Excuse me, let me introduce my lady, Her name is baretta and shes mothafuckin crazy!

I am really tired, so today's post will be an extremely short story.

One day when I was about eight or nine I made an all-star basketball team for my non-CSAA league. Needless to say I was excited. I had never played on an all-star team before so I was really nervous before our first practice. My league coach was supposed to coach the team and his son was on it, but they did not get there as early as I did. So I sat there with my other teammates, who I did not know, and no one really said anything to each other. I didn't know why no one was talking, but it made me nervous.

Finally my coach and his son showed up right as it was our time to go on the court. I hurriedly took off my athletic pants and accidentally took off my basketball shorts with the pants. I quickly recovered and no one saw, but the psychological damage was done. Ever since that day I live in fear of making that mistake again or forgetting to put shorts on underneath my pants. This fear spread in college to a fear I would forget my jersey top underneath my warm-up.

Granted the chances of me playing was very small, but could you imagine ripping off you shooting shirt in a spastic jerking motion while attempting to run to the scorer's table (which makes you look like an epileptic on tranquelizers no matter how smooth you are, unless you walk and walk-ons don't walk ... if they did they would be cut) only to reveal a bare chest? Super embaressing for anyone. Really embarrassing if you fail to wear a shirt underneath like me (I hated the ones they gave us) and you had been told the year before by an ex-NBA player that you were skinnier than Manute Bol. Which I may have been told.

Honestly, there were days I checked my jersey eight times before the game and once more at halftime. I also was worried about it being backwards. But ... luckily I failed to make a fool of myself via my jersey. I saved that for the time of a basketball game I got to play: "garbage time". Or as I liked to call it "Time to gets mines" where people ran around after sitting for way too long and treat fans to a spectacle that rivals watching drunk babies attempt to put the square block in the round hole.