professional with a hesitation dribble. This man punches a clock and he is out here doing THAT. Awful shot by Hulk with eleven still on the shot clock, off the front rim and out to the wing.

Down goes Hulk, up goes the entire bench, and this team just got the basketball back for free.

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

The defender crowded the middle, and Bonnie Blue punished him along the baseline like it was drawn up in the huddle. REJECTED! Bonnie Blue takes it in and gets it sent straight back into his own chest.

That's a cut. Johnny Sins stumbles slightly reaching the locker room. Bus driver's confession: Johnny Sins raps gibberish during road trips. Loudly. And now, our halftime TV game show The Great American Trivia Barn! To win a plastic owl that is supposed to scare pigeons but does not, text HOOPS to 555-1183 and answer this question: 'Which knee does a former player mention first at a class reunion?' Resumption imminent. The players wrap up their express warm-up.

That crossover was not about getting a shot up. Donald Trump pulled it out to tell everybody in the gym whose possession this is. The investor 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.

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

Somebody explain how the investor reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. Off the pin-down comes the tv host with nobody inside a zip code. Somebody out there knows how to use a screen, and it is not who you would guess. Textbook footwork, textbook release from Bonnie Blue, cruel result as it spins out and both teams go up for a contested board.

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

The investor makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. They do not teach that in the tv host handbook, and yet here we are. Beautiful little exchange. Rising up out of the corner, Johnny Sins sends it LONG, clanging off the far side and out to the wing.

OHHHH that is ROUGH. Hulk gets turned twice and hands it over without ever crossing the line.

The investor 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 other bench sent their best perimeter stopper out on Bonnie Blue, and they are learning in real time that it will not be enough tonight. That is body control you simply cannot coach: Bonnie Blue stays up a full beat longer than everybody else and finishes clean.

Golf swing follow-through, perfect form, Bonnie Blue 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.

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

A chair knocked flat, an assistant coach holding somebody back by the jersey, that whole row completely unhinged. That is the Jesus Christ effect. Two on one the other way and that is a free deuce all day long... except Jesus Christ says absolutely not.

The coach just drew up the biggest play of the night for the messiah, a sentence I did not expect to say out loud this evening. Look at the spacing here, two shooters lifting to drag the help, and that leaves Johnny Sins an easy read to Hulk in the pocket. Chess.

Hulk 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.

Jesus Christ bites the inside of his cheek. Johnny Sins pinches the bridge of his nose. And here is the answer to our game show The Great American Trivia Barn! Garland Shoemaker of Rickety Bridge, New York, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'Which knee does a former player mention first at a class reunion?' The answer was of course the left one, always, in every county we surveyed. Garland therefore wins a plastic owl that is supposed to scare pigeons but does not! On my end, I discovered the arena's coffee machine was broken. The game nearly went uncommentated. Until next time! Up next: 'Life Unplugged: A Day Without WiFi.' A shocking documentary.

Matchday 2 — vs Miami Heart-Attack

81-125 (L)

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

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

OHHHH the separation! Bonnie Blue just manufactured three feet of daylight out of absolutely nothing. Ambition, ten out of ten. Footwork, two out of ten. Bonnie Blue beat himself before the defender ever showed up.

This is the work that never shows up on a stat sheet, Donald Trump gets the credit and the guy setting the screen gets the bruise. A cruel spin-out for the investor, and whatever that day job is, tonight it came with a brand new way to break your heart.

A probe, a plant of the outside foot, and Donald Trump pushes off while his man is still fighting to recover his balance. Every highlight show in the country runs that clip tonight, and unfortunately for Donald Trump he is on the wrong end of it.

The players file out. Hulk exchanges a tense look with the coach. They say Hulk has a ritual where he touches the basket post three times. If someone watches, starts over. And now, our halftime TV game show Guy Reads a Manual! To win a family-size tub of margarine autographed by a stranger, text HOOPS to 555-0345 and answer this question: 'How many people can hear a vending machine at three in the morning?' Here they come. You can read the determination on their faces.

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 tv host reads the screen perfectly, comes off shoulder to shoulder, and buys himself an open look. Veteran movement, rookie resume. From eight feet Bonnie Blue puts way too much on it, and the ball clears the rim entirely.

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

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

One little shoulder dip from Donald Trump and the guy guarding him turned into a traffic cone in real time. That is a shot selection problem, plain and simple. Donald Trump drove into three bodies and the help defender was waiting the whole way.

More second chance points for Miami Heart-Attack, and our bench is up screaming for a timeout. Rightly so.

Jesus Christ goes down like he was shot. No whistle. The crowd lets him hear every bit of it.

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

That is the pass that beats a zone, and Donald Trump threw it before the help even committed. OHHHH that is filthy! Johnny Sins on the handoff and the man guarding it is still fighting over the top. Hulk backs his man down, feels the contact, spins middle and drops it in over both hands. Fundamentals!

Whole huddle leaning in to hear it, and the plan is to hand the game to the investor. Genius or madness, we are about to find out. Drawn up in the huddle, executed by the tv host, who clocks in somewhere else on Monday morning. Perfect.

Johnny Sins takes off his shoes and carries them like a ghost. Bonnie Blue follows the same path. And here is the answer to our game Guy Reads a Manual! Doris Ann Hoke of Butter Churn, New Hampshire, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many people can hear a vending machine at three in the morning?' The answer was of course everybody in the building, including the ones pretending to sleep. Doris Ann takes home a family-size tub of margarine autographed by a stranger! I spent the evening looking for a stat that couldn't be found. It didn't exist. I made one up. See you tomorrow. In the meantime, it's 'Who Wants to Marry My Goldfish.' Good luck with that.

Matchday 3 — vs Orlando Magic-Beans

76-120 (L)

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

Great effort, wrong sport. Donald Trump threw himself backward off a screen that never touched him, and the boos come down in waves.

