Half-Court Moon Shot

Courtesy: alphacoders.com

The Anchorage Christian Schools varsity boys’ basketball team often traversed the largest state in fifty, shooting hoops against other high school teams.

The “half-court moon shot” was an out-of-state incident that took place on a trip to the Lower 48.  Our itinerary found us jetting to Chicago, caravanning to Washington, D.C. and Virginia, and then returning home to the Land of the Midnight Sun.

After shoveling snow from numerous driveways as a fundraiser, my team and I were more than looking forward to an exciting trip.

We flew the friendly skies for several hours before landing at Chicago O’Hare International Airport, and then drove across the border to our first destination: Hammond, Indiana.

Our squad was scheduled to play in a tourney in Hammond at a Christian school that had the reputation for being, shall we say, rather strict.  Folks in the stands were well dressed and their behavior was exemplary.  The only time someone addressed a ref was to say, “Good call, Brother.”

One player on our team, Tony Bunch, was incredibly funny to listen to when something tickled him.  When this happened, Tony would yell:  “Nasty, man, nasty!”

During our first game the jet lag had no adverse effect on the boys from Alaska, as we held quite a large lead at the half.  For the entire first two quarters, everyone in the gym could hear Tony talking and giggling, offering encouragement, needling teammates, and loving life.

People fortunate enough to sit behind our bench were getting more than simply the price of admission.  The entertainment Tony provided was captivating over and above anything either team produced on the hardwood.  Little did the fans know what breathtaking beauty young Mr. Bunch would soon share with the host crowd.

The fourth quarter commenced, and the game was safely out of reach.  The Lions from Alaska were going to start out the tourney with a hard-fought win.

It was hard to believe, but Tony’s mouth was still in overdrive.

“Bunch, c’mere,” said Coach Dempsey.

Of course, Tony did not hear the coach call his name because, as my folks would say, “it’s hard to hear what someone is saying when you’re too busy talking.”

Tony was relating yet another hilarious yarn to a teammate and new found bleacher buddies and did not hear “Bunch.”

“Bunch!”

That got Chatty Kathy’s attention.

Tony immediately vacated his spot at the end of the bench and slid next to coach.

“Tony, next whistle I want you to check in for Dow.”

It appeared to be a rather simple request.

Not for Tony.

As the man in stripes blew his whistle, Tony was kneeling down at the scorer’s table ready to check into the game.  Well, he was almost ready.

In the excitement of finally getting into the game, young master Bunch had forgotten to remove his warm-up bottoms.

Funny how getting undressed in front of strangers can cause such a commotion at a strict religious institution.

Tony grabbed his warm-ups and in the exhilaration of entering the game, he gave them a hearty yank and pulled them down to the ground.

Unfortunately, warm-ups were not the only thing pulled down to the ground.

Young Mr. Bunch also accidentally grabbed a hold of his basketball shorts and pulled them down as well, in sort of a two-for-one special for the crowd.

Tony was bent over, back to the crowd (backside to be exact), minus his warm-ups and shorts.  It was at this point in time that Backside Bunch detected a noticeable breeze.

Instead of checking into the game, Tony mooned the masses!

Every noise in the building came to an abrupt halt.  Conversations stopped.  Popcorn never reached parched lips.  An eerie silence settled over the gym as those within viewing distance of this enormously white, bright light sat stunned.   Mouths hung ajar.

It was at this precise moment in the history of mankind that a loud, booming voice was heard.

“Nasty, man, nasty!”

Tony yelled that about as loud as I’ve ever heard him yell the phrase.

All of a sudden the crowd broke out laughing.  Little old ladies with buns on their heads elbowed their neighbors.  Mothers covered their little ones’ eyes.  Dads pointed and snorted.  The refs practically swallowed their whistles.  Our entire team and coach couldn’t help but laugh, as we rocked back and forth on the bench.

Tony wasn’t fazed at all by the gentle breeze blowing on his heinie–he was just thrilled to get in the game.

“Nasty, man, nasty!”