Thanks, I’ll take that. I steal the ball and sprint back up the left side of court. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Russell coming up behind me on my right. You ain’t slick. I switch the ball to my left hand so he can’t steal it back. The crowd is chanting, “Rex! Rex! Rex!” Nearing the basket, I cross back to my right, leap, and cock the ball back for a nasty dunk. But Russell tackles me hard to the ground.

“Number-one player my ass,” he says, still on top of me.

With the back of my head and tailbone throbbing, I quickly shove Russell off of me. All I want to do is get up and knock this fool out. I can almost feel my fist meeting his sweaty cheek, see his head whipping back over his right shoulder before he falls limp to the ground. But the referee blows his whistle and wakes me from my rage. Then he holds his fist in the air and signals for two regular foul shots.

“What?” I shout, and quickly hop up to protest the call. “It should’ve been a flagrant!”

Coach Bell agrees. He’s on the sideline yelling, “Flagrant!” and banging his forearms together in an X above his head.

The crowd is booing in agreement, too.

“If that wasn’t a flagrant foul, I don’t know what is!” I shout, walking behind the ref. “This ain’t football. You can’t tackle somebody like that.”

But the ref ignores me.

“Man, this is some bullshit!” I yell at the back of the ref’s balding head.

The ref immediately makes a hard T with his hands to signal a technical foul.

“Are you serious?” I shout, throwing up both of my arms.

Danny, our point guard, grabs me and pulls me away from the ref before I get another tech.

At the free-throw line, I calm down. This is exactly where Carli caught the kiss usually meant for Mom.

Wait, before you try to play me, blowing a kiss has been a part of my free-throw routine since I was eight and discovered Jason Kidd on YouTube. I figured if a ten-time NBA All-Star and two-time Olympic Gold Medal winner could blow kisses as part of his game and not be lame, then so could I.

Every time he went to the free-throw line, he blew a kiss, took one dribble, and shot. To tell his wife and kids he loved them. Every time I go to the line, I blow a kiss, take three dribbles, and shoot. To tell Mom I’m sorry.

But today, Carli was there instead. And I swear it was like she was a gift straight from Mom. See, I pray to Mom every day. Figure she should have some clout, hanging with the celestial bodies and all.