Bonnie Blue forces a contested fadeaway with a hand in his face, front rim, and the drought rolls on. Donald Trump beat the clock by a tenth of a second and missed by about four feet. Technically legal, competitively pointless.

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

Two defenders collide on the handoff and Johnny Sins is gone, so Donald Trump earned that one even if the box score disagrees. The tv host just dunked on two grown men and drew the foul. Whatever that job pays, it is not enough.

Both teams head in. Johnny Sins has a red mark on his cheek from an elbow. Did you know? Johnny Sins tried to become a rapper before basketball. The world dodged a bullet. And now, our halftime TV game show The Swap Meet Half Hour! To win a car dealership balloon man with no fan, text HOOPS to 555-1318 and answer this question: 'What is the top speed of a mascot running in oversized shoes?' Break's over, the players take their positions.

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

Ice in his veins for a guy who answers to investor the rest of the week. Professional shot, amateur resume. Oh my. Bonnie Blue did not even draw iron.

Oh, Donald Trump wanted to be heard. Congratulations, he was heard. Free throw the other way. Composure is a skill, and Donald Trump just flunked the test at the worst imaginable moment for his team.

Bonnie Blue crosses, crosses back, the defender slides half a step the wrong way and the whole arena lets out the same OHHHH. In, around, and gone. The iron gives Bonnie Blue nothing.

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

Across half court, a quick survey, a point to the weak side, and Donald Trump drops it off to Bonnie Blue on time and on target. Hulk just took a shoulder to the chest to buy Bonnie Blue half a second, and half a second in this league is an eternity. Third one of these from Bonnie Blue this quarter, third time the arc is wrong. The lane is not open real estate anymore.

STOP AND GO! Donald Trump hit the brakes, hit the gas, and the lane opened up like a garage door. Stonewalled at the top of the square! The big man meets Donald Trump up there and returns it with interest.

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

That is a clean blow-by on Johnny Sins, and the help defense was nowhere in the same area code. Whistle! Bonnie Blue gets him on the arm. Personal foul, nothing clever about it.

Huddle is tight, marker squeaking on the board, and Bonnie Blue is already nodding before the coach finishes the sentence. Cut, screen, relocate, and there is Hulk wide open in the corner. Nobody on that defense read one page of it.

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

Jesus Christ replays the score in his head on a loop. Donald Trump tries to think about something else. And here is the answer to our game show The Swap Meet Half Hour! Lurleen Ratliff of Sopchoppy Flats, Florida, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'What is the top speed of a mascot running in oversized shoes?' The answer was of course nine miles an hour downhill, four uphill, and zero once the head falls off. Lurleen therefore wins a car dealership balloon man with no fan! While you were watching the game, I was desperately searching for my pen. Still haven't found it. See you soon. Coming up: 'Extreme Couponing: Family of Eight at Walmart.' Double episode.

Matchday 4 — vs Philadelphia Injury-Report

80-124 (L)

The opposing star hits a filthy one over two hands, and Jesus Christ simply walks it up the floor and matches it. No celebration, no words, just the answer.

Screened, toasted, done. Bonnie Blue is loose and the defense is scrambling to find him. Straight back to the office for the tv host, and the group chat has already seen it twice.

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.

Look at the shoulders on the tv host. Everybody has a rough shift at work, but most people do not have twenty thousand witnesses. Nobody cut, nobody screened, and Jesus Christ was still surveying the floor when the clock hit zero. That is a giveaway, plain and simple.

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

The players head to the locker room. Jesus Christ is sweating like a racehorse. Fun fact: Jesus Christ tried to negotiate a 'mandatory nap' clause in his contract. Denied. And now, our halftime TV game show Name That Layup! To win a fondue set with three forks and no instructions, text HOOPS to 555-0347 and answer this question: 'How many folding chairs fit inside a regulation basketball hoop?' Back for the second half. The coach slammed his fist on the table.

POCKET PASS! Jesus Christ threads it to Johnny Sins between two bodies and the rim is wide open! The tv host 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. Another extra possession courtesy of the scientist, a man who evidently boxes out at work too. Some habits do not clock out. Rebounding is effort, and effort is apparently what the scientist does for a living. Second chance points, all guts.

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

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

A single dribble is all Jesus Christ needed to get downhill, and the back side of that defense is in complete disarray. Way short from Jesus Christ off the bounce, the ball dies on the front of the rim and drops into traffic.

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

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

Screen, roll, DELIVERY from Donald Trump! Nothing but runway to the rim! Offensive foul, Jesus Christ. Feet were still churning. Give it back.

The investor turns clean out of two bodies in the paint. That is nowhere in the job description and yet here we are. Blocked into the floor. Donald Trump will be seeing that one in his sleep.

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

Bonnie Blue rips it back into the stepback and suddenly there is a country mile between him and that defender. The filthy euro-step in traffic was the idea, but the feet got greedy and the whistle blew Bonnie Blue dead.

Everybody in the arena knew the stepback was coming from Donald Trump, and not one single soul could do anything about it. Wrapped up the arm on the gather, plain as day. Donald Trump gets two, and the bench is already standing. Two for two from the investor, calm as a Tuesday afternoon. Whatever that job involves all day, it clearly builds very steady hands.

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

Johnny Sins sits down on the hardwood, head on his knees. Hulk puts a hand on his shoulder without saying a word. And here is the answer to our game show Name That Layup! Vernon Dinkins of Cold Supper, Missouri, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'How many folding chairs fit inside a regulation basketball hoop?' The answer was of course none, and the fact that somebody tried is the real story here. Vernon therefore wins a fondue set with three forks and no instructions! Tonight I chewed through two pens. The office supply budget is going to explode. Good night! Up next: 'My 600-Lb Neighbor: He Makes Noise at 3 AM.' Shocking testimonies.

