Reliving Old Times (Again)

Bannu and I actually go back a long way. Although we only realised that once I came to Chennai and hung out a bit, doing what we did the last time we met- playing basketball. The difference was this, now we were playing together while back then (in Dec 1994, to be precise), we were playing against each other, she for her Kanpur team and I for my Chennai one. It was, of course, not a big deal tournament or anything when you think about it but it was still fun and meant a great deal to us both and I think we both did well then.

We have been playing together every few days now. Bannus husband is a rock solid basketball player. My husband is of course A Tall Person and therefore must be good at Quidditch, uhh, I mean basketball. We have played together a fair bit and, when we are not fighting royally about it (mostly because he gives me lot of unsolicited advice about my game, which I think is just fine, what WNBA scout is looking, really?), have some good moves up our sleeve for public consumption.

Anyway, this past weekend was a fantastically awesome one because we had the chance to play in a three a side tournament here, on campus. Students organised it, and it consisted mostly of student teams from various hostels and so forth, with a good sprinkling of the college team players. We play with all these guys so we sort of know (and are known by) all. So it was cool to walk up to this real giant of a guy (A Very Very Tall Person), and to bellow from his knee region, 'We want to field a team. We will have girls in it.'

So that is how it came about that we kitted out and went up on Friday night. We casually took our first round match # 1. The second match was a walk over, so we were in round 2, for Saturday, sort of casually, and my husband being out of town on Friday, this was just based on Bannu, Bannu's RRS, and yours truly. As in, two girls and a guy, y'all (no pizza either). The boys we beat on Friday were of course very young, and it was really not a big deal. I at least have been playing basketball since before these kids were born, I think. Its just too bad that I did not grow (nevertheless) beyond my five foot frame, and have ankles that are shot to pieces. RRS is miles beyond these kids in every possible thing - skills, brains, training, stamina, etc. And Bannu! This Girl Is A Spit Fire, I tell you. A Spit Fire. Thats the only way to describe her.

Come Saturday, husband back in town, the odds were stacked somewhat better in our favour. We took our two games that day fairly casually. But only because of some spectacular defense (against The Very Very Tall Boy) by RRS, and some excellent plays by all of us (not just the men, I swear). Bannu and I decided to substitute for each other, so that there was only one (short) woman on the court at any time. (Bannu is not as short as I am, but really, she is a small one for a basketball court ya, for sure, even in India and in our geek campus).

So then Sunday. Semi-finals and finals were the only games left. Although I did not voice it, I went in saying in my mind 'We are going all the way, we are WINNING this whole damn thing, not just the semi-final' The semi-final was against these three guys from outside the campus, whom we play all the time. I felt super confident that we could win against them. Despite the fact that one of them is taller even than RRS and my husband, and shoots some spectacular three pointers. I felt super super sure that Bannu & I could take care of the weakest member on their team - a slightly plump (but strong) fellow. And we did. And with that out of the way, it was the final.

I was not so sure about our ability for the final match-up. The team was young. The college team captain, another kid somewhat tall, and a third guy who clearly knows the game very well. But, somehow (strangely! this has never happened before in my past life, I swear), I knew we had to win it, and that we would, although the odds were clearly against us. We are about 2x their age. The foreigner type guy has a phenomenal jump shot. The captain fellow obviously has good basketball instincts. We had a tough day. Shopping for a somewhat meaningful gift for child's upcoming birthday, in the Chennai heat. Late lunch. A work event (husband's) for which I had to don a sari. A shady thumb - infected for sure, ignored till post-match. Bad ankles (me). Bad knees all around, obviously if you have played as much basketball as we all have. But what the heck!

Gender = Just a Letter

Age = Just a Number

Injuries = Are for pansies

All the way, baby, all the way, and back (six point game). And no further injuries (most importantly!). A good endorphin high. An underdog victory. And come Monday morning, back to being profs, parents, and traveling consultants. An overall feeling of satisfaction! I love the game, I think I do well, I know I have my limitations, I have my off days, but I feel happy that I brought my good game yesterday and did not let my team down. But mostly, I am just grateful that I had the chance to play with these two Bannu and RRS who are just phenomenal people. Its also appropriate that that court, where we played yesterday, is exactly where, back in 1991, I played a match (which we finally lost) in which I made around 12 fast break conversions as a tiny freshie college girl and this hulk of a guy walked up to me and patted me on the head and said 'Good game kid.' I did not make that many baskets last night, I have become a much better defender though and he said 'Good game Kenny' last night in the car ride home....

