My dream starting five — basketball_team 🇦🇺

Matchday 1 — vs Detroit Engine-Roar

86-131 (L)

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

Dribble alive, patient, patient, and then Jesus Christ slips it to Jesus Christ right in the pocket. Surgical. Jesus Christ catches on the wing, jab step, spin move, and that pivot foot comes clean off the hardwood. Traveling.

The box score will show nothing at all for the messiah, just a ruined shot and a shooter who will remember that wall all night. Rebound to fast break in one motion, courtesy of the messiah. That is not a hobby, that is a skill set. That is body control you simply cannot coach: Jesus Christ stays up a full beat longer than everybody else and finishes clean.

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

The messiah turns clean out of two bodies in the paint. That is nowhere in the job description and yet here we are. The messiah just had his shot delivered into the courtside seats. Tough scene, but at least the day job is safe.

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

Back to the locker room. Jesus Christ's shorts are torn but he couldn't care less. Little secret: Jesus Christ watches cat videos between quarters. Says it's relaxing. 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?' Jump ball to restart. Let the second half begin!

The messiah just moved an entire defense with one flick of the wrist. Somebody check that resume again. A cut with that timing from the messiah? He is on the clock somewhere else all week and he still found time to learn the two-man game. Watch the feet on Jesus Christ there, still drifting sideways at the release, and that is exactly why the floater sails wide left of everything.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! That was IN for Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ SKIES for it! Extra life for this offense. The messiah just went up over everybody and put that miss back with two hands. That is a night he tells his grandkids about!

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

Somebody explain how the messiah reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. Enough room out there to set up a lawn chair, and the messiah made it himself. Total professional, in a completely unrelated profession. The messiah misses absolutely everything, and honestly, the nerve to even attempt that shot deserves something. Not points. But something.

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

The messiah gets whistled for the swipe. Forty honest hours a week and here he is, picking pockets in front of twenty thousand witnesses. Three fouls on the messiah before halftime. He clocks in, he throws two elbows, he clocks right back out.

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

The messiah is running this zone like he has been drawing it up his entire life. Wrong career, my friend, absolutely the wrong career. Verticality, timing, discipline: Jesus Christ never bites on the pump fake and still finds a way to erase the shot.

Unselfish basketball. Jesus Christ passes up a good shot and hands Jesus Christ a GREAT one. So close. Jesus Christ can only stare at the iron.

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

Reverse it, make them slide all over again, that is how Jesus Christ breaks a shell down. The messiah just created his own space with a stepback. Somewhere a scout is spitting coffee all over his notepad. Long miss from the messiah and the rebound goes the other way, but let the record show that most people in that line of work never even get to take that shot.

Jesus Christ takes a sip of water and spits it right back out. Jesus Christ doesn't drink. Throat too tight. And here is the answer to our game Pawn Stars of the Neighborhood! Bud Applewhite of Cornbread Hill, Oregon, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What is the average airspeed of a paper airplane thrown from the upper deck?' The answer was of course roughly one usher per second. Bud takes home a corn dog the size of a mailbox, already gone cold! Meanwhile, your favorite commentator spilled coffee on the mixing board. Twice. Thanks for the game! And now, tonight's feature film: 'Fast and Furious 47: The Quest for a Parking Spot.'

Matchday 2 — vs Miami Heart-Attack

93-107 (L)

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

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

A single dribble is all Jesus Christ needed to get downhill, and the back side of that defense is in complete disarray. Jesus Christ had that one all the way, perfect release, perfect arc, and the rim simply refuses to let it drop.

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

Nobody is getting a hand near that. Jesus Christ has all the room in the world. That is a shot selection problem, plain and simple. Jesus Christ drove into three bodies and the help defender was waiting the whole way.

Rest time. Jesus Christ isolates in a corner of the locker room, headphones on. Intel: Jesus Christ once called an imaginary timeout in the middle of a game. The ref actually hesitated. And now, our halftime TV game show Legends of the Hidden Thermostat! To win a snow globe of a town that has never once had snow, text HOOPS to 555-0247 and answer this question: 'Which came first, the tailgate or the truck?' Here they come. You can read the determination on their faces.

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

The messiah just froze a grown professional with a hesitation dribble. This man punches a clock and he is out here doing THAT. Put him on skates, then put him on a POSTER. Jesus Christ owns the highlight reel tonight.

Jesus Christ slides on his knees down the free throw lane, arms wide, and ends up flat on his back watching his own replay on the video board. He points at himself on the screen. The officials have stopped pretending to have any control here.

Push the pace! Jesus Christ grabs it and hits Jesus Christ in stride before the defense can even match up. 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. Not close, not warm, not anywhere for Jesus Christ, straight into the hands of a defender who never had to leave his feet.

Jesus Christ turns the corner off the screen from Jesus Christ, the help never rotates, and the lane is WIDE open! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Jesus Christ rose up over the help and hammered it down on somebody's head!

Eight seconds off the shot clock and Jesus Christ has not wasted one of them, the ball reaching Jesus Christ precisely where the play wanted it. Watch Jesus Christ plant his feet, absorb the hit, and spring Jesus Christ out of that corner in a blink. Rim, backboard, none of the above from the messiah! Ladies and gentlemen, that is a person with a real job, and we have all just been reminded of it.

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

Two defenders, one gap, and Jesus Christ finds it. Onions on that pass. The messiah 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.

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

Jesus Christ turns and points at his teammates, and the entire bench comes up as one. The drive gets a step, Jesus Christ stays down, waits for the release, and hammers it off the glass.

Jesus Christ sits on the floor in the hallway. Jesus Christ sits down next to him. Nobody speaks. And here is the answer to our game Legends of the Hidden Thermostat! Duane Grubbs of Sour Lake Flats, Louisiana, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'Which came first, the tailgate or the truck?' The answer was of course the tailgate, and it waited nineteen years. Duane takes home a snow globe of a town that has never once had snow! My chair squeaked the entire game. Everyone thinks it was me. It was not me. Good night! Up next: 'America's Got Talent: Mouth Noises Edition.' The judges are baffled.

