In high school, I was the starting point guard on the basketball team, a position I hadn’t played before freshman year. Growing up, I was always tall for my age and played such relentless defense that I could pick a kangaroo’s pocket, so my natural position was center and power forward. However, when I hit puberty, the only thing that got taller were my pimples. And there’s a huge difference between being 5’11” in the 6th grade and 5’11” in the 9th. That’s essentially Shaq in middle school, and his flaccid high school penis post-cold plunge. Trust me, with no ball-handling skills, it’s a smoother transition to they/them than starting point guard.
For example, after the first half of my first game, I thought the defender guarding me was Gary Payton on guardian-angel dust. So, coming out of halftime, I had all the confidence of a baby giraffe on roller blades being stalked by a handsy cheetah with boundary issues. That’s when I realized the other team smelled blood in the water and began a full-court press; I told myself the one thing I wasn’t going to be was embarrassed.
As my teammate went to inbound the ball, the defender was already all up on me like a Cornell fraternity pledge. Capitalizing on his horny aggression, I oléed his stumbling ass into a screeching faceplant, like a triumphant bullfighter. Once freed from lockdown island, I took the bullet pass and made a dazzling up-and-under off the backboard to open the half. It wasn’t until midway through my one-man Riverdance celebration that I realized the only reason my bucket would make the ESPN Top 10 list was that I scored on the wrong team’s hoop….
So, yeah, I doubt Senator Schmitt-show will ever overlook women’s basketball again.
Sadly, MAGA was already mid-victory lap before they got the memo…
Pete Hegseth claims the US military is now run by ‘patriotic cowboys’ who undergo routine testosterone testing. That sounds less like a defense strategy and more like the plot of a homoerotic military thriller titled ‘Band of Brokeback Brothers.’ Starring Jake Paul—the most tasteless imitation boxer since I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butterbean.
