Court reporter

Good morning, and Happy 4th of July to one and all. It really is quite a date in American history aside from the whole independence thing. I knew that both John Adams and Thomas Jefferson died on 7/4 (same year too), but I didn't realize that both Presidents Coolidge and Grant were born on this date as well. That's pretty impressive, don't you agree? When you throw in the birth of Rube Goldberg and the death of Barry White on this same date...well I just don't think you can get much more American than that.

In the almost 300-post history of UOPTA, I've had two offerings that would classify as "prediction pieces." By that, I mean that I've laid out all of my predictions before an event (a Vegas trip and then a Dodger game), and then gone back afterward to show what a horrible clairvoyant I am. This time is different, my friends. I'm totally going to nail a solid 80% of my predictions (including that one). My mind's eye is working overtime, and I must act when the spirit moves me. And hey, you can't spell "prediction piece" without Peter.

First, allow me to set up the event before I start my divining. Growing up, I played organized sports very, very often. I tried soccer as a tot, but unless the object of the game is to stay far away from the action at all times, I don't think I exactly excelled. In sixth grade, I was on my elementary school's baseball, basketball, flag football, and track teams. Objectively, I was decent at all and great at none. That didn't bother me though, for I had a good time playing and hanging out with my friends. Once flag football turned into tackle football, I was long gone. Fast-pitch baseball was too fast for me as well, and track...well, I probably wouldn't have even made the 6th grade track team if there had been more than a dozen boys trying out. So that left basketball.

I shot baskets with my favorite brother, my friends, and his friends in our driveway all the time, and I got to know my limitations fairly quickly. I'll never be mistaken for a "bruiser," but since I was the tallest of my friends, I always ended up having to play down low and use my nonexistent ass to "muscle" people out of the way. Fortunately, bony hips are just as effective.

At age 15, I had my most dominant period in Peter Klein sports history. I was in a park league for ages 13-15, and I showed no mercy when it came to driving on pre-pubescent shorties. Despite a few standout games, the height of my dominance wasn't rewarded with an All-Star selection. That still stings, by the way. Maybe I shouldn't have smiled so much out there. College came, and with it came another forum for me to show off my mediocre skills at my most skilled sport (excluding bowling, naturally). My homey Rockabye, my friend Greg, and others from our floor played all freshman year in the intramural B and C leagues, and I was a fair contributor off the bench. I had one good game (thanks to Rockabye's passes that only required me to make two-foot bank shots), and the rest of my performances fell perfectly into the average range.

A couple of years after college, I joined a co-ed intramural league with Dusty, the Mills, and our friends Kareem and Laura. It was great, because I felt like I was so aware of my limitations that I never tried to do anything outside of my skill-set. Wide open outside jumpers? Sure, I'll try a couple of those and see my success rate. Contested outside jumpers? That's just stupid. So I'd play defense to the best of my ability, get some rebounds, and try making some good passes. We had fun, and I don't think I ever hurt our team (aside from missing two crucial free throws at the end of one game).

When my lovely wife and I moved back down to L.A., Dusty and the Mills stayed in Santa Barbara for a while before moving a bit south to Ventura. It was there that they started playing in a rec league, and Dusty asked if I wanted to join them ever. Since it's about 45 minutes from home (which is an additional hour from work), it never made sense timewise. Sure, I could make a 9:30pm game, but going to bed at/after midnight when I wake up in the 5s is a bad idea. Therefore, my only contribution over the past couple of years has been in helping Dusty name his teams. This year, I'm proud to say that I came up with "Dunk in Public," and I thought that alone would be my legacy.

But no, my friends. This week's game is at 8:30, and when Rockabye said he was going to try to attend and wanted my company, I bit the bullet and said yes. I'm frightened for a couple of key reasons. First, I haven't exercised much of late, and I expect to get winded early and sore for a long time after. Second, I haven't shot a basketball in probably two years. It's gonna be super ugly out there. Or is it? Let's check out the Mega Predictor 8000 HD!

Prediction: I told Rockabye that I want to get there early to warm up and hopefully get my least graceful moves out before people are watching. I predict that he'll be at my house very early due to lighter-than-expected traffic, and I will have had just enough time to change and wolf down a few bites of food. We'll arrive in Ventura a little over an hour before the game and shoot enough baskets that I'll have two thoughts: "Maybe I haven't dropped much in ability during my hiatus after all," and "Why did I just exert so much energy before the game? I need a nap."

What Actually Happened: Well, I was close on this one. Rockabye did indeed get to my house very early, I had just wolfed down some food, and we arrived about an hour before the game. Here's where I was wrong though. There was only one court and another game already in progress, so I took a mere three shots before our appointed warm-up time between games. While I made two of them, they were hideous and did nothing to boost my confidence. Therefore, I didn't have either of the predicted thoughts.

Prediction: I asked Dusty what to wear, and as expected, he said to bring both a light- and dark-colored shirt. That way, one team can be each and it won't be confusing. I predict that we will be...the darker-colored shirts!

What Actually Happened: Light-colored shirts. Damn 50-50 odds.

Prediction: I don't know how many people are on the team, but I'm going to guess that (counting me and Rockabye) there will be eight of us. I will gladly start on the bench and let the regulars play until enough people are tired and want to sub that I get in. I'll be the final player to enter the game for the team, but I'll play the remainder of the first half. I'll come in partway through the second half, and then sub back out for the final few minutes to let the actual teammates decide the outcome of the game.