Matchday 3 — vs Orlando Magic-Beans

90-135 (L)

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

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

Whirl, and GONE! Jesus Christ leaves the defender grabbing at a jersey that stopped being there half a second ago. REJECTED! Jesus Christ takes it in and gets it sent straight back into his own chest.

Bucket for Orlando Magic-Beans. Wide open look, and nobody even ran at the shooter.

Ice in his veins for a guy who answers to messiah the rest of the week. Professional shot, amateur resume. That is what heavy minutes do, Jesus Christ has run all night and the legs have nothing left to give the jumper.

The players head in. Jesus Christ slips on the wet tunnel floor. Little secret: Jesus Christ listens to Celine Dion to focus. I repeat, Celine Dion. And now, our halftime TV game show The Bonus Round of Regret! To win a set of curtains printed with enormous cartoon sheep, text HOOPS to 555-1224 and answer this question: 'What is the distance from the free throw line to a lifetime of regret?' Back on the floor, faces full of determination.

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

A full spin move through traffic from the messiah! Whatever they teach in that trade, footwork is apparently part of it. The messiah spots up in the corner and drills it like it is nothing. Somewhere a shooting coach is crying tears of joy.

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. The messiah just airballed a FREE THROW, and somewhere a group chat has already saved that clip forever.

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

Oldest play in the book, and Jesus Christ runs it in his sleep. That drop coverage never had a prayer. OFF THE IRON and halfway to the bench! Jesus Christ missed that one with real conviction.

Court vision like that on the messiah is absurd. Whatever the day job pays him, the assist numbers say he is badly underpriced. Up goes the shot from Jesus Christ and that is nothing but AIR, and every soul in this building saw it happen.

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

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Jesus Christ just gift wrapped three free throws on a heat check.

Baseline wide open. Jesus Christ said thank you. 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.

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. OHHHH that is BEAUTIFUL basketball! Jesus Christ finishes the set and the whole bench is up.

Jesus Christ kicks his towel across the floor. Jesus Christ has already left for the locker room, alone. And here is the answer to our game show The Bonus Round of Regret! Homer Fussell of Poke Salad Crossing, Rhode Island, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'What is the distance from the free throw line to a lifetime of regret?' The answer was of course fifteen feet, same as it has always been, which is the cruel part. Homer therefore wins a set of curtains printed with enormous cartoon sheep! Tonight I had a revelation: Jesus Christ runs exactly like my neighbor when he misses the bus. We're done here. Up next: 'Top Chef: Microwave Edition.' Bon appetit.

Matchday 4 — vs Philadelphia Injury-Report

85-119 (L)

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

The ball travels faster than five defenders can, and Jesus Christ has known that all night long. Full stop, full sprint, and the messiah is in the paint! Nobody back at the workplace is going to believe this one. Jesus Christ beat the clock by a tenth of a second and missed by about four feet. Technically legal, competitively pointless.

They do not teach that in the messiah handbook, and yet here we are. Beautiful little exchange. Third one of these from Jesus Christ this quarter, third time the arc is wrong. The lane is not open real estate anymore. You want to know why this team keeps winning the possession battle? Jesus Christ treats every miss like it belongs to him. Up over the box out, and Jesus Christ catches it clean and finishes strong through the contact. Somebody just got posterized.

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.

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. Jesus Christ is on a tightrope now, and every single piece of contact from here could be the last one he is allowed.

Back in the locker room, Jesus Christ sits down and stares at the ceiling. Physio's confession: Jesus Christ purrs when you massage his calves. Like a cat. A big cat. And now, our halftime TV game show Jeopar-Dee-Dee! To win a mounted singing bass that only knows half the song, text HOOPS to 555-0305 and answer this question: 'How much does a rumor weigh at sea level?' Break's over, time for basketball. Let's go.

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

Down screen, and Jesus Christ curls hard into the middle of the floor with a full step of daylight. Easy read. Somebody check that job title again: the messiah hanging in the air like the paint owes him rent, and finishing anyway.

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

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

Ball moves. Jesus Christ to Jesus Christ, on time and on target. 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. Not a hand on him. Jesus Christ flat missed the bunny.

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

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

The messiah grabbed a full handful of jersey and the crew counted every finger. He does not get away with that at work either. Somebody just dropped a flagrant one on the messiah. The man has to be back at work in the morning, have a heart out there.

SKIP PASS! Jesus Christ fires it cross court to Jesus Christ and the defense is dead in the water! You can teach the jumper, you cannot teach the willingness, and Jesus Christ gives up a decent shot every single time a better one exists. Rim, backboard, none of the above from the messiah! Ladies and gentlemen, that is a person with a real job, and we have all just been reminded of it.

The messiah just ran a give and go to perfection on national television! Somebody go tell his boss what he does after hours! TRAVEL! Jesus Christ took the scenic route to the rim and the whistle ended the tour.

Set called, Jesus Christ waved out to the corner, and Jesus Christ watches the spacing open up like a front door. Give and go! Jesus Christ gives it up, cuts, and gets it right back with a clear lane to the cup! OHHHH, that one died in the air! Jesus Christ put nothing into it and the front rim eats the floater.

Jesus Christ replays the score in his head on a loop. Jesus Christ tries to think about something else. And here is the answer to our game Jeopar-Dee-Dee! Ludene Crabtree of Dry Creek Junction, Oklahoma, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How much does a rumor weigh at sea level?' The answer was of course a pound and a half, considerably more in humid weather. Ludene takes home a mounted singing bass that only knows half the song! During the break, I tried to juggle three balls. My cameraman filmed everything. It'll come out someday. Thanks everyone! Up next: 'Ice Road Truckers: Uber Eats Delivery on a Rainy Night.'

