Court skills not up to snuff

This might come as a surprise, but I'm not an athlete.

I know it's shocking: a sportswriter who can't play sports - who has ever heard of that?

OK, saying I can't play sports might be a case of me being a little hard on myself. I can play, I'm just not going to turn pro anytime soon - in anything.

My skill level probably can be summed up best by the old gym class tradition of picking teams. I would most definitely not be the first pick. But I'm not bad enough to be the last pick. I think of myself as a late-round steal that could help the team win a game - that is, if the game being played is not basketball.

I can shoot a hockey puck, I can hit a baseball and I can catch a football. I cannot, however, play basketball.

I think my problem stems from the fact that I can't shoot, I don't run fast, my endurance is lacking and I have a problem playing defense without fouling people. Aside from that, I am the next LeBron James.

So imagine my surprise when someone asked me to play intramural basketball.

A couple of friends started a team and needed a few extra players to round out the bench. You know, just some guys to give the starters a breather. I informed them how bad I was, but they said it didn't matter. I would only have to play a few minutes a game.

Turns out, they lied.

Our first game was two weeks ago, and I showed up prepared to ride the proverbial bench and cheer loudly for my comrades. I showed up five minutes before tip off and only saw three of my teammates. I figured the other guys were just taking a pregame bathroom break.

Nope.

Thanks to the flu bug that hit campus our team was decimated, going from 14 members to four. Having dealt with the plague two days before, I was pretty excited by this development. I might not be good at basketball, but I know it takes five to field a team.

Wrong again.

The other team badly wanted to play, so they agreed to have a little four-on-four action. Did I mention my endurance will never be confused with that of a marathoner or even that of an in-shape 22-year-old?

After five minutes I was winded and just waiting for something - anything - to stop the clock.

However, my breathing problems did help my game. Because sprinting around under the basket in an attempt to get an easy layup was too much work, I camped out beyond the three-point line and waved my arms frantically.

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The guy who was guarding me obviously had seen my scouting report that said I couldn't shoot, so he wasn't within five feet of me. I got the ball, and because we already were down a lot to zero, I chucked up a three.

It was ugly. It hit the backboard, the front of the rim, the back of the rim and then somehow fell through the cylinder for three points.

I was stunned.

A couple of trips down the court later I again found myself open for another three - I guess the guy guarding me didn't think I would get lucky twice.

I did. It was another ugly shot that for some reason I launched with incredible arc. It looked like a definite air ball but instead was a swish. I was getting cocky.

The next time I got the ball I ignored the defender who had begun to respect my game. I chucked a three that hit nothing but the ground under the basket. It was the best definition of an air ball I had seen live. I was not even in the general area of the basket.

We went on to lose by 30 and that was only because that's as bad as the officials let it get. It would have been much worse had we played the entire second half.

Our team lost again by 30 last week and probably will lose by 30 tonight. I think after that I'm going to hang up my gym shoes and retire from rec-league play.

And I won't pull a Michael Jordan and come back wearing the four-five.