Tuesday, September 28, 2010

FIFA 11 and Backbreaker

Been a while since I wrote anything not work related.

Sorry about that.

In the meantime, here's my take on FIFA 11. Good game. Really good, actually.

In other news, my back is killing me. Played in my Monday night hoops league last night and had a rough, rough night.

If you play sports, or played sports, you know that there are people who simply have your number. I played against my nemesis last night. Whenever this guy guards me, I struggle.

He's taller and faster than me and for a guy who makes his hay coming off screens and shooting three pointers, that's a tough matchup. The guy just refuses to let me shoot and he's tall enough to take on screens and still affect my shot, which forces me to do one of two things: step back and shoot particularly long threes, or try and drive past him, or simply not look to shoot and play as decoy. (where's the fun in that?)

This brings us to my ankles, which is why I rarely drive past anyone anymore.

Well last night, after about 20 minutes and a grand total of 3 points on about 1-6 shooting I decided I had to try and change it up.

In our league I am known for three things:

1. Realistic range of about 20 feet
2. An inability to play moderately good defense (thanks ankles)
3. A scoop shot that I have perfected over the past 25 years. I can get this scoop shot off from anywhere in the paint -- it drives big men INSANE because everyone wants to block that shot, but rarely do.

I don't go near the paint much anymore but when I do you can almost guarantee that a scoop is coming.

Last night, I HAD to try and get past this guy guarding me because I was basically taken out of the game. I come off a screen, reverse drive around the screen, which trapped the defender, and I make my way into the lane where a 6'5 guy is waiting for me and I flash the scoop at him -- but fake the shot, keeping the ball in my extended hand.

He's salivating because he wants to block this shot -- but as most big men are -- he' s a tad over anxious and not too bright (I kid, I kid) so he leaps expecting to throw the ball into the stands and lands--

on me.

My back goes "pop". I'm now the one feeling stupid.

And old.

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