Matchday 5 — vs Phoenix No-Defense

84-113 (L)

Day job, then this: the messiah reads a rolling big like a coach with twenty years on the bench. Down, up, and gone for Jesus Christ. The rim is just toying with him now.

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

The messiah just created his own space with a stepback. Somewhere a scout is spitting coffee all over his notepad. The big man never even contested it, and Jesus Christ still could not get the runner to drop. That one is on him. OFFENSIVE GLASS! Jesus Christ beats three men to the spot! That is pure want-to: Jesus Christ was the only man on the floor who decided that rebound belonged to him.

Jesus Christ slides on his knees down the free throw lane, arms wide, and ends up flat on his back watching his own replay on the video board. He points at himself on the screen. The officials have stopped pretending to have any control here.

Across half court, a quick survey, a point to the weak side, and Jesus Christ drops it off to Jesus Christ on time and on target. Jesus Christ comes flying off that screen and he is WIDE open! The messiah 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 Phoenix No-Defense with not one hand raised in the paint. Somebody has to protect that rim.

Off to the locker room. Jesus Christ has already drained two water bottles. 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 Big Brother-in-Law! To win a novelty license plate that spells HOTDOG incorrectly, text HOOPS to 555-0296 and answer this question: 'How many pockets can cargo shorts have before they legally become furniture?' The players charge out of the tunnel. Smells like a comeback.

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

Oldest play in the book and it still works: Jesus Christ passes, the defender peeks at the ball, and that one beat is the whole possession. The messiah lines one up from four feet behind the line and the rim rejects the application on the spot. Back to the day job on that possession.

Watch the change of pace from Jesus Christ, half speed into full speed in one step, and that is a blow-by every time. 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.

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

The messiah turns clean out of two bodies in the paint. That is nowhere in the job description and yet here we are. Feet already set, hands already ready. Jesus Christ takes the feed from Jesus Christ and cashes it.

Jesus Christ runs the baseline high-fiving every hand hanging over the rail, all the way to the corner and back. It takes forever. Play is waiting on him. Nobody in the building wants it to stop, including, visibly, the officials.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Jesus Christ spun out of a double team like it was a revolving door! OHHHH, the cylinder rejects the messiah! Somewhere a whole workplace just yelled at a television.

That was pure cinema from the messiah. Whatever he does for a living, it clearly involves an audience and a curtain call.

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

Over the top of everybody. Jesus Christ to Jesus Christ in the corner, wide open, catch and rise. Jesus Christ rips it back into the stepback and suddenly there is a country mile between him and that defender. Nobody drew up that arc. The messiah floated one halfway to the rafters, and the rim never even got a say.

Jesus Christ isolates in a corner, back against the wall. Jesus Christ tries to talk. He raises a hand to say no. And here is the answer to our game Big Brother-in-Law! Peggy Ann Hollifield of Sassafras Gap, South Carolina, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How many pockets can cargo shorts have before they legally become furniture?' The answer was of course eleven, and at twelve you have to register them with the county. Peggy Ann takes home a novelty license plate that spells HOTDOG incorrectly! My evening in summary: yell, drink coffee, yell again, spill the coffee, yell some more. Thanks! And now, 'Neighbors from Hell: The Community Compost Bin Saga.' Episode 1 of 74.

Matchday 6 — vs Los Angeles Nursing-Home

75-119 (L)

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

The messiah is out here running a pro offense with hand signals, not one hint of panic, and he clocks in somewhere else in the morning. POCKET PASS! Jesus Christ threads it to Jesus Christ between two bodies and the rim is wide open! Awful shot by Jesus Christ with eleven still on the shot clock, off the front rim and out to the wing.

Hesitate, GO. Jesus Christ is by that hip before the man even blinks. AROUND the cylinder and OUT! Jesus Christ cannot believe it, and neither can this building.

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

That hesitation move is exactly why they keep sending a second body at Jesus Christ the moment he crosses half court. HAMMER! Jesus Christ goes right through the trees and throws it DOWN with the foul!

Halftime whistle! Jesus Christ slides down against the hallway wall. Confession: Jesus Christ calls mom after every loss. And every win. And also on Tuesdays. 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?' The tunnel spits the players out. The war resumes.

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

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

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

Foul on the three-point shooter, and it is Jesus Christ. The coach is off the bench with both arms out. The official flashes five toward the scorer's table and Jesus Christ just stares at the hardwood. He knows what comes next.

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 messiah pulls out the crossover of his life, and Monday morning he clocks in like nothing ever happened. OHHHH, the cylinder rejects the messiah! Somewhere a whole workplace just yelled at a television.

Straight down the baseline goes the messiah! Whatever shift he worked this morning, he clearly left plenty in the tank. Stonewalled at the top of the square! The big man meets Jesus Christ up there and returns it with interest.

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

You can read it right off the scoreboard: not one point since the last stoppage, and Jesus Christ is pressing badly now. Second shot clock violation of the half with Jesus Christ holding it too long. Live possessions are too expensive to hand back like that.

Jesus Christ gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Jesus Christ saw it a beat early. 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. The bench has cleared, the crowd is screaming, and somewhere a photographer just got the shot of the season thanks to Jesus Christ.

Punish the help, that is the rule, and Jesus Christ just did it by hitting Jesus Christ on the back side with acres of room. 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! The messiah tried the teardrop and never got it to the rim. Turns out soft touch does not come standard with that day job.

Jesus Christ clenches his left fist, unclenches, clenches again. Jesus Christ fidgets with his wristband nervously. 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! I tried taking notes during the game. My notebook is full of incomprehensible scribbles. Thanks everyone! Up next: 'Ice Road Truckers: Uber Eats Delivery on a Rainy Night.'