On beauty and black eyes

one of those impossible girls in college was busy classifying us all. a good exercise for a lazy afternoon, and worth the effort since we were a surprisingly large number of girls, twenty in all (okay, it was some 5% of the total class strength nevertheless). so the categories were as follows:
(a) beautiful
(b) beauty conscious
(c) both

it was an interesting exercise. there were many in category (a). mostly they live in bangalore now (for some strange reason), though there is one in new york as well (yes, i mean you). there were some in category (b), as declared by the girl-friend, herself leading the list. thanks to modeling herself after certain ladies of foreign climes, i suppose chox found herself categorised in (c), along with a few others.

i was totally curious to know where i would be. of course (b) was out of the question. but since i am fair (for a south indian that is, okay fine, wheatish complexion if you will; okay now, i am not that fair, but i am surely very very just), i was totally sure that i would be in (a). come on now. what else could be the criteria except complexion? my hair. well. my big fat nose. there is that.

so of course i fell off the chair and felt like hiding in a dark corner when she said i am

(d) none of the above.

in a separate category all by my own lonesome self...

i was so upset i hardly talked to her the rest of the day (who am i kidding? i felt so proud to have my own category!) . the next day i cornered her again and asked her to state her reasons. then the story came out.

see, a month or so prior to this exercise, one fine day, we were playing basketball. since a tournament was sort of round the corner, the coach had brought in these kids from a nearby school (all boys) for us to play against. yes, its true. these were kids in the VII and VIII standard mostly. height-wise, it was okay with me, but there were other girls on my team that were normal. so anyway i was being my usual aggressive self (so what if they are boys half my age? i have never let that stop me, even now, from going nuts). the boys were trying to play a game amidst all the pinching and so on (just kidding, my girls were cool, never pinched or bit).

suddenly from somewhere two of us, one slightly rotund boy of VII standard, and my own self, skinny and wheatish with scraggly hair, collided in mid-air, presumably after the same basketball. the ball went on its way and found itself in other hands. my face hit his upper arm or elbow or some such, but when i landed back on the ground, i went away from collision spot muttering a sorry. later when examined in the hostel, it panned out that i had a nice wonderful black eye. people that have experience with black eyes know that they are also blue and tinged occasionally with flecks of purple and green. all in all, it was a beaut.

i went to class, merrily, my war wound on proud display. "basketball injury" i would tell people if (i mean when) they asked me. "oh ah" they said and went on their way. the professors kept their cool and silence, knowing that i was eccentric and crazy.

the girl friend in question was watching all this with avid interest (and much horror). she tried to pull me aside and advise me. "stay back in your room, don't step out" she said. "oh why on earth not? already my attendance in that class is close to bad and anyway it hardly hurts, just some discomfort" i replied. "no its not that" said she. "its just that its so ugly your eye and if i was in your place i would take every measure to ensure that no one sees my face looking like that."

i laughed at her and assured her i care a damn what other people think. and really, i was extremely of my black eye. whats there to hide? i wanted to portray this rough and tough and tomboy image, belying my five foot forty five kilo body structure. at any rate i hate fussing over small injuries and so on and would rather do everything to get back to normal conditions soon.

but that incident, coupled with myriad others of similar nature, put me in category (d), back then, all those years ago, in a college with twenty other girls (okay nineteen others if you want to split hairs), amidst three hundred smelly boys (none of whom were even considered for classification so i was, in a sense, one up on them).

this sunday, in our friendly game of basketball meanwhile, the husband, love of my life and what not, hit the ball when it was in my hand. it landed on my face. i tried to cleverly claim a foul which he refused to grant. at any rate the ball was still in my hand after that and ignoring the twinge of pain i continued the game, cursing him and calling him a brute all the while. when i got home i had a nice black eye, not as big as the earlier one, but there, nevertheless.

i remembered the good old days. i remembered and rejoiced at being in category (d). i refused offers to ice it (i suppose he felt a bit regretful about it later, considering i am just a month out of typhoid and stuff), and proudly went to office with it. nothing has changed, in these twenty odd years...

Oh! There was an agenda!

