On a windy day, with a gray sky the likes of which haven't been seen since Einstein discovered the order of the planets, Will and I set forth to do battle on the blacktops of Golden Gate Park. The wind cut to the bone, as Will stumbled along buried under a mountain of sweaters. I was considerably less encumbered with clothing, as the fire in my heart drove the chill from my soul. The gods would surely smile upon me this day.
The courts we arrived at were unexpectedly substandard - the rims were about 4 inches too high, and the backboards were made of what seemed to be polyurethane-vinyl-wood. But is not the true test of a champion not what he must do, but what he must endure? Not to mention there were these bratty, obnoxious kids running around.
The game was HORSE, and the rules simple. It's a game of whatever you can do, I can do better. The contestants take turns shooting, and if someone makes a shot, the other must perform exactly the same shot. If he makes it, the game continues. If he misses, he earns a letter. The first person to spell the word HORSE is the loser.
The game started off slow, as both Will and I were rusty because this was the first time we had played ball in about a month. But all of a sudden, Will hits a shot from the left side at the top of the key. I can't convert. Jon H, Will /.
After enough bricks to build a house, I pull off an exquisite turnaround fadeaway from the left. Will comes up empty. Jon H, Will H.
We trade a few blows as each of us hits clutch shots to stave off receiving letters until I hit another tight turnaround fadeaway, this time from the right side. Will throws up an unanswered prayer. I didn't notice that Will missed his shot, as I was busy handing out autographed 8x10 glossies of myself. Jon H, Will HO.
This is where Will begins to lose the faith. After trading a few misses, I run towards the basket a bit, and leap from behind the free throw line. As I soar through the air (see above illustration), I realize I'm about 11 feet short of being able to dunk, so I toss up a little floater and it goes down. However, it doesn't go down nearly as far as Will's jaw dropped as he contemplated how he was going to make this. But this is not for men of thought - it is for men of action. Jon H, Will HOR.
Will stems the bleeding a bit by finally converting a baseline lefty reverse layup. As I'm in air, about to match his shot, the wind kicks up and dirt gets in my eyes. I'm momentarily blinded (recall my recent cataract surgery) and I miss the gimme layup. Will counts his blessings. Jon HO, Will HOR.
Angry at myself for giving away another letter, my will steels as I resolve to end this match, before it gets too late (Will gets scared walking around at night). I storm towards the hoop, palming the ball easily, and rise up like the phoenix from ashes. I lay the ball in and slap my hand against the backboard with resounding authority. It seems as if the Sierra Nevada mountains themselves may crumble as the earth shakes and quakes from the force. Will, his body language revealing more than a thousand pictures, seems resigned to defeat. But he gamely struggles on, and puts forth his best effort. Alas, its not enough. JON HO, Will HORS.
Knowing the game is won, I let up on the accelerator just a bit. It's a mistake. Will, gathering a second wind, hits a couple shots that I dramatically match. Will hits another shot from the right side behind the free throw line, and finally I succumb. Jon HOR, Will HORS.
A wise man once said, "Someday, love will find you. Break those chains that bind you. One night will remind you. How we touched and went our separate ways." Believing I had Steve Perry's full support, my emotions surged and I knew I had to win in style. I went over my vast repertoire of basketball moves, and pulled out the perfect ender. I winked at Will with a smirk on my face, and started moving. As I neared the basket, I leapt mightily and in mid-air I transferred the ball from my left hand between my legs to my right hand and laid it in. That was the exact moment Will's heart broke into a million pieces. Will had no answer but to shake my hand like a true good sport. Jon HOR, Will HORSE.
Jon: "It's like I always say - Not everything is flat in Kansas."
Will: "After 60 pathetic minutes, we managed to complete five basketball shots; my favorite part was when it was over."