Matchday 5 — vs Phoenix No-Defense

89-133 (L)

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

Off the pin-down comes the messiah with nobody inside a zip code. Somebody out there knows how to use a screen, and it is not who you would guess. Getting to his spot and elevating, Jesus Christ puts it on the back iron, up over the front, and out. Half a rotation from two points.

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

Behind the back was the idea, the ball had entirely different plans, and Donald Trump gets a collective groan for his trouble.

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

Halftime. Hulk is holding his ribs walking toward the tunnel. Anecdote: Hulk threw up before his first pro game. No more pre-game burgers ever since. 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?' Both teams return with fresh instructions from the coach.

Look how low Jesus Christ keeps that shoulder on the drive, that is how you turn a sliver of space into a walk to the rim. Jesus Christ rises, the big man rises higher, and the shot is stuffed into the second row. Return to sender.

Somebody explain how the investor reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. That hesitation move is exactly why they keep sending a second body at Bonnie Blue the moment he crosses half court. Rim out for Bonnie Blue, the crowd came up and sat right back down, and you can hear the groan from every corner of the arena.

Johnny Sins gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Donald Trump saw it a beat early. The tv host runs a dribble handoff with the timing of a fifteen-year vet. Not bad for somebody who does this on weekends. Down, up, and gone for Donald Trump. The rim is just toying with him now.

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

No hero ball here: Donald Trump takes what the defense gives and moves it along. The defender planted his feet, and Jesus Christ said thank you very much and drove straight through his front pocket. That is a forced shot from the messiah that was doomed the moment it left the hand, and the bench has quietly decided to look at the floor for a moment.

Ball up the floor, change of speed right at the logo, and Donald Trump already has the defense a full step behind. Donald Trump sets the pick and DIVES to the cup. Jesus Christ lays it right on his hands in traffic! Ball into Bonnie Blue at the elbow, Donald Trump plants his foot and goes backdoor, and the pass meets him in the air. Filthy. Watch the footwork from Donald Trump: one-two into the paint, no charge, feathery touch off the glass. Filthy craft.

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

This is the matchup they wanted all night, and Hulk has quietly turned it into a dead end for their whole offense. OUTLET! Hulk rips the board and fires it ahead to Donald Trump before anybody gets back! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Donald Trump rose up over the help and hammered it down on somebody's head!

Donald Trump crosses his arms into an X, plants his feet at the top of the key and dares somebody to say something. Nobody does. Hulk mirrors the pose beside him. Two statues, twenty thousand people screaming, and every camera in the gym pointed at them.

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

A scoreless four minutes and counting. The investor is finding out the hard way that this league punishes tired legs. The messiah launched one from the logo as the horn sounded. In fairness, nobody in that huddle gave him a better option.

The investor is out here running a pro offense with hand signals, not one hint of panic, and he clocks in somewhere else in the morning. Here comes the slip from Bonnie Blue, and Hulk reads it a half second before anybody else in the building. OHHHH, the cylinder rejects the tv host! Somewhere a whole workplace just yelled at a television.

Jesus Christ has bags under his eyes that weren't there before the game. Bonnie Blue has aged ten years in forty minutes. 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! I learned backstage that Bonnie Blue also does investor on weekends. That explains those reflexes. Thanks for being here. Now put down the remote, it's time for 'Wheel of Misfortune.'

Matchday 6 — vs Los Angeles Nursing-Home

84-129 (L)

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

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

Straight down the baseline goes the tv host! Whatever shift he worked this morning, he clearly left plenty in the tank. The block is clean, the ball is gone, and Bonnie Blue is left staring at his empty hands like a man who lost his keys.

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

Here is the part that never makes the highlight package: Donald Trump controlling tempo, burning clock, hunting the mismatch the second one shows up. Full stop, full sprint, and the tv host is in the paint! Nobody back at the workplace is going to believe this one. Shot clock at one, and Bonnie Blue just has to throw something at the rim. Nothing doing.

Halftime! Donald Trump is limping slightly heading off the court. Did you know? Donald Trump tried to become a rapper before basketball. The world dodged a bullet. And now, our halftime TV game show Storage Wars of the Half-Empty Unit! To win a bag of nine hundred rubber bands from a post office, text HOOPS to 555-0278 and answer this question: 'How many folding tables does a county fair actually own?' The players are back. Some look fresh, others... Not so much.

Total control. Donald Trump has this thing on a string. OHHHH the hesi! Bonnie Blue froze him solid and he is already gone! Catching it right at the cup with nobody within eight feet, Bonnie Blue goes up too strong and the ball rides high off the backboard.

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

The ball travels faster than five defenders can, and Donald Trump has known that all night long. OHHHHH HE SNATCHED HIS ANKLES! Johnny Sins left him on the hardwood and this building is SHAKING! Watch the feet on Johnny Sins there, still drifting sideways at the release, and that is exactly why the floater sails wide left of everything.

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.

The investor just froze a grown professional with a hesitation dribble. This man punches a clock and he is out here doing THAT. They do not teach that footwork anymore, and yet here is Donald Trump running a full masterclass on the low block.

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

The tv host just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. 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. Buzzer on the shot clock, Hulk heaves it off one leg, and the ball comes up short of everything.

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

Watch Jesus Christ plant his feet, absorb the hit, and spring Donald Trump out of that corner in a blink. Runner in the lane by Donald Trump, high off the fingertips, straight down through the net. Splash!

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

Eight seconds off the shot clock and Donald Trump has not wasted one of them, the ball reaching Johnny Sins precisely where the play wanted it. Johnny Sins feels the contact, spins off that shoulder, and the defender is left hugging a whole lot of nothing. Johnny Sins went for the deep heat check and produced the loudest silence of the night, roar to OHHHH in half a second.

Take the foul, live with whatever happens at the line. Bonnie Blue clamps down on the ball handler and the whistle does the rest.