Matchday 7 — vs Toronto Border-Patrol

84-114 (L)

Laser from Jesus Christ, corner to corner, and that closeout gets there about a second and a half too late. The defender crowded the middle, and Jesus Christ punished him along the baseline like it was drawn up in the huddle. The messiah 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.

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

The drive goes baseline, Jesus Christ rotates off the weak side and meets him at the rim with both arms straight up. The messiah walls up like a closed door and the shot never gets home. Nine to five, and now this.

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

Ball up the floor, change of speed right at the logo, and Jesus Christ already has the defense a full step behind. A messiah breaking down a professional defender in front of a sold out house! Remember that day job, folks! Stuck holding it as the clock bleeds out, Jesus Christ fades away from twenty-six feet, and it is not close.

Rest. Jesus Christ buries his head in a wet towel and doesn't move. Juicy anecdote: Jesus Christ was caught dancing the Macarena in the showers. Alone. And now, our halftime TV game show Password Please Try Again! To win an exercise machine holding the same folded laundry since 2009, text HOOPS to 555-0891 and answer this question: 'What do you call the fifth quarter if nobody agrees it happened?' The players jog toward the court. The air is electric.

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

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. Hustle play of the night so far. Jesus Christ gave up his ribs for one extra possession and the bench is on its feet. The whole possession dies right there without Jesus Christ on the offensive glass, and instead it becomes the two easiest points of the quarter.

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

Shot clock violation! Jesus Christ owns the nail, the middle is a no fly zone, and that possession just expired in their hands. He tried to rise over Jesus Christ. That was a mistake, and the ball is now several rows deep.

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

Jesus Christ walks it up, two fingers in the air, and the whole offense shifts on his command. Jesus Christ hands it off to Jesus Christ, slices through the seam, and the return pass is sitting there waiting at the rim. In, around, and gone. The iron gives Jesus Christ nothing.

Here is the part that never makes the highlight package: Jesus Christ controlling tempo, burning clock, hunting the mismatch the second one shows up. Jesus Christ eats the contact so Jesus Christ can run free along the baseline, and the catch-and-shoot look is right there. The messiah tried the teardrop and never got it to the rim. Turns out soft touch does not come standard with that day job.

You can teach a lot of things at this level, but not lateral quickness. Jesus Christ is doing a fine traffic cone impression. The messiah swatted that one off the glass and handed over two free points. Somebody go over the cylinder rule at the next staff meeting.

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

A probe, a plant of the outside foot, and Jesus Christ pushes off while his man is still fighting to recover his balance. Nobody drew up that arc. The messiah floated one halfway to the rafters, and the rim never even got a say. The messiah outworked everybody on the glass! Effort does not care what is printed on your business card. Rebounding is effort, and effort is apparently what the messiah does for a living. Second chance points, all guts.

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.

Jesus Christ walks like someone carrying the weight of the world. Jesus Christ drags one foot after the other. And here is the answer to our game show Password Please Try Again! Curtis Pruitt of Bent Spoon, Utah, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'What do you call the fifth quarter if nobody agrees it happened?' The answer was of course the honor quarter, and the score from it is kept exclusively by uncles. Curtis therefore wins an exercise machine holding the same folded laundry since 2009! During the third quarter, I spilled my soup. Yes, I had soup in the booth. Don't judge. Good evening! Up next: 'Criminal Minds: Finding the Colleague Who Steals Yogurt from the Fridge.'

Matchday 8 — vs Minnesota Ice-Wall

86-106 (L)

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

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

Two defenders collide on the handoff and Jesus Christ is gone, so Jesus Christ earned that one even if the box score disagrees. Textbook footwork, textbook release from Jesus Christ, cruel result as it spins out and both teams go up for a contested board.

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

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 messiah making the right pass every single time, and the league is taking notes. Pass, cut, catch, wide open. Four things in about a second and a half from Jesus Christ. That little shot is what keeps guards employed in this league, and Jesus Christ has it on a string tonight.

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

Break. Jesus Christ's socks are soaking wet — quick change on the spot. True story: Jesus Christ had his parking spot stolen by Minnesota Ice-Wall's mascot. Still talks about it. And now, our halftime TV game show Whistle While You Guess! To win a five year supply of individually wrapped mints from a bank lobby, text HOOPS to 555-1291 and answer this question: 'How many times does a referee blink during a single overtime period?' Both teams retake the floor. The best may be yet to come.

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

That is the pass that beats a zone, and Jesus Christ threw it before the help even committed. OHHHH the separation! Jesus Christ just manufactured three feet of daylight out of absolutely nothing. 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.

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

The bench has completely lost its mind over the messiah! There are lifers in this league who never get a reaction like that.

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.

You want basketball IQ? Ask the messiah, who just moved the rock on time without one wasted dribble. 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. Off the back iron for Jesus Christ, that one had all the distance and none of the accuracy, and the board goes the other way.

Beautiful footwork on that one from Jesus Christ, the pivot foot never budges, which is precisely why the whistle stays in the pocket. The messiah launched one from the logo as the horn sounded. In fairness, nobody in that huddle gave him a better option.

Jesus Christ gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Jesus Christ saw it a beat early. The messiah runs a dribble handoff with the timing of a fifteen-year vet. Not bad for somebody who does this on weekends. Jesus Christ rises up from fifteen feet and OHHHH, that rattled in and OUT!

The messiah makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. The help defender committed way too early, and Jesus Christ made him pay for it with a spin they will be replaying all week. Count it AND the foul! Jesus Christ refused to be denied at the rim.

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. 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 clenches his left fist, unclenches, clenches again. Jesus Christ fidgets with his wristband nervously. And here is the answer to our game show Whistle While You Guess! Wilma Jean Puckett of Sorghum Switch, Kansas, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'How many times does a referee blink during a single overtime period?' The answer was of course exactly 1,412 times, and 1,413 if the arena air conditioning is broken. Wilma Jean therefore wins a five year supply of individually wrapped mints from a bank lobby! My evening in one word? Epic. In two words? Epic and loud. Good evening! Up next: 'Fixer Upper: Renovating a Studio on a Twelve-Dollar Budget.' Challenge accepted.

