If you ever want to undermine everything you are trying to become in life, go play ward basketball. I just lost every ounce of respect I have been working hard to build up over the last six months. No, I didn’t slam anybody into a fence, but I probably yelled with bulging eyes at the 215-pound rough boy that knocked me clean into the bleachers. Only four guys from our ward showed up. According to our rules, we don’t have to forfeit if we play four on five. They were five on the court, and seven deep. We were in dire trouble at the onset and I wanted to go home. If I had left, we would have automatically forfeited the game. I was trapped. Two minutes into the game, I go up for a rebound. Both hands on the ball, everything’s clean. Next thing I know, I’m hit in the face and flying backwards through the air. I land and slide along the floor with the 215-pounder. One of his giant, weight-bearing paws somehow winds up in my unoffending private quarters. Gasps and restrained laughter, no whistle.

In a desperate attempt to reclaim some dignity, I yelled “This has got to stop!” It was too late. All was lost. The worst part about it was the fact that I couldn’t leave. I leave, Haven ward forfeits, game over, poor sport. I suffered through four grueling quarters. Final score: Burton 53, Haven 25.

In five minutes, my head will be on my pillow. Perhaps sleep will dull the sting. Of course, all bets are off if I dream of heavy-handed gorillas.
S