Disorder on the court

Dylan Hostetter, Opinions and Humor Editor

There are two types of people in this world: those who play sports, and those who watch sports. I fall into the latter category. Whether it is my height — which I am told is completely average — or my inability to run ten feet without wheezing, it was decided from a very young age it would probably be best for me to stick to the sidelines.

That choice was made for me fairly often by the other kids in school. I was never the last picked for a pick-up football game, I just wasn’t picked. By the time it got down to me, the other kids would point to something behind me and say “Hey, is that Shakira?” And when I turned back around from looking they would all be gone.

Times like those never discouraged my love for sports. I vigorously consume every game I can find, which made it surprising that I had never actually attended a VCU basketball game. Going to VCU without attending a basketball game is like going to Costco without trying the chicken bake, although a basketball game won’t give you fiery diarrhea. 

I arrived at the game a few minutes before it was scheduled to start, and almost every seat had already been taken. I refused to sit in the nosebleeds for my first VCU basketball experience, so I kept searching until I happened upon the perfect seats. And when I say perfect, I mean it. These seats were better than courtside — they were actually on the court. 

Once I settled in, I removed my sweatshirt to reveal my custom Joe Bamisile jersey. That’s right, I went all out. I bought a VCU basketball pennant, I was drinking my soda from a VCU cup and even my underwear — though you couldn’t see them — were VCU branded. I was a walking advertisement for the black and gold. 

Finally, the game began and all of the players came running onto the court. Oddly enough, they all came and sat next to me — they must have also realized how good the seats were. I offered them some of my popcorn, but they refused me. I guess they were too preoccupied to snack.

When the playing began I was absolutely dialed in. My eyes were locked on the ball for every dribble, pass and jumpshot. Focusing so intently was actually making me a little dizzy — that ball moves around a lot. 

Before I knew it, Rodney the Ram was trotting onto the court for a halftime performance. I don’t know who was in that suit, but they had to have been sore the next morning. The last time I saw anything close to a breakdancing ram was when I had drunk one too many Celsiuses on a camping trip. What a world we live in.

Soon, the players were returning from the locker room. The Rams were down almost thirty points going into the second half. This was the part in most games where the coach would point to a key player on the bench who would valiantly join his team and beat the deficit.

As I looked up I realized the coach was pointing in my direction. I looked behind me just to make sure Shakira wasn’t there, and when I turned back around I realized he was in fact pointing at me. I froze.

“Bamisile, you’re up!” he said.

Somehow the coach had mistaken me for the real Joe Bamisile. I may have been wearing his jersey, but I was also a 5-foot-9-inch red-headed white man. I had no clue how he couldn’t tell the difference; the heat of the game must have been too much for him.

I had no choice but to join the rest of the team on the court — they were counting on me. I looked up at the rest of my new teammates in the huddle, and listened intently as they shouted the game plan down to me.

I had never played a game of basketball in my life — certainly not at the collegiate level — but to my surprise, once the ball was in my hands, I took off. The flow of the game came naturally to me. I was draining three point shots and setting posts like a professional. 

I think the opposing team was a bit less blinded by the excitement of the game, especially once I began scoring so many points. I could see the fear and confusion in their eyes at the little feisty leprechaun-looking guy darting around them.

By the time the real Joe Bamisile had returned from the bathroom, I had already scored 40 points for the Rams. If only those stupid kids from elementary school could have seen me. 

Sadly though, the team figured out their mistake after the game ended. Despite my winning performance, I was banned from attending any and all future VCU athletics games for “impersonating a basketball player,” whatever that means.

It wasn’t my fault, it was the coach’s. If anything, they should be thanking me. Without me they would have lost that game. I think I even had a chance of going pro.

Editor’s Note: The characters and events depicted in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.