Heroic Archetypes & Texas Trollops

My posting of Andre Miller’s 52 puntos match led a reader named Joe to inquire:

So when you hit your first over-50-point game, how will you react? 
I’m thinking one hand with five fingers up, the other in the shape of "0." 

Maybe with Pau crying in amazement as he walks off court, too.

Ah, Joe, I enjoy your mental workings! Further, this made me reflect on how my mates punctuate their heroic deeds on the court in their own inimitable fashions. Take the making of a three-pointer, por ejemplo. At least three archetypes respond to this occasion:

1.) The Rock of Gibraltar: This imperturbable contestant has equal measures of testosterone and chilled sangria coursing in his capillaries. Overt displays of emotion are unmanly and louche, so after the sinking of a key shot, the Rock lopes downcourt in a dignified manner. (One clenched fist is allowable.) Post-shot gaze: The rafters. Internal dialogue: “Yesss.” Team examples: Brandon Roy, Nic Batum, Steve Blake, Andre Miller

2.) The Conquistador: This alpha player harkens back to the primordial basketball matches that our distant ancestors engaged in. Fiery rage burns through the Conquistador’s cardio-vascular system, and one senses that beneath the thin veneer of civilization lurks a berserker yearning to don armor and swing a largish axe. Post-shot gaze: Angrily directed at opposing player, opposing team mascot, and/or opposing referee. Internal dialogue: “In your @#$! face!” “Take THAT!” “I proved them ALL wrong!” Team example: Jerryd Bayless

3.) The Matador: Some players wish to dominate, but others are performance artists who simply enjoy the stage. Thus the Matador would happily throw roses into the crowd after delivery of a distant heave. Post-shot gaze: The applauding crowd at home games, one's benchmates when away. Internal dialogue: “I do this for you!” Team example: Do not make me be coy!

Nota adicional: The Matador may find that a peril of pleasing the crowd is that its members may join your team huddle, as happened this week in Dallas! Two women came onto the floor during a time-out, and one wrapped her arms around me. "Rudy, I love you, nice to meet you. Good game," she said huskily. While I was taken aback, rest assured that Cristina was NOT amused. (She called the two "unvarnished trollops"!)

(Astute readers will note that I have not included Martell Webster in a category. That is because, like Proteus, Martell’s various moods dictate which class he belongs to.)

Fotos from the Oregonian, Der Spiegel's account of the El Colacho baby-jumping festival, and With Leather.