Apparently, the annual alumni meet is supposed to shake the world. Yes, such are the delusions prevalent in my alma matter to date. At least, knowing it as I do, the alma matter could care a rat's ass but the well-placed alumni feel this is an occasion to pontificate at length and have panel discussions and other such jazz, and, at the end, breathe a collective sigh of contentment and exclaim on how effective and wonderful and wondrous and so on the whole thing was. 3000 people attended! Nine parallel tracks of discussions! Unbelievable number of ideas were generated! Such like. ludwig of course has it absolutely right when he calls it the wtf of the century.

I strolled in, monster in hand, and found this bloody ten foot board of small print indicating the various activities one could indulge in. The only relevant one was conveniently kept off the board of course (i.e. could not proclaim to the world that among our other important traits, as a unit, we are alcoholics). My eyes promptly glazed over. The monster took this opportunity to start scratching in the mud. Really. I mean you could have knocked me down with a feather. Never known her to do such things. Mind you, I had books in my back-pack, which I of course was not going to release as yet. She scratched in various colours of mud, and since thankfully her father was away some where, I just let her, only having palpitations when she got too close to the main road as she was playing.

Several frantic messages later I was joined by our girl gang and their paraphernalia. I vetoed all suggestions of attending sessions, made all of them hang out in the coffee area, encouraged the children to follow my daughter as she jumped up and down some yellow bean bags in the exhibition area, and happily drank some juice that one of the kindly husbands bought for all of us. Then was lunch. Which was a nasty combination of unpalatable things. I sat next to a three year old budding IPS officer from Kadapa, and marvelled at his adventurousness in sampling all the shady things that were included in our box of food. We then loped slowly over to our hostel to hang out. It was really beautiful. We all felt really nostalgic, but in a happy sort of way. We talked schools and kids, and of course, all the vague things that we remembered from those long ago days when we queued up there to brush our teeth.

The kids were awesome. I could not play much with them because really, Chennai was too hot for human consumption (even for a semi-Mumbaiite). It was a pleasant surprise to find the husbands so cool and accomodating of our madness. Of course I also met a lot of my husband's friends many of whose names I promptly forgot. Plus I had a long-ish run (the idea was to run 20 k but I chickened out after 8 k thanks to foot); an excellent game of basketball (which improved my foot's condition somehow :-)), both on campus, and another short but fast run of about 6 k outside the campus. Met with our Californian friends (who have returned home to roost in Chennai), visited the most beautiful campus of The School (just too awesome), had an official meeting (where I got immensely pained because, get this, some one slimed into the office as I was having my meeting and refused to leave, plus he kept talking, idiot, I wish sometimes that I was blunter than I am), drank some poison called Kalyani Black Label (and regretted it immensely; give me my Kingfisher any day), showed off my hostel room (from the outside) to the monster, and of course, mom-daughter used the hostel loos (and lived to tell the tale).

One afternoon, while everyone was busy networking and whatever the shit they were doing, a bunch of us sat our asses down on some chairs in our usual coffee shop place. Nothing has changed there. He was even using the same nasty paper plates - the super flimsy ones that make Maggi Noodles spill out ignominously. People came and went. We just could not get up. Several suggestions were made. Lets do this. That. Or the other. But inertia ruled. The monster, thankfully, found full occupation in an emaciated kitten and its mother (who seemed to be playing hide and seek with each other). I gossiped a bit with my girl friend. Mainly things like who we are fatter than and who we are not fatter than. You know, the usual. Another of the girls came over. She tried to compare her beer belly with one of the guys. Yeah, while being dressed very primly in a major salwar suit. Totally crazy.

Finally since we were staying with friends and they had to go back to get their child, we forced ourselves to leave. But slowly. And having planned to meet a few more people over dinner that night. I got a lot of rest the next day, and although I did not even attend anything at all the entire time, it was all very awesome and completely jam packed. It was really nice to see all the familiar faces and compare notes about children. And the children themselves were all so absolutely darling. Unlike this whiny boy who was on the flight with me just now and who kept going 'DADDY DADDY' in the world's most irritating voice. Grr.

Back at the helm, as it were, damn tired and eyes bugging out though. Its too damn hot ya. Meanwhile the husband has come up with three important points to consider regarding Chennai:
1. Booze is not to be had by ringing up at Two-Five-Seven-Zero-One-One-One-Nine. No sir.
2. The weather. Seriously. Should borrow some Bangalore into the city (minus the LPG fumes).
3. Gas Cylinders (As if the man cares about this, really, but he objects. They offend his sensitive eye).
And has dismissed my points such as (a) Salwar Kameezes (help!) (b) People waking up and talking loudly at 5 am (c) Unnecessary traffic and fly-over type situations.

