Chuck, Chuck Bo-Buck, Banana-Bana Fo...Toejam.
By Tom Danehy
I PLAY IN a basketball league every Sunday. If you took
away every other positive aspect of the game, the fact that I--an
overfed, no-haired, (non-) leaping gnome--should be able to play
organized ball at such an advanced age and weight, this alone
does much to explain why basketball is well on its way to becoming
the most popular sport in the world.
My favorite sport to play has always been football. But, unlike
basketball, you just can't throw eight or 10 guys together and
have a good football game. You can't walk up to a guy just standing
around in a park and ask him if he'd like to play one-on-one football.
In basketball, you can have good teams consisting of high school
kids, old men and women of all ages. You can't do that in football,
mostly because the darned women play dirty.
So, barring a huge societal shift in the next few days, basketball
remains the sport of choice for those of us who want to cling
desperately to a long-distant past and who are completely unafraid
of looking pathetic in the process. Plus, it gives you an excuse
to wear shorts a lot.
This particular league has all kinds of people. There are lawyers
and car salesmen, and then there are people who make an honest
living. The league brings together a cross-section of Tucson,
the young and old, the movers and shakers. Although, as a rule,
the young are generally the movers, while the old tend to be primarily
shakers.
One interesting aspect of a basketball league is the names teams
choose for themselves. Some are named for the company which sponsored
them, or maybe the players' favorite pro team. But every now and
then, people get creative. A couple summers ago, there was a really
good team consisting of players who were all of the Caucasian
persuasion. They called themselves Aryan Jordan.
I've been with the league so long that when a new team joins,
if they don't have a name, I get to name them. Not a good idea.
I started off slowly. The first team I named The Leftovers. The
second, Lint. The third, Toejam.
Just imagine talking to somebody:
You: "Oh yeah, I'm playing in a basketball league."
Them: "Wow, what's the name of your team?"
You: "Toejam."
Them: "How...how nice for you."
You: "Yeah well, we beat the crap out of Psoriasis the other
day."
Alas, I felt the need to top myself each time out. Never anything
racist, sexist or homophobic. Just disgusting.
Last year, I named a new team Cheesy Yellow Discharge. They just
sorta smiled knowingly and kept the name. They stayed in the league
and continued to go by "CYD," although when pressed
for an explanation, they would fudge by saying that they were
either named for dancer Charisse, or it was a variant spelling
of Spanish hero Rodrigo Diaz's nickname, as in "El CYD."
The most recent team name I came up with is "F.G.A."
Even I can't bring myself to say what those letters stand for,
but before your mind races out of control, let me state that the
"F" stands for "Foaming."
One of my favorite teams in the league is an eclectic bunch of
somewhat-older gentlemen who not only play smart, they play hard,
and they win, almost always to the chagrin of their much-younger
opponents. They are a glowing testament to the notion of experience
overcoming...well, athleticism.
The team used to be named simply Mario, after the guy who wrote
out the check for league fees. Mario's a good ballplayer. He used
to be a good ballplayer-and-a-half. I used to play against him
back in the '80s and he was much larger than he is today. You
know how when a player sets a screen, the defensive player has
to go around the screen? Well, by the time you got around one
of Mario's screens, the janitor would be sweeping the gym floor
under dim lights.
He lost a lot of weight by working out and eating vegetables
and junk like that. Unfortunately, that old saying about "There's
no zealot like a convert" kicked in. Every time I'd see him
at the gym, he'd talk to me in non sequitars.
"Hey Mario, what's up?"
"Fat-free cheese."
"So how's your team doing?"
"Lots of fruits, but no avocados."
"I'm sure your teammates will love to hear that."
They play really smart ball and they often win championships,
despite having a lineup which is somewhat less than imposing.
Their entire squad consists of Mario, who runs a linen business;
Kevin, who teaches computers in the Marana School District (imagine
that contradiction!); Brian, who's a podiatrist; Claude,
who does some kind of business stuff; Phil, whose real name isn't
even Phil; Gabe, who coaches high school basketball; and Gabe's
son, Isaac, who crashes motorcycles.
Mario's team has won so many championships, their new schtick
is to come up with clever team names (without my help). Last league
they were the Jackson 5. Mario was Jesse Jackson, Claude was Andrew
Jackson, Kevin was Tito, the forgotten Jackson, and Brian was
Shoeless Joe Jackson (podiatrist/Shoeless, get it?). Brian went
by Shoeless, because he didn't want to be mistaken for the Joe
Jackson who used to beat the snot out of LaToya and is probably
responsible for the way Michael turned out, nor for the English
rocker whose best song was a ditty called, "Everything Gives
You Cancer."
This season, they're called "Cheap Whine," and they've
all given themselves alcoholic names. Mario, in an homage to his
younger, bigger days, is Ernest and Julio Gallo. Brian
is "NAB," for "Non-Alcoholic Beverage." It's
not good for a podiatrist to have a wino name, lest his patients
fear that they'll stumble out of his office and for the rest of
their lives be known as "Lefty."
Cheap Whine is near the top of the standings and looking to make
one of their patented playoff runs. And then, more importantly,
they'll want to come up with a new name. I suggested a bodily
functions motif; they said they'd think about it.
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