Crash Into You

For as long as I can remember, when I have lived in Idaho Falls and had access to a gym, I have organized a weekly basketball game. In the olden days, in a time before cell phones and instant messaging, I made a list of acceptable players and collected their phone numbers. It was grueling work calling each person and even more difficult to obtain any level of commitment. It was not uncommon to receive a comment like, "I will try to make it," or, "Yeah, I'll probably be there."

Nowadays, I send out a mass text and patiently wait for replies. The text usually reads something like, "Bball @ 9 tonight @ Charlotte. R U coming, yes or no? Doors will be locked at 9:15." Oddly, I receive quite a bit of resistance with this method as well, maybe more. It must be too much to ask, because I frequently receive similar ambiguity. Worse, many people give no response to the text and still have the gall to show up unannounced. Even worse still, some people show up without receiving an invitation at all: Basketball Crashers (BC).

On rare occasions, due to their extreme lack of common sense, a BC (often remarkably similar to a CB) obtains national notoriety. I can think of two such people: Chip Douglas and Jackie Moon. Laughter can accompany a BC, but eventually it is drowned out by sheer stupidity. So, for the good that they do bring, I can only think of one course of action to repay each Basketball Crasher to whom I am indebted. I will make a surprise visit to their weddings, anniversaries, and birthdays. Lastly, I will hold the hand of the woman who gives them children as she is giving birth to a new, improved generation of crasher. As a Birth Crasher, I will coach her threw it with patience. When the child arrives, I will take it in my arms and whisper, "I out-crashed your father."

It remains a mystery how a Basketball Crasher knows when a game is taking place, but I am almost certain it has something to do with Aurora Borealis.