In 1988 a hurricane had savagely struck the Yucatan. Ships crowded the streets of Isla Mujeres across from the basketball court, where me and la Mayans played against the Italian National Women’s under-21 team. A crowd gathered. My short comrades and I shook their hand and we vowed to play them like gentlemen.
The first time down the court the 6-2 forward threw an elbow at my head and the bone connected with my skull.
After that it was on.
I shot for shit, but I hacked the forward a thousand times and we won to the cheers of the locals. The brunette slurred, “Sfigato.”
Through the fuzz of my concussion I recalled an old Latin curse and said, “Vescere bracis meis.”?
Almost no one in the plaza understood the dead language phrase ‘eat my shorts, but the forward she whispered, “Victus.”
“Semper, but no one wins forever.”
I signaled for beers from the nearest cantina and we drank to basketball.
It was a game we all loved