Liquid Diet

I occasionally joke that we are still on liquids. I mean when people start eating their dinner and as far as I can tell, the husb. & I are still sipping (uhh gulping) our liquids. And startlingly, the child has inherited my capacity for liquids and solids. She does pretty well with juices and milk and lassi and so on but is particularly annoying with chewy things like naans and tofu and so on. Anyway we met up with a big bunch of friends over the break and it was great fun as usual. Other than that we drove around all over Chennai and met with all nearby relatives, which was a lot of fun too. The little niece was there and boy, she has a TON of hair. We all took turns coochie-cooing her and of course missed her like crazy when she left early one morning. Somehow the entire family was united in stating that he fully deserved it when she unleashed some potty on the husband. He was acting all smug and showing off and saying look she is so comfy with me; she is hanging out in my lap; she loves her big uncle and so on and really, we all felt very satisfied at the end of it. MIL and I are generally pathetic in estimating the amount of rice required to feed a normal family. This time was no exception and much to everyone's mirth we had about three times as much puliodarai as could feed a small hostel of teenagers. But it was yummy. With great enthusiasm, the husband and I, in one voice, decided to stop denying crackers to our child. It is her decision to abhor and avoid them in her later years, obviously. We bought her some flower pots and those swirly wheel things and of course sparklers. I was quite surprised at how brave she was with all of it, and, how unnecessarily worried I was (I am turning into my own mom, heaven help me). I wore saris like it was no one's business. I even took a nap wearing my sari. Of course the monster was all over the paavadais. We had two exercise sessions (I prudently wore shorts to those; not the sari). A 5k run followed by stairs one day. A 7k run and a game of basketball the other day. The latter with two old buddies from college; it was just too poignantly happy an occasion. We were all back in the old alma mater and lo and behold one of the markers (the guys who put that rangoli white thing to mark the tracks and so on) whom we know from our days as students showed up. He got us a ball and some water. We played. It was nice. I held back my aggression though regretted it later when in the night drinking session the boys felt smug on winning the game. Pssh. Food-wise, apart from mountains of puliodarai, I was very careful and cautious. I ate two pieces of Kaju Katli. One very small piece of thattai. Two vadais (that MIL made); and two more vadais (from Saravana Bhavan, with the breakfast idlis). When we ate out, I ate rice and sambar and curd. In small quantities. I ate one Gulab Jamoon that a relative offerred us (she had made it herself). BUT I woke up yesterday and my stomach was lurching around. I am still in bad shape. Tired and stomach is cramping. Must test how the lunch will work out... See, liquids are better.

I am a monster myself

See many of you have been complaining to me off and on-line about calling this one a monster. But I mean it in the nicest way. And just so that you feel a bit better about it, I will tell you about how I have become a monster myself. Its like the childhood game where we would 'So if I am a monkey and you are my sister then you are a monkey too so ha ha ha' (well I doubt anyone else had as deprived and weird a childhood as I did. but well, that was how it was with me).

