If you haven’t read it (or don’t remember the details) in the interest of time, here’s a quick recap:
During a brief encounter on the basketball court with a giant dill-hole of a man, I narrowly avoided a concussion, I called him a “Fat Ball”, he insulted my mom, and he was (in general) just an ass.
That about sums it up.
Today I was able to enjoy dolling out a little of the sweet elixir I like to call revenge.
While enjoying a little free-time in the gym childcare, I positioned myself behind the mesh gym divider that separates the “kids zone” from the “basketball zone”.
And there he was, awkwardly trying to walk and bounce a basketball at the same time, but thinking he was full of athletic swag, Mr. Fat Balls himself.
I don’t think he saw me (at first). But I saw him. And I immediately remembered that stupid ego-maniac’s arrogant grin.
I started off subtle, as not to draw attention to myself, with just a laugh here and there. But not like an innocent-kid laugh, more like a “HA-HAH, HA, HA-HAH” (to the cadence of, “NA-NAH, NA, NA-NAH”).
Then I ramped it up with general insults like, “You missed!” and “No points for you!”
When the dim-wit was finally able to put together the jumbo-size-puzzle-piece hints that I was directing my criticisms towards him, he started to really put on a show.
Sweet merciful crap, was it hilarious to watch his anger grow as his athletic ability shrank.
He couldn’t make a shot to save his life, and I was the first to point out his shortcomings.
No longer attempting to hide myself or my insults, I brought out the big guns.
I was pointing, laughing, and encouraging other children to taunt. I started chanting “YOU MISSED, YOU MISSED, YOU MISSED!” and a few of the other lemming-children joined in.
After gaining the attention of a few giggling basketball players, his delicate male ego could withstand no more, and he called upon the childcare workers to remove me from the gym.
In a climactic ending as I was escorted back to the confines of the enclosed playroom, I yelled “YOU NO GOOD AT BASKETBALL! YOU MEAN!”
After taking some time to reflect on my actions and decide if I was too hard on the chap, I am reminded of one simple fact…I am three and that douchebag is a grown ass crybaby excuse of a man.
Brennan 1, Fat-Ball 0.
