The Forum

Issue date: 3/16/10 Section: Sports

Media Credit: Mitch Dumke [Click to enlarge]

Basketball was dead to me.

Well it was dead, until I met Michael Stockton.

He and I were 2010 Mr. Westminster candidates. Normally I avoid hyper-masculine ESPN watching athletic males in favor of the sensitive, let's eat a pint of Ben and Jerry's and watch "Sleepless in Seattle" types. This isn't to say, Stockton would object to gluttony and a film. Being a pageant contestant with him has taught me, Stockton would be "down." Although I'm sure he would insist on using his own spoon.

The 2010 Mr. Westminster Pageant was my second competition. I've been a Westminster student for two years. Each year the title should have clearly gone to moi. I was substantially more entertaining. Mais non, the judges, in their incompetence, selected one of my associate pageanteers for the grand prize.

Don't worry. I don't get mad. I get even.

Nikola Mijic, the 2009 champion, will suffer a testicular hemorrhage in three years. And I plan to consult again with Miss Cleo on how Mitchell Dumke will be cursed.

I couldn't help but pity the mediocre performance Stockton gave during the pageant. He stimulated my curiosity. I had to know more about him and this thing called "basketball." Like a natural predator, keen on making their way to an unsuspecting prey, I chastised Stockton for "sucking" at the dance moves we were all required to learn. His retort was a rather pious "my bad" with a slight ebonic tone to it. I heard the same phrase from him seven more times that same night. The repetition was perfect guilt material, and, of course, I used it.

Stockton took advantage of the pageant audience to promote the upcoming men's basketball game. I had gained a fondness for the boy. I had to step outside my elegant mold and join the ranks of the Nest's front lines. (Though I always made sure a few pawns were in front of me. A lady can't be too modest.)

The testosterone of the crowd must have been contagious that night. I think my balls dropped a second time. It was such fun cheering on the Griffins for my first time.

I wasn't always bitter. Nor was I oblivious to the game of basketball. Ironically I used to watch Stockton's father play on a regular basis. John was certainly a hero of my childhood. Although in the dreadful years when the Utah Jazz gave up two NBA Championships to the Chicago Bulls, my childhood dreams were trashed. I was 13 years old. No more would I waste my thoughts and prayers. I turned my efforts to exploring the wonders of nail polish and eye liner.

Continued...

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