A few days later, things had calmed down in the office, or so Jim thought, until Michael had the bright idea of arranging a basketball game against the warehouse workers. On the one hand, Jim found he was actually a little bit excited about the opportunity to show off his not-entirely-absent basketball skills in front of the office. OK, in front of Pam. But in front of everyone, really, if in a different sense. There were relatively few things Jim was good at. He could read faster than even Dwight (not that he’d ever let that on, because the opportunity to slow-roll reading reports and thus not do work was irresistible). He could recall sports statistics back to the founding of the leagues, at least for the sports he cared about. He could, surprisingly, sew a decent, straight, neat handstitch, a result of his mother throwing up her hands when he was 14 and insisting that he if needed the knees patched in another pair of pants, so help her God, he was going to do it himself. Most of these things, for obvious reasons, he did not bruit about widely within the office sphere.
But basketball? That he could safely let them know about. That he could revel in. He played basketball with Mark and Steve every week, and he’d actually been pretty darn good back in high school. Not “college team” good, but “star of the intramural team” good. “Win a few free beers at HORSE” good. “Continue playing at the Y even as a grown adult” good, to be precise, though not everyone at the rec center league was actually good. He knew that Michael and Dwight each played regularly enough to have had a snit about whether Dwight could play pickup with Michael, but he was fairly confident that if they were layups he was a smooth three from downtown, nothing but net, and running back on defense to guard the opposing star.
It helped that he had several inches on Michael, though he had to admit Dwight was around his height and actually in surprisingly good shape. It was probably the martial arts he’d been doing, or maybe the farm work. Neither was practicing his shot, however, so Jim was pretty sure he was going to show some people up unless he tried very hard not to.
Not that his officemates were his opponents, of course. No, that was the warehouse team, and he had a healthy respect for them. Not because of their muscles—basketball was, ideally, ballet on parquet, a non-contact sport where savvy and skill won out. But he knew Darryl and his guys were the ones who’d put the hoops in, and he was pretty sure that meant they knew what they were doing on the court.
When Michael put working Saturday on the line, he wasn’t that worried. Even Pam’s observation that Roy was pretty competitive just made him feel even more competitive. But what shifted him into overdrive was the trash talk from Roy just before the game.
He’d decided to be the bigger man, not literally of course but metaphorically, and wish Roy a good game. “Have a good game, man,” those were his exact words. Sportsmanship.
It was a surprise then to get a smirk. “Yeah, you too. Should be fun. You sure you don’t need to get someone else to shoot your baskets for you? ‘Cause down here we actually work on our game.”
He glanced over at Dwight, who fortunately was having a staring contest with Lonny and hadn’t heard. “Dude, that was a prank.”
“Yeah. Smart of you to get someone else to do your dirty work for you.” Roy was clearly intending to guard him, which meant there was no escape from the banter. “Won’t work here, though. Ball don’t lie.”
The reminder of what they were about to do centered him. “No, I don’t think it does.” He flashed Roy a smile, with teeth this time. “I really don’t think it does.”
Roy continued to swagger as Michael ordered Pam down to do the tip-off, saying something to her about sleeping in the car, and Jim saw red. He’d always planned to show off, but now? He might not have Steve with him, but he was definitely going to be playing with the power of two.
That worked until Roy decided to take matters into his own hands, or rather elbows, and Jim had to exit the game to get the bleeding under control. He briefly considered calling Steve up and actually swapping out in the middle of the game, but common sense took control and he just used the styptic pencil, wincing at the pain. No pain, no gain, he supposed.
He subbed back in and made sure to run Roy through a series of screens, mostly impacting on Dwight. By the end of the game the upstairs workers had won handily, but of course Michael wimped out and didn’t make them work Saturday. Worst of all, Jim had to endure Pam and Roy cuddling on his own desk as everyone got ready to go home. Well, that was worst until Roy glanced over at him as they were heading out and tossed out another “guess we’ll see who actually shows up at work tomorrow” at him as he pushed through the doors. He supposed that for Roy that was intended as a peace offering—a tribute to his wiliness in getting Steve to come in for a day. But to him it was just a reminder that Roy didn’t get his pranks—and that Pam, who did, had chosen to be with a guy like that.
