I thought it was all just a dream.
I was standing halfway to the basket. All I had to do was put this basketball into the net: $50,000 was on the line for a scholarship.
I told myself to calm down.
And it was a dream
Tobin Wise is in sixth grade. He is a sports freak.
The kid was the complete package: speed, size, common sense, even keel. He couldn’t miss.
Then he developed the worst case of hemorrhoids they’d ever seen and could never recover his edge.
“The most outstanding prospect we’ve ever had, ruined by piles, for Pete’s sake,” the GM blabbed after six martinis.
Gary Clifton, forty years a Federal officer, has an M.S. from Abilene Christian University and has short fiction pieces published in Spinetingler, Broadkill Review, Yellow Mama, and Dumb Butt Mag.
When I scored the first goal, my confidence went shooting through the roof.
When I coughed the ball up, resulting in a goal against, my confidence went plummeting into the earth.
When I was handed my big fat paycheck after the game, my confidence wasn’t really affected in either direction.
This story was based on the prompt “went shooting” at TypeTrigger.
The arena was packed tight with eager sports fans.
They were very fragile, so the shipping department had gone a little overboard on the peanuts and bubble wrap. There wasn’t much room to move, but on the plus side it meant they had both food and entertainment while they waited.
“Do you play any sports, Kylie Marie?”
“Why yes, Fuzzily Bear! I play badminton, ping-pong, volleyball, and hoppity-scotch!”
“Are you any good, Kylie Marie?”
“I always try my hardest!”
“That’s code for ‘I suck’, right, Kylie Marie?”
“That’s not nice, Fuzzily Bear!”
FUZZILY BEAR’S WORD OF THE DAY IS: TACT.
After winning the war, they had to figure out what to do with their free time.
They tried paintball, laser tag, Nerf guns, video games, team sports, martial arts, strip poker, and full-contact chess, but nothing quite filled their need.
They needed a new enemy; they built a space ship.