So this is of recent vintage. On Tuesday I went out of the house thinking of a nice calm walk around the place as I was feeling a bit funny and had my period. I thought of all my calcium being lost and the fact that I really do suffer some pain and decided that one day of a chilled out work-out in a week is a good thing. So I went and walked a bit in the park downstairs. Then I got very inspired to see some people running and started running like crazy. I ran three or four rounds and then felt serious stomach cramps. Okay so this is a first. Usually I have cramps at night. Or mid-morning. But this one was sort of really painful and going on as I was running. I must have looked a fright. But hey this is Mumbai, people went on their way. I sat down on the grass for a bit and then lay down for a bit more and then it passed and I was fine again. Now a non-monster would then go home right. Well, I did go home too but I climbed twenty-four floors to get there. On wednesday was my kick boxing. Thursday I went to the gym and did a crazy biking set. Friday, thankfully, the husband went out of town, and since the kid and all that and school, I just slept a bit extra and hung loose (and ate chocolate!). Saturday is our weekly uphill run. Which was good but not satisfying in a way as I felt NOTHING after it. I mean legs should ache after your exercise. To me thats the point. So saturday evening, yesterday that is, I had a whole day of work, came back to find the kid all wide-eyed and so on and husband fast asleep (at 5 pm). I dragged him awake after much nagging, stuffed all nature of things into that reluctant little mouth (apple, milk, etc.) and we went off to play basketball. (Un)fortunately, there was a game on. Alumni match or some such. Based on his height, the husband got recruited and given a t-shirt. Based on my lack of height, my gender, and possible the monster vibes I was exhibiting, I was not. I had SO much energy that I just could not sit down. The kid was in a similar mood and climbed up and down a bunch of stairs about a million times and skitted over to the sand-pit and back a zillion times. So then I started running, and I kid you not, I just could not STOP. I ran and ran and sprinted and walked and walked and sprinted. Since there was no one around (jdb that means you) to run with I had to force the kid to race with me. I had to give her a 15 m handicap for a 50 m sprint (as she gets real irritated when I defeat her - silly girl does not realise that this can happen only for a few more years now; as my body ages and hers reaches its peak athletic form. oh well, kids, you got to indulge them sometimes). And FINALLY the game started and I forced myself to sit down and watch. I stunk it up big time as of course I sweated gallons after all that running around. Mosquitoes nestled comfortably in my legs. We returned home and I had a good relaxing evening with my homies and this morning again, EXCESS energy. Kick boxing was good I thudded the bag fairly hard. And we are going out for lunch. But all I can think about is going to the stadium in the evening.

These are the times when I feel I should just quit my job and do two sets of serious exercise every day and be a mommy and change table-clothes in between. Then I have to remind myself that (a) I am not Sania Mirza and never will be and (b) I studied and studied so I could do this job and I really like it and (c) Heck! I am a middle aged hag.

Monster genes man. Monster genes.

Glory Road

In continuation of my underdogs and basketball theme. Glory Road - this a movie based on the 1966 NCAA tournament. Which is the college basketball hungama in the US of A. In general, compared to the professional league, the NCAA has good solid basketball, the kind that is a team game and not just one person of elephantine proportions pushing to the hoop with his buttocks. I I am a purist right (thats what my mum says) so I really like the college tournament, overall. There are occasionally some guys who are really short (which is like five and half feet or so!) so I feel somewhat vindicated in my choice of favourite sport!!!

Anyway, this is back in 1966. All the players were generally white. This particular team, Texas Western, had seven black players. They were good. One was a particularly jazzy center; the shooter was short (5ft 6in) but amazingly accurate, and so on. No one believed that this team would go anywhere in the tournament. Lots of fun was made about how basketball was a thinking game and just muscle and physical size could not a champion team make. The media seems to have been quite a bit biased against the African Americans players.The coach, called Don Haskins, was a white guy who really believed in his team and his players. But it was just not the done thing, with the colour prejudices of that day, especially in the Southern states. Of course, the team made it to the final that year, with a spectacular in-season record. The movie does a great job of showing us this stuff, sort of real, I am sure a wee bit jazzed up, but not much. The final showdown is with this real arrogant coach Adolph Rupp's team & defending champions, The University of Kentucky Wildcats.

The odds are stacked against the Texas Western Miners. The crowd routinely boos and throws tomatoes(?) at them when they enter the court. Some rifts and general fights between the white and black players have erupted. They are playing the defending champs. They have never been in a final before, of this or any other magnitude. In a completely gut-wrenching moment, Haskins declares that he will only field his black players in the final game. That means that the seven of them will play the entire duration. While it is his way of making a phenomenally huge point to everyone, it is rather sad for the white players, who have worked equally hard, and have families watching out for them.

Of course, the real story is that this team actually picked up the championship that year, creating a HUGE, unprecedented upset. Victory to the underdogs in a basketball game is one thing, but this went way further than that in creating history.

I LOVE these sports movies. This one especially, cause of the message, the real story behind it, my undying support of the underdog, my hatred of arrogant men. But as the end credits roll, they show us what each player of this team went on to do. The coach went on to bring an incredible number of championships to the college. Some of the players were recruited by professional basketball teams, and did well. MANY of them went on to be teachers and coaches. To me, this was the most important message of the movie. These were phenomenally good players, and the type of momentum they had from this tournament could have taken them anywhere. The fact that so many of them ended up in the teaching profession made me feel real good!

