When I was younger, maybe in like, 8th, 9th, 10th grade, somewhere around there, my dad and I would play basketball in our driveway. We would play some one-on-one, and I would never win, then we would play HORSE, he was a great shot. After each made shot, we would wipe our shoe across the gravel and mark where the other person had to shoot from. Invariably, for the last shot to finish me off, my dad would step out much farther than I could even hurl the ball towards the basket and I would say to him, "IMPOSSIBLE!" and he would scrape his foot across the gravel in front of his toes, square up, and look at me and proclaim, "Never say 'impossible'" ... ... *swoosh*
I know he was talking about more than
NBA 3-pointers. It's days like these though, that I just feel like I'm shooting from 100 yards into one of those rigged, oblonged,
carnival hoops.