Donald Trump replays the score in his head on a loop. Bonnie Blue tries to think about something else. And here is the answer to our game Storage Wars of the Half-Empty Unit! Verna Lou Cottongim of Flat Tire, Arizona, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many folding tables does a county fair actually own?' The answer was of course nobody knows, because they multiply in the off-season. Verna Lou takes home a bag of nine hundred rubber bands from a post office! My chair squeaked the entire game. Everyone thinks it was me. It was not me. That's it for tonight. Coming up: 'Nailed It: Cakes Ruined by My Mother-in-Law.'

Matchday 7 — vs Toronto Border-Patrol

84-128 (L)

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

Iron AGAIN for Johnny Sins! Somebody put a lid on that rim and every possession has turned into pure suffering. Stuck holding it as the clock bleeds out, Donald Trump fades away from twenty-six feet, and it is not close.

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

Over the top of everybody. Jesus Christ to Bonnie Blue in the corner, wide open, catch and rise. The tv host takes the baseline and bends an entire defense out of shape. Absolutely absurd stuff in this building tonight. That is the shot chart lying to you. Bonnie Blue did everything right on this possession and has zero points to show for it.

Foul on the three-point shooter, and it is Donald Trump. The coach is off the bench with both arms out. The investor sits down with four. You want to be furious, but honestly, he came here straight off a full shift.

Break! Bonnie Blue rips her shoes off the second she reaches the locker room. True story: Bonnie Blue had her parking spot stolen by Toronto Border-Patrol's mascot. Still talks about it. And now, our halftime TV game show Tic-Tac-Dough-Nut! To win a decorative outhouse birdhouse with no hole in it, text HOOPS to 555-0367 and answer this question: 'What time is it inside a microwave that has said 12:00 for eleven years?' Tipoff! The ref blows the whistle, the ball is in the air.

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

Hard drive, hard stop, and Bonnie Blue retreats into an ocean of open hardwood. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Two points in every gym in America except this one, and Bonnie Blue is walking back with both hands on his head.

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

The investor is out here running a pro offense with hand signals, not one hint of panic, and he clocks in somewhere else in the morning. Bonnie Blue hands it off to Johnny Sins, slices through the seam, and the return pass is sitting there waiting at the rim. Nobody drew up that arc. The tv host floated one halfway to the rafters, and the rim never even got a say.

Bonnie Blue drives, draws two bodies, and swings it one more time to the corner. That is the pass nobody is required to make. The tv host just had his shot delivered into the courtside seats. Tough scene, but at least the day job is safe.

Set called, Jesus Christ waved out to the corner, and Donald Trump watches the spacing open up like a front door. A full spin move through traffic from the messiah! Whatever they teach in that trade, footwork is apparently part of it. OHHHH what a FINISH from Jesus Christ! Hanging, hanging, and laying it high off the glass on the way down!

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

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

Push the pace! Donald Trump grabs it and hits Jesus Christ in stride before the defense can even match up. The messiah just created his own space with a stepback. Somewhere a scout is spitting coffee all over his notepad. Somewhere a defender is explaining to his family why the messiah is going to be on the front page tomorrow morning.

Jesus Christ 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. Donald Trump photobombs with crossed eyes, and the clip runs on every highlight show by midnight.

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

Cross court, on a rope, from the tv host. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. A messiah breaking down a professional defender in front of a sold out house! Remember that day job, folks! No touch. Jesus Christ left the soft hands in the locker room tonight.

Jesus Christ walks in slow motion, arms dangling. Johnny Sins speeds up. Wants it to be over. And here is the answer to our game Tic-Tac-Dough-Nut! Cletus Vandersnoot of Half Moon Ditch, Iowa, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What time is it inside a microwave that has said 12:00 for eleven years?' The answer was of course whatever time the power went out in 1994. Cletus takes home a decorative outhouse birdhouse with no hole in it! During the game, my colleague ordered sushi. It arrived at the final buzzer. Perfect timing. That was beautiful. And now: 'House Hunters International: 90-Square-Foot Studio, Wall View.' A steal.

Matchday 8 — vs Minnesota Ice-Wall

79-124 (L)

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

Nobody told the scientist that a duel like this was supposed to be above his pay grade, and it is a beautiful thing to watch.

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

Two guys on the exact same page, Donald Trump and Johnny Sins, and the defense is left holding a bag of nothing. Straight back to the office for the investor, and the group chat has already seen it twice.

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

Coach calls everyone back. Johnny Sins drags his feet toward the tunnel. Did you know Johnny Sins once tried to start an ASMR podcast of sneaker squeaks on the hardwood? One episode. Deleted. And now, our halftime TV game show Beat the Clock Radio! To win a coupon book for a car wash that closed in 2011, text HOOPS to 555-0022 and answer this question: 'Why is the mascot always slightly damp?' The buzzer calls the players. Time for the show, act II.

Donald Trump walks it up, two fingers in the air, and the whole offense shifts on his command. Textbook two-man game: Johnny Sins keeps the dribble alive, forces the big man to commit, and Donald Trump rolls into an open runway. Soft off the fingertips, the ball takes a full lap of the rim on Donald Trump, and spits straight back out. That is theft.

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

Full-court pressure on the tv host, and the trade skills do not transfer one bit. Painful to watch.

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

Set called, Bonnie Blue waved out to the corner, and Donald Trump watches the spacing open up like a front door. Bonnie Blue comes off the screen and the big man drops WAY back. Johnny Sins just fades to the arc for the cleanest look of the night. Pass, cut, catch, wide open. Four things in about a second and a half from Johnny Sins. The tv host just dropped a teardrop over a seven footer. Soft hands must run in that trade!

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.

Everything Bonnie Blue puts up there is going in. Off the dribble, off the catch, off balance, it does not matter one bit. The tv host hit three straight and immediately decided he was allowed to shoot from the tunnel. He was not.