Matchday 9 — vs Houston Blast-Off

87-126 (L)

Jesus Christ buries it, turns to the crowd on the way back, and the other side immediately calls time. Dagger and a timeout in the same breath.

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

Jesus Christ guesses left, the ball handler goes right, and suddenly this is a two-on-one before anybody can rotate. Two on the board for the visitors, and Jesus Christ knows it before the officials even get their hands up.

Total control. Jesus Christ has this thing on a string. The messiah reads the screen perfectly, comes off shoulder to shoulder, and buys himself an open look. Veteran movement, rookie resume. That is the shot Jesus Christ wants every trip down the floor, it drops nine nights out of ten, and tonight is the tenth.

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

Halftime. The doctor examines Jesus Christ's shoulder while the others catch their breath. Intel: Jesus Christ asked Houston Blast-Off for their energy drink recipe. They refused. And now, our halftime TV game show Sale of the Half Century! To win a bread machine with a manual in three languages, none of them English, text HOOPS to 555-0673 and answer this question: 'What is the wingspan of a man who claims he could have gone pro?' Tipoff! The ball bounces, the arena vibrates, we're back.

The messiah just flattened a man who had both feet planted. Charge, turnover, and a very quiet walk back on defense.

Ball into Jesus Christ at the elbow, Jesus Christ plants his foot and goes backdoor, and the pass meets him in the air. Filthy. Blocked into the floor. Jesus Christ will be seeing that one in his sleep.

Houston Blast-Off again, and again nobody is home. Three straight trips down the floor with zero resistance.

The messiah fouled a shooter behind the arc. Three free throws, and a timeout that is going to be extremely unpleasant. Jesus Christ throws his head back, because he knows exactly what it means. His minutes are somebody else's decision now.

The messiah takes the baseline and bends an entire defense out of shape. Absolutely absurd stuff in this building tonight. 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. This is exactly why the coach wants the ball in his hands late. Jesus Christ has been money at that line all season long.

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

You want basketball IQ? Ask the messiah, who just moved the rock on time without one wasted dribble. Screened, toasted, done. Jesus Christ is loose and the defense is scrambling to find him. Pull-up from the elbow by Jesus Christ, halfway down, spinning inside the iron, and it pops right back out.

Ball up the floor, change of speed right at the logo, and Jesus Christ already has the defense a full step behind. Jesus Christ just took a shoulder to the chest to buy Jesus Christ half a second, and half a second in this league is an eternity. From eight feet Jesus Christ puts way too much on it, and the ball clears the rim entirely.

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

Prayer from Jesus Christ. Not answered. Another extra possession courtesy of the messiah, a man who evidently boxes out at work too. Some habits do not clock out. Second chance points for Jesus Christ, tipping his own miss straight back in before his feet ever touched the floor.

Jesus Christ walks like someone carrying the weight of the world. Jesus Christ drags one foot after the other. And here is the answer to our game show Sale of the Half Century! Orville Duckworth of Slush Pile, Michigan, got it right. The question, I remind you, was 'What is the wingspan of a man who claims he could have gone pro?' The answer was of course roughly the length of the story he is telling. Orville therefore wins a bread machine with a manual in three languages, none of them English! Evening confession: I'm wearing Jesus Christ's jersey under my shirt. For morale. Off to bed! And now: 'Jeopardy: Cafeteria Trivia Edition.'

Matchday 10 — vs Denver Horse-Track

76-121 (L)

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

Jesus Christ gets it on the reversal and now this defense is rotating, scrambling and losing ground, all because Jesus Christ saw it a beat early. The messiah pulls out the crossover of his life, and Monday morning he clocks in like nothing ever happened. Long and gone. Jesus Christ floats the teardrop over everything and bangs it off the back iron.

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

OHHHH the pin-down! Jesus Christ pops out clean while the defender is STILL tangled up with Jesus Christ. Brutal. Nobody drew up that arc. The messiah floated one halfway to the rafters, and the rim never even got a say.

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

Break! Jesus Christ has left a puddle of sweat at every step through the tunnel. Intel: Jesus Christ asked Denver Horse-Track for their energy drink recipe. They refused. And now, our halftime TV game show Let Us Make a Deal! To win a jar of pickles from 1997 with the label soaked clean off, text HOOPS to 555-0044 and answer this question: 'Why do referees always walk faster than everybody else in the building?' Second half! The crowd is on its feet, and so are the players.

Worst possession of the night for the other team, and Jesus Christ just turned it into three points at the stripe. Free of charge. The messiah is in foul trouble already! Whatever hands-on skills that job teaches, none of them are legal in this league.

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

The messiah just got left in the dust, and in fairness, that is a professional athlete he was asked to guard. Slap across the wrist, and the crew saw every bit of it. Jesus Christ pays for that one.

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

Look at that bench! Jesus Christ just lit the fuse! Four live-ball turnovers now for Jesus Christ, and every single one of them has turned into a bucket.

That is vision. Jesus Christ sees the pocket open for a tenth of a second and puts the ball in it. Jesus Christ threads a BEAUTY to Jesus Christ under the rim and... he lays it off the bottom of the iron! Ohhhh, no. Muscled away at the second jump by Jesus Christ, and this offense resets with a fresh shot clock. Rebounding is effort, and effort is apparently what the messiah does for a living. Second chance points, all guts.

The messiah turns clean out of two bodies in the paint. That is nowhere in the job description and yet here we are. Catch, rise, splash. The messiah owns the cleanest jumper on this floor and still has a shift to work in the morning.

Ice in the veins: Jesus Christ taps two fingers on his wrist, slow and cold, while the horn is still fading. Courtside is standing on the chairs. The visiting bench does not move an inch. Somebody in the second row has already turned it into a T-shirt.

