Is Get Plotnik Week Over?

Plotnik decided he'd go play plotzketball on Saturday, because his knee was feeling better and it was a sunny day. When he got to the court, he had a conversation with Bobby, on the right as we face the three men on the bench in this picture. Bob is from New Orleans and is twenty years Plotnik's junior. He used to play ball on both Saturdays and Sundays, but has stopped playing Sunday because he plays poker all night Saturday and says he is too tired to get up on Sunday morning.

Plot said: "Bob, at some point in the future you won't be able to play ball anymore. You'll always be able to play poker. Take advantage of healthy legs and good weather. Play ball every chance you get."

Then, an hour into the morning's game, Big Reese, in the middle in this picture, who had brought his 14-year-old to the game and was, shall we say, showing off like Dads do when their children are watching, zeroed in on Plot. After a (ahem, particularly sweet) crossover dribble midcourt, Plotnik drove in for (what would have been a beautiful) left handed layup. Reese ran up from out of nowhere, said something like GET THAT SHIT OUTA HERE which is what big, macho guys yell in plotzketball games, and absolutely leveled Plot midair.

Now Plotnik had just had a bicycle spill earlier in the week. That was scary, but didn't hurt too much. This was lights out. The two men collided at full throttle (Reese is probably 6-3 and 230 pounds or so and Plot is somewhat smaller though a wiry mass of muscle). Plot hit the concrete.

That ol' concrete was nice and soft -- warm, too. Plot lay there a long time -- why move? Why bother getting up? He even closed his eyes for a morning nap, but couldn't fall asleep. When they did help him up, he realized his ribs were very sore. This was a nice balance to his sore knee, elbow and shoulder from earlier in the week.

MORE Advil. How many Advil can any one person take, anyway? The bottle says no more than six in 24 hours.

Plot heard this morning that half an hour after he shuffled off the court, Reese leveled Bobby too. Reese was a one man wrecking ball yesterday. Plot hopes Bobby is OK. Plot is rethinking somewhat what he told Bob before the game started.

Today, Sunday, Plot is sore, but thankful, once again, that nothing is broken, or cracked. It hurts to cough, but not to breathe, which is how it would be if he had a cracked rib. He has forgotten about his shoulder, knee and elbow, which is good.

Mummy Plotnik has asked: Maybe you should learn a lesson here?

Well, Plotnik has. He has learned never to drive to the middle when Reese has his son at the game, to never have his bicycle lose traction going down a hill, and also that he has been extraordinarily lucky on the court all these years, never fracturing or rupturing or destroying anything. He is feeling somewhat proud of himself, believe it or not, that he can sustain these collisions and keep getting up.

Some day, when he is unable to, or chooses not to pick himself up off the concrete anymore, he can always play poker. Please forgive the language if not the sentiment of the following statement: Not yet, motherfucker, not yet.