Laser from Donald Trump, corner to corner, and that closeout gets there about a second and a half too late. You could hear the whole building groan, and Bonnie Blue knew it the second the ball left his fingers, already jogging back on defense.

Somebody explain how the investor reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. OHHHH no, Bonnie Blue floats it crosscourt and it gets picked off clean. That thing is going the other way.

Nine seconds to work with, one play call, and it runs through Bonnie Blue. When the game shrinks like this, you go to your guy. That is the third time out of a timeout tonight that Jesus Christ has gotten a look this clean. The whiteboard is undefeated.

Stone silence for one second, then Jesus Christ lets out something that is not really a word, more a sound from the basement of a human being. Johnny Sins answers with the same noise. The arena joins in. There is no language left in this building.

Johnny Sins walks in slow motion, arms dangling. Donald Trump speeds up. Wants it to be over. And here is the answer to our game Beat the Clock Radio! Buford Wamsley of Cement City, Michigan, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'Why is the mascot always slightly damp?' The answer was of course that is strictly between the mascot and the mascot. Buford takes home a coupon book for a car wash that closed in 2011! Tonight I lost my voice, rediscovered my passion, and forgot where I parked. A complete evening. Good night everyone! And now, the show nobody asked for: 'Pigeon Hunters.'

Matchday 9 — vs Houston Blast-Off

76-121 (L)

Bonnie Blue launches it weak side, one pass, and the whole shell has to sprint. Good luck with that. Watch the sell from Jesus Christ here, he leans in, he gets the defender leaning with him, and then he backs away into all that space. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! That was IN for Jesus Christ!

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

The tv host pulls out the crossover of his life, and Monday morning he clocks in like nothing ever happened. Bonnie Blue had that one all the way, perfect release, perfect arc, and the rim simply refuses to let it drop.

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

Eight seconds off the shot clock and Donald Trump has not wasted one of them, the ball reaching Hulk precisely where the play wanted it. Jesus Christ eats the contact so Hulk can run free along the baseline, and the catch-and-shoot look is right there. Hulk rises up from fifteen feet and OHHHH, that rattled in and OUT!

End of the first act. Bonnie Blue is puffing like a steam engine heading back. Intel: Bonnie Blue asked Houston Blast-Off for their energy drink recipe. They refused. 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?' We're back! The players look fired up.

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

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

They do not teach that in the investor handbook, and yet here we are. Beautiful little exchange. The scientist tried the teardrop and never got it to the rim. Turns out soft touch does not come standard with that day job. You want to know why this team keeps winning the possession battle? Jesus Christ treats every miss like it belongs to him. That is pure want-to: Jesus Christ was the only man on the floor who decided that rebound belonged to him.

Stone silence for one second, then Jesus Christ lets out something that is not really a word, more a sound from the basement of a human being. Bonnie Blue answers with the same noise. The arena joins in. There is no language left in this building.

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.

The tv host reads the screen perfectly, comes off shoulder to shoulder, and buys himself an open look. Veteran movement, rookie resume. Not a hand on him. Bonnie Blue flat missed the bunny.

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

Ball moves. Jesus Christ to Donald Trump, on time and on target. Off the pin-down comes the investor with nobody inside a zip code. Somebody out there knows how to use a screen, and it is not who you would guess. That is vision. Donald Trump sees the pocket open for a tenth of a second and puts the ball in it. That little shot is what keeps guards employed in this league, and Bonnie Blue has it on a string tonight.

GONE down the baseline! Bonnie Blue beat him on the first step and the paint is collapsing. No good. Bonnie Blue rushed that one.

Follow the ball there: four sets of hands, Bonnie Blue makes the last read, and the defense never gets set. That is training camp offense. Straight back to the office for the investor, and the group chat has already seen it twice.

This is the part of the league nobody loves and everybody watches: Johnny Sins waits with both hands on top of his head. Brutal for the tv host, who owned the shot of a lifetime for about ninety seconds. Back to the day job with nothing but the story.

Johnny Sins looks like someone who hasn't slept in three days. Jesus Christ looks like someone who won't sleep tonight. 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! 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 10 — vs Denver Horse-Track

83-127 (L)

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

Bonnie Blue goes fishing at the point of attack, the ball handler feels the hand on his elbow, and the arm goes straight up. There is no choice to make here. Four fouls with this much clock left means Bonnie Blue sits and the lead has to survive without him.

Bucket for Denver Horse-Track. Wide open look, and nobody even ran at the shooter.

The extra pass! Donald Trump had the look, gave it up anyway, and Bonnie Blue buries it. BANG! Jesus Christ threads a BEAUTY to Bonnie Blue under the rim and... he lays it off the bottom of the iron! Ohhhh, no.

Reverse it, make them slide all over again, that is how Bonnie Blue breaks a shell down. Second pass beats the rotation, Jesus Christ to Donald Trump, and the closeout gets there about half a second too late. That is another catch and shoot triple for Donald Trump, and you can see the closeouts getting more desperate every single trip.

Break! Hulk rips his shoes off the second he reaches the locker room. Anecdote: Hulk threw up before his first pro game. No more pre-game burgers ever since. And now, our halftime TV game show The Newlywed Regret Game! To win a genuine imitation leather fanny pack, text HOOPS to 555-0155 and answer this question: 'How many potato chips are in a family size bag before the air gets involved?' Both teams return with fresh instructions from the coach.

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.

Jesus Christ fires that thing at the backboard like it owes him money. No chance from the moment it left his hand. Nobody put a body on Donald Trump and he made them pay, tipping it to himself and coming down with two hands in the trees. Kick out to Donald Trump, one more to Bonnie Blue, splash from the wing and this bench is on its feet. Catch, rise, splash. The tv host owns the cleanest jumper on this floor and still has a shift to work in the morning.