That is the pass nobody puts on a highlight reel, and Jesus Christ makes it every single trip down the floor. 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. Rising up out of the corner, Jesus Christ sends it LONG, clanging off the far side and out to the wing.

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

TECHNICAL on Jesus Christ! He found the one word you cannot say out here.

Jesus Christ and Jesus Christ share a single look. Just one. It contains all the disappointment in the world. And here is the answer to our game Let Us Make a Deal! Herschel Bumgarner of Two Silos, Nebraska, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'Why do referees always walk faster than everybody else in the building?' The answer was of course because somewhere in that building there is a sandwich with their name on it. Herschel takes home a jar of pickles from 1997 with the label soaked clean off! I spent the evening standing up and sitting down every thirty seconds. My Fitbit is congratulating me. We're packing up. Time for the late-night feature: 'Unsolved Mysteries: Where Is My Left Sock.'

Matchday 11 — vs New York Over-Timers

79-123 (L)

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

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

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

The messiah is out here running a pro offense with hand signals, not one hint of panic, and he clocks in somewhere else in the morning. OHHHH the pocket pass! Jesus Christ splits the coverage and the roll man is loose under the basket! The messiah 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.

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

Break. Jesus Christ's socks are soaking wet — quick change on the spot. I've been told Jesus Christ always puts his left shoe on first. The one day he switched, gave up 40 points. 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?' The buzzer calls the players. Time for the show, act II.

The zone is set with Jesus Christ anchoring the middle of it and there is NOWHERE to go! Nobody gambles less and steals more than Jesus Christ. He does not reach, he anticipates, and that is the whole difference.

Somebody explain how the messiah 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 messiah with nobody inside a zip code. Somebody out there knows how to use a screen, and it is not who you would guess. It went halfway down! The ball sat in the cylinder, thought about it, and rolled off the far side on Jesus Christ. Cruel.

Ejection. Jesus Christ is gone for his part in that scrum while the officials sort out who did what to whom.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Jesus Christ whips that pass one-handed on the move and the roll man gathers it through contact. Filthy. Gift wrapped by Jesus Christ, and Jesus Christ cannot finish the two footer. That one is going to sting.

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

Onions from Jesus Christ! 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 Jesus Christ just took two points off the board without a single stat.

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

Ball up the floor, change of speed right at the logo, and Jesus Christ already has the defense a full step behind. Screen, roll, DELIVERY from Jesus Christ! Nothing but runway to the rim! The messiah 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.

Jesus Christ launches it weak side, one pass, and the whole shell has to sprint. Good luck with that. 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. Jesus Christ loses his angle on the baseline and still finds a way to flip it home with the off hand. Bucket!

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

No hero ball here: Jesus Christ takes what the defense gives and moves it along. Jesus Christ stutters at the elbow, the defender bites on it, and now there is nothing but open floor between him and the rim. Straight through the traffic, straight through the contact. The messiah finishes with a free throw coming and the paint suddenly feels very small.

Chest bump so violent that Jesus Christ and Jesus Christ both end up on the hardwood. They lie there laughing while play is stopped. A trainer jogs out to make sure nobody cracked a rib. The crowd is chanting before either man gets back to his feet.

Jesus Christ leaves the court at a jog. Jesus Christ stays there, planted at center court, motionless. 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! Evening confession: I'm wearing Jesus Christ's jersey under my shirt. For morale. See you tomorrow! Up next: 'Extreme Reading: The Terms and Conditions.' 4-hour special.

Matchday 12 — vs Cleveland Twin-Towers

85-130 (L)

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

The ball travels faster than five defenders can, and Jesus Christ has known that all night long. Jesus Christ comes off the screen and the big man drops WAY back. Jesus Christ just fades to the arc for the cleanest look of the night. Second pass beats the rotation, Jesus Christ to Jesus Christ, and the closeout gets there about half a second too late. The messiah just spun through two defenders and reversed that in. Nothing about this is a normal Tuesday!

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

Unsportsmanlike foul on the messiah. Two shots and the ball back, a steep price for a man who came here on his day off.

Jesus Christ waves his teammates to the weak side. One on one. No help, no excuses, no hiding. Back breaker. A four point play swings this thing by two full possessions, and Jesus Christ did it with a hand in his face.

Jesus Christ mimes putting a whole section to sleep, hands folded against his cheek, eyes shut. He is facing the Cleveland Twin-Towers fans who paid for the good seats. They boo. He nods along with the boos, which somehow makes the home crowd louder.

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! Two on the shot clock and the ball ends up with the messiah, which is how you get a twenty-eight footer off the wrong foot.

Break. The coach is yelling in the tunnel, Jesus Christ picks up the pace. They say Jesus Christ has a ritual where he touches the basket post three times. If someone watches, starts over. And now, our halftime TV game show Jeopar-Dee-Dee! To win a mounted singing bass that only knows half the song, text HOOPS to 555-0305 and answer this question: 'How much does a rumor weigh at sea level?' Back at it! The coach said two words. Two words that were enough.

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

The messiah is out here running a pro offense with hand signals, not one hint of panic, and he clocks in somewhere else in the morning. 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. Soft off the fingertips, the ball takes a full lap of the rim on Jesus Christ, and spits straight back out. That is theft.

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.

Total control. Jesus Christ has this thing on a string. STOP AND GO! Jesus Christ hit the brakes, hit the gas, and the lane opened up like a garage door. Perfect drop-off from Jesus Christ, and Jesus Christ answers with... whatever that was. Off the glass, off the rim, and gone.

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

Jesus Christ drives, draws two bodies, and swings it one more time to the corner. That is the pass nobody is required to make. Pull-up from the elbow by Jesus Christ, halfway down, spinning inside the iron, and it pops right back out.

