¡Champú en la ropa interior!

In all immodesty, I must share that my lanky frame has always been blessed with a measure of coordinations. Por ejemplo, there is the occasion of my first attempt playing at golf.

On my home island of Mallorca, golf is thought of as a womanly sport (and rightly so!) by the scarred and weatherbeaten fishermen. So it was not until my adult years that I swung a club not intended to batter a fish’s brain matter. I remember being led onto a course by a comely golf instructor tightly clad in the synthetic fibers.

She instructed, “You see that green area about 400 yards from here? Try hitting the ball onto it.”

I did so. After trudging to the green area, I inquired, “Now what?”

Here eyebrows lifted. “Now you hit the ball into that hole.”

¡Santo vaca! I laughed in surprise, gesturing back to where I had struck the ball. “Why didn’t you tell me that back there?”

Perhaps she had assumed that because I am a Spaniard, time-efficiency is of disinterest to me. So I hope the mujer de golf viewed my time-efficient heroics in our recent match against the most reviled Denver Nuggets. 

As you can see in the película, the sands of time were slipping away when I catapulted the ball of destiny skywards.

¡Pum— tres puntero!

And after Brandon Roy hoisted his own heroic deed, we entered overtiming, and emerged victorious-ing!

These moments of conquest are almost enough to wash away a recent, bitter memory of mine. No, not the departure of Joel Pryzbilla, although that gritty giant is already missed. Nor the arrival of the silent ebon colossus known as Gerald Wallace. No mi amigo, I refer to the incident following our winnings against the New Orleans Hornets.

In a fit of excitement following the match, Patty Mills committed an act most felonious. While I showered the grimes of competetition from my torso, the antipodean dwarf filled my underwear with shampoo. Shampoo!

Most worse, the substance was some vile Australian cleanser that rendered my undergarment useless. (But even as I drove homewards without it, I smiled at Patty’s defense of the move: “No worries, mate… I was just trying to put some roo in your ’do!”)

Top foto from Yardbarker.com,

Brandon Roy by Rick Bowmer for AP.