Slow walk, no expression. Bonnie Blue backpedals past the Denver Horse-Track 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.

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

Punish the help, that is the rule, and Donald Trump just did it by hitting Johnny Sins on the back side with acres of room. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Johnny Sins put that man in a blender and the third row felt it! AROUND the cylinder and OUT! Johnny Sins cannot believe it, and neither can this building.

Nobody is getting a hand near that. Donald Trump has all the room in the world. Twenty-four seconds of standing around, and Donald Trump has to eat the last two of them. Possession wasted long before the shot went up.

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

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

Swing, swing, and Jesus Christ finds Donald Trump on the wing before the help can even turn its head. They do not teach that in the investor handbook, and yet here we are. Beautiful little exchange. Bonnie Blue lets it FLY from way downtown and... front rim. Not this time.

Nobody on earth enjoys taking a charge, which is exactly why Jesus Christ keeps doing it and keeps swinging games.

Donald Trump grabs him before the ball even crosses half court. Intentional, obvious, and completely necessary.

Bonnie Blue slams her fist on the bench. Hulk places his palm flat, as if to calm the surface. And here is the answer to our game The Newlywed Regret Game! Loretta Bagwell of Turkey Foot, Georgia, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many potato chips are in a family size bag before the air gets involved?' The answer was of course eleven, and the remainder is atmosphere. Loretta takes home a genuine imitation leather fanny pack! While you were watching the game, I was desperately searching for my pen. Still haven't found it. Thanks for being here. Now put down the remote, it's time for 'Wheel of Misfortune.'

Matchday 11 — vs New York Over-Timers

82-127 (L)

You want basketball IQ? Ask the investor, who just moved the rock on time without one wasted dribble. Baseline wide open. Hulk said thank you. Missed layup for the scientist and the whole arena groans as one. Great hands in the day job, apparently they do not travel.

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

The tv host makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Hulk spun out of a double team like it was a revolving door! Fifth possession this half where Hulk has been left to bail everybody out with the clock at zero. He cannot keep doing this alone.

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

Reserves in, the lead never in doubt, Bonnie Blue keeps the ball moving and lets the young guys eat.

Halftime. Bonnie Blue glances at her phone for two seconds and puts it back. Intel: Bonnie Blue 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 Are You Smarter Than a Backup Center! To win a gift certificate to a diner that only takes cash, text HOOPS to 555-0804 and answer this question: 'Why are basketball nets never quite long enough to be scarves?' Both teams retake the floor. The best may be yet to come.

You can teach the jumper, you cannot teach the willingness, and Bonnie Blue gives up a decent shot every single time a better one exists. Donald Trump whips the extra pass across the arc, Jesus Christ rises without a dribble, and SPLASH.

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

Hand in the air, hand in the air again, Donald Trump is calling for the rock on every trip and the defense has no answer for it. The confidence is sky high, the shot selection has left the building, and Donald Trump just threw a brick from twenty-nine feet.

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

Watch the spacing there, Jesus Christ hits Hulk right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. OHHHH the pin-down! Hulk pops out clean while the defender is STILL tangled up with Bonnie Blue. Brutal. The scientist spots up in the corner and drills it like it is nothing. Somewhere a shooting coach is crying tears of joy.

Hulk freezes in his follow-through, wrist still hanging, and holds it while the New York Over-Timers 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.

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

Bonnie Blue kicks it over to Donald Trump, no dribble, no drama, and this offense settles into a rhythm. The investor just froze a grown professional with a hesitation dribble. This man punches a clock and he is out here doing THAT. That is the shot Donald Trump wants every trip down the floor, it drops nine nights out of ten, and tonight is the tenth.

The messiah just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. 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 Donald Trump does. The investor had that thing halfway down and the rim spat it back out. Nobody ever warns you that the iron has a personality.

The scientist is running this zone like he has been drawing it up his entire life. Wrong career, my friend, absolutely the wrong career. The investor out here on the deck fighting for loose balls. Nobody pays him for that, and he could not care less.

Look at that bench! Bonnie Blue just lit the fuse! Somewhere there is a shift with the tv host written on it for tomorrow morning. Tonight he is out here erasing shots.

Johnny Sins takes off his shoes and carries them like a ghost. Bonnie Blue follows the same path. And here is the answer to our game show Are You Smarter Than a Backup Center! Ricky Don Sturgill of Sassafras Bottom, Virginia, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'Why are basketball nets never quite long enough to be scarves?' The answer was of course that the scarf lobby got to the rules committee in 1954. Ricky Don therefore wins a gift certificate to a diner that only takes cash! Fun fact: my sound engineer fell asleep during the second quarter. I woke him with an elbow. We're signing off. And now: 'Musical Chairs: Subway Seat Edition.' Winner takes all.

Matchday 12 — vs Cleveland Twin-Towers

73-117 (L)

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

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Bonnie Blue again, and the visiting coach is SPRINTING at the official for a timeout!

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

Body to body all the way to the rim and the arm goes up. That is on Jesus Christ, and this crew is not letting anything go tonight.

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

End of the first act. Donald Trump is puffing like a steam engine heading back. Little scoop: Donald Trump collects Pokemon cards. That Charizard is worth more than his first contract. And now, our halftime TV game show Concentration on Something Else! To win a giant foam finger that points at the ground, text HOOPS to 555-0176 and answer this question: 'How many exits does a corn maze legally require?' We resume. Eyes locked in, jaws clenched.

The investor turns clean out of two bodies in the paint. That is nowhere in the job description and yet here we are. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! The investor just drew a shooting foul with a veteran pump fake. Two free throws for somebody who clocks in at a real job tomorrow morning. Spin, one dribble, up and in. Then Donald Trump does the whole thing again. Zero drama, two points.

Donald Trump 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.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Jesus Christ undercut a guy in the air, that is the ONE play you never make in this league.