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

Court vision like that on the messiah is absurd. Whatever the day job pays him, the assist numbers say he is badly underpriced. The gather was clean, the decision after it was not. Jesus Christ had a live pivot foot and threw it away for a bounce he did not need.

You judge a locker room by moments like this. Jesus Christ makes the play, and every man on that sideline erupts right along with him. Lazy crosscourt pass, and Jesus Christ makes them pay. Clean pick, no whistle, two easy ones before that coach can sit back down.

Towels are FLYING for the messiah! Going back to the day job on Monday is going to feel extremely strange after a night like this. Nobody told the messiah that chasedown blocks are supposed to be above his pay grade.

Jesus Christ clenches his left fist, unclenches, clenches again. Jesus Christ fidgets with his wristband nervously. And here is the answer to our game Jeopar-Dee-Dee! Ludene Crabtree of Dry Creek Junction, Oklahoma, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'How much does a rumor weigh at sea level?' The answer was of course a pound and a half, considerably more in humid weather. Ludene takes home a mounted singing bass that only knows half the song! Confession: I nearly fell asleep during the second quarter. The third woke me right up. See you soon. And now: '911: My Cat Climbed on Top of the Wardrobe.'

Matchday 13 — vs Boston Ring-Chasers

85-121 (L)

Jesus Christ launches it weak side, one pass, and the whole shell has to sprint. Good luck with that. The messiah just ran that two-man game like he has a decade of film on it. Somebody get this man a contract. Missed layup for the messiah and the whole arena groans as one. Great hands in the day job, apparently they do not travel.

Clean feed from Jesus Christ, nothing forced, just the offense breathing. The messiah just threaded a pocket pass through two defenders. Where exactly did that vision come from? Twenty-four seconds of standing around, and Jesus Christ has to eat the last two of them. Possession wasted long before the shot went up.

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

Laser from Jesus Christ, corner to corner, and that closeout gets there about a second and a half too late. OHHHH the hesi! Jesus Christ froze him solid and he is already gone! Fifth possession this half where Jesus Christ has been left to bail everybody out with the clock at zero. He cannot keep doing this alone.

Somebody explain how the messiah reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. Textbook two-man game: Jesus Christ keeps the dribble alive, forces the big man to commit, and Jesus Christ rolls into an open runway. Rim out for Jesus Christ, the crowd came up and sat right back down, and you can hear the groan from every corner of the arena.

Halftime whistle! Jesus Christ grabs a towel and collapses on the bench. Locker room intel: Jesus Christ has a tattoo of a basketball hoop on his butt. That's commitment. And now, our halftime TV game show The Price is Wrong, Bob! To win a velvet painting of a raccoon in a tuxedo, text HOOPS to 555-0187 and answer this question: 'What is the middle name of the man who invented the folding chair?' Second half! The crowd is on its feet, and so are the players.

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.

Called for three in the key. Jesus Christ had inside position, had the seal, had everything except a clock in his head.

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

Two guys on the exact same page, Jesus Christ and Jesus Christ, and the defense is left holding a bag of nothing. You are about to see a coach put his entire face in both hands, and Jesus Christ has earned every second of that reaction.

Jesus Christ splits the coverage with a bounce pass you need slow motion to appreciate. Dimes. Jesus Christ rises, the big man rises higher, and the shot is stuffed into the second row. Return to sender.

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

Jesus Christ is locked in on the other bench's best player and he has not backed up one single inch. This is what you buy the ticket for.

Dagger from Boston Ring-Chasers. 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 messiah just dunked on two grown men and drew the foul. Whatever that job pays, it is not enough.

Set called, Jesus Christ waved out to the corner, and Jesus Christ watches the spacing open up like a front door. The messiah just backdoored a professional defense on national television. Somebody go check on that poor defender. The whistle blows, the crowd erupts, and Jesus Christ hangs on the iron just long enough to make his point.

Jesus Christ refuses Boston Ring-Chasers's handshake. Jesus Christ offers a limp one with just his fingertips. And here is the answer to our game The Price is Wrong, Bob! Wendell Frobisher of Gravy Fork, West Virginia, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What is the middle name of the man who invented the folding chair?' The answer was of course Delbert, and the man himself never once sat down. Wendell takes home a velvet painting of a raccoon in a tuxedo! During the break, I tried to juggle three balls. My cameraman filmed everything. It'll come out someday. Alright, good night! Up next: 'Secret Life of Your Mailman.' Episode 47.

Matchday 14 — vs San Antonio Skyscrapers

83-128 (L)

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

A chair knocked flat, an assistant coach holding somebody back by the jersey, that whole row completely unhinged. That is the Jesus Christ effect. The chasedown is the hardest hustle play in this sport, and Jesus Christ just made it look routine.

Jesus Christ kicks it over to Jesus Christ, no dribble, no drama, and this offense settles into a rhythm. OHHHH he went BACKDOOR! Jesus Christ never broke stride and he has the ball UNDER THE RIM! Nobody moved, nobody cut, nobody set a screen, so Jesus Christ launches a contested jumper with the horn already going. Ugly offense.

Eight seconds off the shot clock and Jesus Christ has not wasted one of them, the ball reaching Jesus Christ precisely where the play wanted it. Hard drive, hard stop, and Jesus Christ retreats into an ocean of open hardwood. The messiah misses absolutely everything, and honestly, the nerve to even attempt that shot deserves something. Not points. But something.

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

Break! Jesus Christ heads straight to the bathroom moment he hits the locker room. Did you know Jesus Christ started basketball because he was terrible at soccer? Sometimes failure leads to greatness. And now, our halftime TV game show Antiques Roadshow but Everything is Broken! To win an inflatable canoe with a slow but very honest leak, text HOOPS to 555-0116 and answer this question: 'What is the going rate for a rebound in small claims court?' Back at it! The coach said two words. Two words that were enough.