Oh yeah, apologies for the spoilers, but come on, these movies would not have been made if the outcome was any other! Some of the facts are sure to have been distorted for cinematic effect, but the basic funda is true. Comparisons with recent bollywood churnings such as Chak De and Goal may be made of course, but keep in mind there is no Shah Rukh Khan in a goatee wheeling a Bajaj scooter, and, better still, no John Abraham and Bipasha Basu dancing. I saw it this weekend on TV, imagine that, now I want to find the DVD of the final game itself and watch it ...

Root for the underdog!

I love the underdog - has my support always. In sports & games, and in life. It helps of course that I see myself as the victimized underdog in most situations...

Have been playing some basketball recently. Its an old love of mine. Not played in ages though due to being otherwise busy and not having the right company. Last week I decided that I would go shoot some baskets, by myself. Break a sweat. Get some fresh air in my lungs. I love the game (did I say that already?) so it is also useful in improving my mood. But it brought back memories. Which are not always a good thing. Here I was, not bothering anyone, with my own ball, alone at a ring, shooting. After my initial warm-up, I was really nailing the shots. Then some guys showed up. Young people, part of the team, whatever. They were forced to shoot at one of the other rings, which was not that great (the net was torn). They were just two of them, the full team was presumably going to show later. But still, these guys, some ten years younger than me, came up to me and said, do you mind shifting to the other (torn netted) ring. I am very non-confrontational these days, more so than before even. I moved. Same thing the next day. It was fine, no big loss since the monster was getting antsy so I left soon after anyway, and really, a lone person needn't hog the one good ring on the premises. At the same time, I did feel that, if I was a taller, younger person of the opposite gender, without a kid in tow (she was not playing, she was running around the place, mostly) they would not have been so presumptuous. Or something.

This has always happened. Back in college, we girls were always relegated to the very rough tar court on the side, while the boys played in the nice new concrete one. This per-se did not bother me as much as the fact that the boys were always late for practice, and always disrespectful of the grounds staff, and generally quite obnoxious. Not all of them, I suppose, but once they are together like that I cease to view them as individuals, think of them just as a single homogeneous mass. Anyway, I wore out the soles of several shoes that my parents could ill-afford, on that tar court. I even remember owning a pair of PINK power shoes at one time, bought carefully in the Bata Seconds store in Mysore. The one near the single movie theatre that played English movies (and no, did not watch a movie). That one, despite the colour (it was only available in that colour in my size), served me reasonably well. Although I bled on it one time when I fell.

Now I don't worry about my shoes. I can buy new ones easily. Meaning, there is a store nearby with a decent selection of women's shoes in non-offensive colours. But I do like to have a nice net on my ring. I like the ring to be not slanting. I don't like patches of water on the court. I don't like people coming up to me and asking me to move. I really don't. I have as much right as anyone else on those courts, and, looking at it from certain angles, am, possibly, maybe, in some sense at least, better than them at the game (not that that needs to be any consideration). Even if I am older, shorter, and whatever. I don't mind moving, heck, those kids need their practice for sure since they will play matches. I am not going to stay there shooting baskets till dusk becomes dawn. But I don't like their presumption that they have more right over there. Its just that easy to be nice about it. Ask if THEY can join me and shoot there (since I reached before they did), and also incidentally mention that once their team members show up they would need the whole court. That would be just fine. I would feel good.

There is another ring there, as in, another good one. Some hotch-potch mixture of people are usually playing a crazy-ass game at that one. Like ten people playing together in one half court. That is nuts. I guess I could do that. Find a crowd. I have arranged countless number of games like that back in graduate school. We had loads of fun, and no one (typically, unless it was a tournament) asked us to leave. But I am not in that place now. The husband's back is in bad shape. I don't have enough time to make numerous phone calls, wait around for everyone to show, deal with traffic delays, whatever. I just want to go there, shoot around a bit, break a sweat, hear the sweet swoosh when I hit it just right, practise the behind the back dribble, and, at least for a half an hour at a time, forget all about office, home, child, husband, trips, cholesterol, calories, letters, forms, interviews, whatever.

I guess its not meant to be. The odds are stacked against me. The thing I could do is, I could go there in the mornings. No young person in his senses (there are VERY few women there, believe you me) will wake up at 6 am for a game of basketball. Ha! The trick is to be an underdog who is not only clever, but also crazy enough to wake up at 5:30 am. Ha! I will have nature's own light. Fresh crisp morning air. Dew on the grass. Monster safely out of the way, sleeping. And me and the good ring (with the net). Bollocks to the pimply boys then. Here I come...