Read Online Me and Miranda Mullaly by Jake Gerhardt - Free Book Online
Authors: Jake Gerhardt
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all alone under the basket. So all I need is for Chollie Muller to make the passâthe pass
he
draws up during the time-outâso I can put the ball in the basket and we can win the championship.
Itâs not that difficult, right?
And the best part is Miranda Mullaly is practically right under the basket. So I get to be the hero and Miranda Mullaly gets to jump in my arms and the whole school gets to pour out of the bleachers and do a victory dance at center court.
But none of this happens. None of this happens because Chollie Muller, the fathead, decides to shoot when heâs got two Cedarbrook players draped over him. Lucky for Chollie, the ref calls a foul. So now all Chollie has to do is make the two free throws and we win.
We line up and the gym is pretty quiet, and I look at Chollie, then down at my feet to make sure I donât get a lane violation. Then I look at Chollie again and youâll never believe what I see. Chollie isnât looking at the rim andconcentrating on his shot, but instead is looking at Miranda Mullaly. Iâm not making this up.
Well, of course, Chollie misses the first shot because heâs not even looking at the basket. Unbelievable.
Then it gets even quieter, if thatâs possible. Chollie bends his knees and looks like heâs going to make the shot, and weâll at least have overtime.
Clank!
Right off the rim, and we lose.
Itâs ugly in the locker room after the game. Like all of the teachers at Penn Valley, Coach is a nut job. Heâs actually crying. Itâs kind of weird watching a grown man cry over a basketball game, it really is. And then as heâs sitting there he grabs one of my socks and starts wiping his nose with it.
So I leave the locker room with only one sock, and we lost the big game, and now I know that Chollie Muller has got a thing for Miranda Mullaly. And I have to meet up with Erica Dickerson at the library tonight. And my mom is going to yell at me because I only have one sock (I donât want to touch my other one because Coachâs snot is all over it). If anybody should be crying, it should be me.
Duke
Thanks to Neal and Cassandra having used my upbringing as a sociological experiment, I know basketball.
When I was eight, I was the point guard for the Immaculate Conception Cougars.
When I was nine, I played the two (shooting guard) for Beth Shalom synagogue.
When I was ten and a few inches taller, I played power forward for the Penn Valley United Methodist church.
When I was eleven, I centered a scrappy and surprisingly sprightly team for the Penn Valley Zendo. 15
When I was twelve, Neal and Cassandra finished their religious studies. And thus came to an end both my basketball career and my game of theological musical chairs. If they had ever asked me, I would have told them I wanted to keep on playing. I was also rather enjoying my unorthodox religious journey. But alas, they never asked.
The point is, I know basketball. I know a zone defense, the importance of the pressure on the ball, how to blockpassing lanes, and why itâs important for the point guard to penetrate on offense.
What I witnessed in the gym this afternoon was hardly basketball. It was a bunch of poorly prepared and solipsistic 16 Penn Valley eighth-graders disgracing both themselves and Penn Valley Middle School. I only went to the game so I could write the following report for the school newspaper:
MULLER SNATCHES DEFEAT FROM THE JAWS OF VICTORY
Eagles Lose Championship Again
by Duke Vanderbilt Samagura (Sports Editor)
With the game on the line and the championship in sight, Charles âChollieâ Muller missed two free throws with no time remaining, sealing the fate of the Golden Eagles and ending the season short of the championship.
The Eagles played their hearts out against a well-coached and seasoned Wildcats team from rival Cedarbrook. The Eagles jumped off to a quickstart, leading the Wildcats by four at the end of the
he
draws up during the time-outâso I can put the ball in the basket and we can win the championship.
Itâs not that difficult, right?
And the best part is Miranda Mullaly is practically right under the basket. So I get to be the hero and Miranda Mullaly gets to jump in my arms and the whole school gets to pour out of the bleachers and do a victory dance at center court.
But none of this happens. None of this happens because Chollie Muller, the fathead, decides to shoot when heâs got two Cedarbrook players draped over him. Lucky for Chollie, the ref calls a foul. So now all Chollie has to do is make the two free throws and we win.
We line up and the gym is pretty quiet, and I look at Chollie, then down at my feet to make sure I donât get a lane violation. Then I look at Chollie again and youâll never believe what I see. Chollie isnât looking at the rim andconcentrating on his shot, but instead is looking at Miranda Mullaly. Iâm not making this up.
Well, of course, Chollie misses the first shot because heâs not even looking at the basket. Unbelievable.
Then it gets even quieter, if thatâs possible. Chollie bends his knees and looks like heâs going to make the shot, and weâll at least have overtime.
Clank!
Right off the rim, and we lose.
Itâs ugly in the locker room after the game. Like all of the teachers at Penn Valley, Coach is a nut job. Heâs actually crying. Itâs kind of weird watching a grown man cry over a basketball game, it really is. And then as heâs sitting there he grabs one of my socks and starts wiping his nose with it.
So I leave the locker room with only one sock, and we lost the big game, and now I know that Chollie Muller has got a thing for Miranda Mullaly. And I have to meet up with Erica Dickerson at the library tonight. And my mom is going to yell at me because I only have one sock (I donât want to touch my other one because Coachâs snot is all over it). If anybody should be crying, it should be me.
Duke
Thanks to Neal and Cassandra having used my upbringing as a sociological experiment, I know basketball.
When I was eight, I was the point guard for the Immaculate Conception Cougars.
When I was nine, I played the two (shooting guard) for Beth Shalom synagogue.
When I was ten and a few inches taller, I played power forward for the Penn Valley United Methodist church.
When I was eleven, I centered a scrappy and surprisingly sprightly team for the Penn Valley Zendo. 15
When I was twelve, Neal and Cassandra finished their religious studies. And thus came to an end both my basketball career and my game of theological musical chairs. If they had ever asked me, I would have told them I wanted to keep on playing. I was also rather enjoying my unorthodox religious journey. But alas, they never asked.
The point is, I know basketball. I know a zone defense, the importance of the pressure on the ball, how to blockpassing lanes, and why itâs important for the point guard to penetrate on offense.
What I witnessed in the gym this afternoon was hardly basketball. It was a bunch of poorly prepared and solipsistic 16 Penn Valley eighth-graders disgracing both themselves and Penn Valley Middle School. I only went to the game so I could write the following report for the school newspaper:
MULLER SNATCHES DEFEAT FROM THE JAWS OF VICTORY
Eagles Lose Championship Again
by Duke Vanderbilt Samagura (Sports Editor)
With the game on the line and the championship in sight, Charles âChollieâ Muller missed two free throws with no time remaining, sealing the fate of the Golden Eagles and ending the season short of the championship.
The Eagles played their hearts out against a well-coached and seasoned Wildcats team from rival Cedarbrook. The Eagles jumped off to a quickstart, leading the Wildcats by four at the end of the
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