Punish the help, that is the rule, and Jesus Christ just did it by hitting Jesus Christ on the back side with acres of room. BAAAANG! Jesus Christ sets the table and the pick-and-pop three goes down like somebody scripted it. OHHHH, what a read by Jesus Christ! He never even glanced at the rim and it is CASH on the other end. Two defenders in the lane, Jesus Christ splits them, double clutches and kisses it off the square. Count it!

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

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

Timeouts are currency in the fourth quarter and they just spent one early. Jesus Christ cost them a possession they will want back.

Swing, swing, and Jesus Christ finds Jesus Christ on the wing before the help can even turn its head. Screen, hesitation, delivery, Jesus Christ drops it off perfectly for Jesus Christ diving to the rim. Catching it right at the cup with nobody within eight feet, Jesus Christ goes up too strong and the ball rides high off the backboard.

Feet set, chest low, hands high. The messiah will not give up that block, and the building has decided he is their guy. OHHHH the speed of Jesus Christ! Nobody in this building was catching him.

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

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

Here comes the slip from Jesus Christ, and Jesus Christ reads it a half second before anybody else in the building. That is a dime from Jesus Christ that deserved so much better, and Jesus Christ knows it, head down, jogging back before the ball even lands.

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

Bodies everywhere in the paint and it does not matter one bit to Jesus Christ, one spin and the ball never leaves the string. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Two points in every gym in America except this one, and Jesus Christ is walking back with both hands on his head.

The messiah is out here running a pro offense with hand signals, not one hint of panic, and he clocks in somewhere else in the morning. Screen, pop, SPLASH! Jesus Christ kicks it out and that thing never touched iron. So close. Jesus Christ can only stare at the iron.

Jesus Christ chews his nails on the bench. Jesus Christ stares at his shoes like they're the source of the problem. And here is the answer to our game Antiques Roadshow but Everything is Broken! Wayne Shropshire of Salt Lick Junction, Maine, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What is the going rate for a rebound in small claims court?' The answer was of course twelve dollars, or one covered dish. Wayne takes home an inflatable canoe with a slow but very honest leak! Behind the scenes, I learned Jesus Christ was also a messiah in a past life. You can feel it in the game. Good evening! Coming up: 'Dancing with the Stars: My Cousin's Wedding Edition.' Open bar.

Matchday 15 — vs Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest

77-121 (L)

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

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

Three seconds on the messiah. Punctuality is apparently a work-hours-only skill. Free possession, donated.

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

Set called, Jesus Christ waved out to the corner, and Jesus Christ watches the spacing open up like a front door. No roll this time. Jesus Christ swings it right back to Jesus Christ above the break, and it is PURE. 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.

First half is done. Jesus Christ is chugging Gatorade like it's water. Staff confession: Jesus Christ is afraid of pigeons. Not 7-foot centers, no. Pigeons. And now, our halftime TV game show Hollywood Squares of Cheese! To win a taxidermy squirrel holding a tiny fishing rod, text HOOPS to 555-0134 and answer this question: 'What is the correct number of ice cubes in a gas station soda?' We're back! The coach drew stuff on the whiteboard, let's see if it works.

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

Not an inch to spare on the endline, but Jesus Christ keeps both feet in bounds and the help gets there a beat too late. Every highlight show in the country runs that clip tonight, and unfortunately for Jesus Christ he is on the wrong end of it.

Watch the spacing there, Jesus Christ hits Jesus Christ right in the shooting pocket and the possession stays alive. Day job, then this: the messiah reads a rolling big like a coach with twenty years on the bench. Shot clock at one, and Jesus Christ just has to throw something at the rim. Nothing doing.

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

The messiah makes the simple read look automatic. Clock out of work, clock in for clean basketball decisions. They do not teach that in the messiah handbook, and yet here we are. Beautiful little exchange. Nobody dribbled, nobody isolated, Jesus Christ and Jesus Christ just played basketball and the defense got shredded. BAAAANG! Jesus Christ from the logo, and the entire bench is on its feet losing its mind!

Slow walk, no expression. Jesus Christ backpedals past the Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest 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.

Reverse it, make them slide all over again, that is how Jesus Christ breaks a shell down. Follow the ball there: four sets of hands, Jesus Christ makes the last read, and the defense never gets set. That is training camp offense. Rim, backboard, none of the above from the messiah! Ladies and gentlemen, that is a person with a real job, and we have all just been reminded of it.

Full stop, full sprint, and the messiah is in the paint! Nobody back at the workplace is going to believe this one. The messiah misses absolutely everything, and honestly, the nerve to even attempt that shot deserves something. Not points. But something.

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

Somebody explain how the messiah reads a defense faster than half this league. Whatever he does all day, it clearly involves thinking three steps ahead. Everybody in the arena knew the stepback was coming from Jesus Christ, and not one single soul could do anything about it. Oh my. Jesus Christ did not even draw iron.

HERE IT COMES! Every soul in this gym knows the ball is going to Jesus Christ, and it may not matter one bit. Coach spent a timeout on a play for the messiah and it worked to the inch. That is trust you do not fake.

Jesus Christ deadpans directly into the broadcast camera: nod, wink, gone. Total elapsed time, one and a half seconds. The commentators lose it completely. Jesus Christ arrives too late and mugs at an empty lens for nobody at all.

Jesus Christ turns back to look at the court one last time. Jesus Christ doesn't turn around. And here is the answer to our game Hollywood Squares of Cheese! Dwayne Pickle of Beaver Hollow, Pennsylvania, got it right. The question, let me remind you, was 'What is the correct number of ice cubes in a gas station soda?' The answer was of course all of them, that is the entire business model. Dwayne takes home a taxidermy squirrel holding a tiny fishing rod! I spent the evening standing up and sitting down every thirty seconds. My Fitbit is congratulating me. Good evening! Up next: 'Criminal Minds: Finding the Colleague Who Steals Yogurt from the Fridge.'