Eight seconds off the shot clock and Donald Trump has not wasted one of them, the ball reaching Jesus Christ precisely where the play wanted it. Hesitate, GO. Jesus Christ is by that hip before the man even blinks. OHHHH, the cylinder rejects the messiah! Somewhere a whole workplace just yelled at a television.

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

The tv host makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. Donald Trump comes flying off that screen and he is WIDE open! AIRBALL! Donald Trump missed the rim, the backboard and everything in between!

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

Set called, Jesus Christ waved out to the corner, and Donald Trump watches the spacing open up like a front door. Read, screen, delivery, right on the money. A messiah making the right pass every single time, and the league is taking notes. It went halfway down! The ball sat in the cylinder, thought about it, and rolled off the far side on Donald Trump. Cruel.

The tv host takes the baseline and bends an entire defense out of shape. Absolutely absurd stuff in this building tonight. OHHHH! Bonnie Blue went up looking for a poster and came back down as the punchline.

OHHHH, what a read by Donald Trump! He never even glanced at the rim and it is CASH on the other end. The tv host had that thing halfway down and the rim spat it back out. Nobody ever warns you that the iron has a personality.

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! Bonnie Blue finishes the set and the whole bench is up.

Golf swing follow-through, perfect form, Bonnie Blue 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.

Donald Trump scratches the back of his neck nervously. Johnny Sins has the look of someone who has seen things. And here is the answer to our game Concentration on Something Else! Sherleen Doty of Big Chimney, Idaho, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many exits does a corn maze legally require?' The answer was of course one, and even that is a suggestion. Sherleen takes home a giant foam finger that points at the ground! I drank so much coffee tonight I'm going to commentate in my sleep. Thanks everyone. Up next: 'Survivor: Open-Plan Office.' Whoever makes it through the 5 PM meeting wins.

Matchday 13 — vs Boston Ring-Chasers

74-118 (L)

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

SKIP PASS! Donald Trump fires it cross court to Johnny Sins and the defense is dead in the water! Johnny Sins attacks the baseline and the ENTIRE defense has to rotate behind him! Nobody moved, nobody cut, nobody set a screen, so Johnny Sins launches a contested jumper with the horn already going. Ugly offense.

Donald Trump gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Jesus Christ saw it a beat early. Donald Trump turns the corner off the screen from Jesus Christ, the help never rotates, and the lane is WIDE open! Missed layup for the messiah and the whole arena groans as one. Great hands in the day job, apparently they do not travel.

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

Cross court, on a rope, from the tv host. In this league that pass earns a contract, and he does it on his night off. The scientist just made the extra pass with a clean look of his own! You do not run into that kind of selflessness at the office! Put him on skates, then put him on a POSTER. Donald Trump owns the highlight reel tonight.

Straight to the logo at center court, Donald Trump plants both feet and flexes until the veins show. The bench is a pile of bodies and airborne headbands. An assistant coach has to be physically restrained by a trainer who is also celebrating.

Finally a breather. Johnny Sins has calf cramps, the physio rushes over. Little scoop: Johnny Sins tried to bribe the DJ to play his song. The DJ agreed. Nobody liked it. 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?' Let's go, we're back. The crowd claps in rhythm.

Unselfish basketball. Bonnie Blue passes up a good shot and hands Donald Trump a GREAT one. Prayer from Donald Trump. Not answered.

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

That is the pass nobody puts on a highlight reel, and Jesus Christ makes it every single trip down the floor. Bonnie Blue 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 tv host, and whatever that day job is, tonight it came with a brand new way to break your heart.

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

BAAAANG! Donald Trump sets the table and the pick-and-pop three goes down like somebody scripted it. That is what heavy minutes do, Bonnie Blue has run all night and the legs have nothing left to give the jumper.

This is the stretch of the night where you just feed him and get out of the way. Bonnie Blue has found that place where the rim looks the size of a hula hoop. Bonnie Blue felt it, the bench felt it, the arena felt it, and the rim felt absolutely nothing.

That is a costly ten seconds for Hulk. He lost the call, he lost his temper, and the other team gets a point without leaving the huddle.

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

BANG! Exactly the play on the clipboard: Johnny Sins to Bonnie Blue, catch and rise.

The messiah is parked under the rim while three grown men in stripes squint at a screen. Just another day at the office, apparently. The messiah is finding out what this league does to people. It hands you the moment, then it rolls the tape.

Jesus Christ sighs so loudly that the reporters hear it. Johnny Sins winces. 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! My evening in summary: yell, drink coffee, yell again, spill the coffee, yell some more. Good evening! Up next: 'Fixer Upper: Renovating a Studio on a Twelve-Dollar Budget.' Challenge accepted.

Matchday 14 — vs San Antonio Skyscrapers

87-131 (L)

Out of the timeout, Jesus Christ hits Donald Trump right on schedule and it drops! Drawn up, run, done.

Donald Trump does the bit whole team practiced in the hotel: a slow-motion handshake with Hulk that goes on far too long, sound effects included. Six full seconds. The referee stands there holding the ball. Neither man breaks character.

Punish the help, that is the rule, and Bonnie Blue just did it by hitting Donald Trump on the back side with acres of room. Oldest play in the book and it still works: Donald Trump passes, the defender peeks at the ball, and that one beat is the whole possession. The investor tried the teardrop and never got it to the rim. Turns out soft touch does not come standard with that day job.

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

Eight seconds off the shot clock and Donald Trump has not wasted one of them, the ball reaching Jesus Christ precisely where the play wanted it. Nobody dribbled, nobody isolated, Jesus Christ and Hulk just played basketball and the defense got shredded. Soft off the fingertips, the ball takes a full lap of the rim on Jesus Christ, and spits straight back out. That is theft.

Johnny Sins rides the ball handler all the way up the floor and finally puts a forearm in his back. Officials blow it dead. Third whistle on Johnny Sins. He could argue the first two. This one he cannot.