What Actually Happened: Again, not too shabby on my part. There were seven of us instead of eight, but one player couldn't make it so I should've been right. I gladly started on the bench and was the final player to enter the game. I was winded enough that I very happily subbed out before the end of the first half. (As it turns out, my normal level of exercise isn't a tenth of the workout I get from full-court basketball.) I started the second half, left partway through content to let the guys play the remainder of the game, but then returned for the final 15 seconds as more of a joke than a strategic move. (Looking back, the prediction actually was shabby on my part. I was only right on about a third of the predictions in that paragraph. Damn, I thought I'd have that one locked up.)

Prediction: While on the court, I won't do very much good or bad. I'll get my hands on a couple of passes to create a turnover or two, grab a couple of rebounds, and partially block two shots. On the offensive end, I'll have two baskets (a lay-up and a short bank-shot after a pass from Rockabye), and I'll miss a wide-open jumper from around the free throw line. Come to think of it, I'll miss a baseline jumper too from about 12 feet away. I'll make one bad pass but a few good ones too. Overall, I'll kind of be "just there."

What Actually Happened: I was better and worse than I imagined. I was better in the sense that I took and made one baseline jumper and didn't have any bad passes. I was worse in that I didn't get my hands on passes and didn't block any shots. I was "just there," as predicted, but with a hint of "too afraid to try anything but pass the ball immediately upon receiving it."

Prediction: Dunk in Public will be victorious! People whose names I don't know will play well, but it will mostly be a function of the other team sucking, Dusty making some good driving layups, and Rockabye hitting a few threes. Go us!

What Actually Happened: We were indeed victorious! Rockabye hit a slew of threes, Dusty played well, and some guys whose names I now know helped the cause in various ways. The other team didn't suck, but they just weren't collectively as good as the team for which I clapped heartily and shouted encouragement. (You can't spell "team player" without Peter, after all. Yes, I've used that one before, but this is damn appropriate.)

Prediction: I'll arrive home at 10:45pm, eat a cold tortilla, hop in the shower, and climb into bed. When my head hits the pillow, my body will be 95% exhausted but my mind will be wide awake for another half hour. And maybe the boldest prediction of all: I will wake up to my alarm instead of getting out of bed ten minutes before it.

What Actually Happened: We arrived back at my place at 10:30 which, despite driving through Burger King, was earlier than I anticipated. Therefore, no cold tortilla. I showered, but was much more awake physically and mentally than I'd expected, so I read a magazine for a while before heading to bed and falling asleep fairly quickly. My bold prediction was indeed foolish; I woke up several times in the hour preceding my alarm, and got out of bed ten minutes before it was set to sound.

So, the verdict is in, and I still suck at predicting events. I had a very good time hanging out with those folks and playing some ball, and with any scheduling luck, I'll do it again sometime soon. I'll drink more water next time though. I thought I'd hydrated myself enough, but since I woke up with something similar to a hangover, I'd say that's a valid counter-argument.

Wow, that was much longer than I expected. That's what she said. (Hey look, everyone, it was an appearance by 15 year-old Peter!) I apologize for my longwindedness, but when the almighty spirit of prognostication speaks, I am compelled to listen. And I apparently need to get my hearing checked. But now, let's mosey our proverbial buttocks (buttockses?) on down to the Car Watch.

My Aunt Lynn saw a license plate frame that was indeed blogworthy. I often poke fun at the "X do it Y" statements unless they truly make me smile. As I've noted several times in this space (but will continue to do so), my favorite one of these to date is, "Makeup artists do it on your face." Aunt Lynn's isn't up to that standard, but nicely done nonetheless: "Electricians do it without shorts." Bravo, Mr. or Mrs. Electrician, and thanks for passing it along, Aunt Lynn.

My homey (and long range specialist) Rockabye saw this plate: "4ARETVO." He asked if there's any chance that they just love their Tivo. Yes, there's a chance, but that's not what troubles me. Let's say that their message truly is "For our Tivo." Riddle me this: how the hell is their car "for" their Tivo? I'm at a loss. Maybe the owners do voiceover work for Entertainment Tonight and need that car to take them to the studio. Then it could rightfully be "for our E.T. v/o." Or maybe they supplied the "Ell-ee-ott" for Spielberg's 1982 classic. We may never know.

Lastly, I saw a plate that read, "K9TDLRS." I hope I'm just reading this one incorrectly, and that one of you will set me straight in the comments section. Then I can comment on your comment and say something like, "You're absolutely right. That makes so much more sense. Thanks for showing me the error of my ways. Have a great weekend, (insert name here)." Because otherwise, we're talking about dog-kids here, and I don't even know what that means. Are those a few of the driver's favorite things? "Hmmm, let's see here, I enjoy our young kids very much, but I also love our dog. 'KDSNDOG' is taken, but I'll figure something out." And there aren't even canine toddlers really. They're pretty much puppies until they're dogs, right? I'm starting to hate that plate, so I'd better move on to the grand finale.

Welcome to the grand finale. I know - simply breathtaking. That's it for now, mis amiguitos. Happy 4th of July to everyone. Happy 3rd birthday to my favorite nephew Shawn tomorrow; he's officially leaving the title of "World's Cutest 2 Year-Old Vacant" until his baby sister gets there. Have a wonderful weekend and week, friends, and please email me at ptklein@gmail.com with anything about anything.