An ominous cloud followed me as I trekked to the gym, contemplating the battle to come. It had been years, 2 to be exact, since my last campaign. This battle, dear reader, is not fought with swords and shields, but with Rubber balls and Elbows, and, as I were to later discover, with embattled lungs and cirrhosed livers.
I scouted the gym, my head on a swivel, as I checked in. My soldier’s uniform clung to me as I took my final steps to no man land. My ZBT bone thug’s n harmony concert T felt stifling. I lamented and cursed my cross trainer Air Max’s, wishing papa wasn’t too poor to send me to battle with Basketball shoes, like the nobleman and sons of heraldry. As I approached the court, there he was, my honorable enemy in all his glory, practicing his thrusts and jousts. To my delight, what is that!? Yes, he has cross trainers too! Another apprentice warrior, surely Aries and other heathen God of wars have looked down favorably on this day, my judgment day.
After a few pleasantries, the battle raged. Elbows flew, Basketballs bricked, Women cried. Bodies fell like knapsacks only to rise again like a phoenix with that orange ball of fire. The court began to populate with other warriors and onlookers, amazed by the skill and abilities of these out of shaped commoners (or the opposite).
Finally, a break in the action and an obvious advantage for one side became clear through the cloudy play. The victor rose while the loser almost fainted. AND THE VICTOR WAS…………………… not me.
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