Break. Bonnie Blue's socks are soaking wet — quick change on the spot. Exclusive: Bonnie Blue was caught reading a philosophy book on the bench. It was Nietzsche. And now, our halftime TV game show Dancing with the Substitutes! To win a deep fryer with a note taped to it reading DO NOT USE INDOORS, text HOOPS to 555-0421 and answer this question: 'Who decides which sock goes missing in the dryer?' The hardwood awaits. Here we go for the second half.

The big rolls, the defense collapses, and Jesus Christ punishes it with a read most guys never even see. OHHHH, that one died in the air! Hulk put nothing into it and the front rim eats the floater.

A probe, a plant of the outside foot, and Donald Trump pushes off while his man is still fighting to recover his balance. Rim, backboard, none of the above from the investor! Ladies and gentlemen, that is a person with a real job, and we have all just been reminded of it.

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

The bench is up, the defender is begging for help, and Donald Trump keeps walking into the same spot and cashing. OHHHH, no no no! Donald Trump steps into a contested step-back with eighteen on the clock and clangs it. Greedy.

Ohhh no. Corner three, San Antonio Skyscrapers in rhythm now, and our side of the building goes silent.

Nobody is touching the paint with the investor parked in the middle of it. That is a full time defender doing a part time job, or the other way around. GET THAT OUTTA HERE! Donald Trump meets that jumper at the top of its flight and spikes it into the sideline.

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

There was a clean look available and instead Hulk drives into three bodies and loses the handle. That is what a cold spell does to a good player. Not a bad shot, not a blocked shot, just no shot at all from Hulk. Somehow the worst outcome available.

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.

Johnny Sins gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Bonnie Blue saw it a beat early. They do not teach that in the tv host handbook, and yet here we are. Beautiful little exchange. Donald Trump attacks the baseline, the big man steps up to meet him, and it does not matter one bit. FILTHY.

Stone silence for one second, then Donald Trump lets out something that is not really a word, more a sound from the basement of a human being. Johnny Sins answers with the same noise. The arena joins in. There is no language left in this building.

Donald Trump unclasps his chain and squeezes it in his fist. Bonnie Blue runs a hand down her face. And here is the answer to our game Dancing with the Substitutes! Ethelene Chumley of Cracker Barrel Bottom, Maryland, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'Who decides which sock goes missing in the dryer?' The answer was of course a committee, and they meet on Tuesdays. Ethelene takes home a deep fryer with a note taped to it reading DO NOT USE INDOORS! Tonight I nearly had a heart attack at least four times. And I'm just the commentator. Thanks for watching this game. And now: 'Deal or No Deal: Office Fridge Edition.'

Matchday 15 — vs Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest

89-134 (L)

Watch the sell from Donald Trump here, he leans in, he gets the defender leaning with him, and then he backs away into all that space. OHHHHH POSTERIZED! Donald Trump just ENDED that defender at the rim!

Donald Trump hangs on the rim one extra beat, letting the whole arena wait on him, then drops down into a dead-eyed mean mug. Johnny Sins 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.

Donald Trump walks it up, two fingers in the air, and the whole offense shifts on his command. Off the pin-down comes the messiah with nobody inside a zip code. Somebody out there knows how to use a screen, and it is not who you would guess. Jesus Christ gets to his spot in the lane, lifts the runner over the big man, and leaves it a foot short. No dice.

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

Clean feed from Bonnie Blue, nothing forced, just the offense breathing. The tv host just ran that two-man game like he has a decade of film on it. Somebody get this man a contract. The investor just ran a give and go to perfection on national television! Somebody go tell his boss what he does after hours! Perfect arc. Donald Trump makes seven feet of rim protection completely irrelevant.

Off to the locker room. Donald Trump has already drained two water bottles. Exclusive: Donald Trump was caught reading a philosophy book on the bench. It was Nietzsche. And now, our halftime TV game show The Sticker Shock Hour! To win a hand-tooled leather wall hanging of an eagle crying, text HOOPS to 555-1305 and answer this question: 'What is the exact weight of a basketball that has been dribbled while sad?' Second half! The crowd is on its feet, and so are the players.

Donald Trump is COOKING and he knows it, he wants every single touch right now! Here is the danger of a hot night: Donald Trump stops taking the shots that got him going and starts taking the ones that cool him off.

Hulk wanted the contact so badly that he forgot the small detail where your feet have to be planted.

Somebody explain how the investor reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. Jesus Christ tries to force it through two bodies and finds nothing but the defender's hands.

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

Ball up the floor, change of speed right at the logo, and Donald Trump already has the defense a full step behind. Whirl, and GONE! Bonnie Blue leaves the defender grabbing at a jersey that stopped being there half a second ago. The tv host misses absolutely everything, and honestly, the nerve to even attempt that shot deserves something. Not points. But something.

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

The tv host hit the deck like a felled tree and the officials kept walking. Not every skill transfers to this floor.

Bucket for Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest. Wide open look, and nobody even ran at the shooter.

The drive goes baseline, Hulk rotates off the weak side and meets him at the rim with both arms straight up. No block, no foul, just Hulk being ENORMOUS in the lane, and that shot never had a chance.

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

Johnny Sins bites his lip, fists clenched. Donald Trump shakes his head slowly, in disbelief. And here is the answer to our game show The Sticker Shock Hour! Roy Dean Hollifield of Turkey Scratch, Arkansas, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'What is the exact weight of a basketball that has been dribbled while sad?' The answer was of course four ounces heavier than normal, because sorrow has mass. Roy Dean therefore wins a hand-tooled leather wall hanging of an eagle crying! On my end, I discovered the arena's coffee machine was broken. The game nearly went uncommentated. Good night everyone! Coming up: 'Boot Camp: Supermarket Checkout Line Edition.' Discipline.