Today, at work, Dwight was in rare form. He’s deciphering, with an extremely large white poster in his lap, if you should have the distinct privilege to work this coming Saturday. You lean back further in your chair as you stare back at the silly man, disbelieving that such a small amount of power can mean so much to someone, but you realize quickly you have no real grounds to fight because this Saturday, and all your Saturdays for that matter, are empty, clear, and alone.

To distract yourself from this day, like any other, you listen to Pam’s aggravations about her broken toast oven that she got as an engagement present. And while you dislike with great intensity the reminder of her engagement, you can’t help but revel in the more obvious fact that three very long years have passed and a wedding has yet to happen. You can’t seem to stop yourself from hoping, wishing, praying that it will never in fact happen.

But another distraction comes right along. A basketball game. A healthy dose of competition that will determine who is working this weekend. You’re pumped up and ready to go, and Michael only barely mentions Pam as a cheerleader and your imagination has run wild, a little too wildly, creating short mini skirts and midriff baring tank tops and....you stop yourself. You have to or this could go on all day. You tease Michael, eliciting a brief smirk from Pam, as you dare to volunteer yourself as cheerleader...but honestly, you have better plans in mind. You know you’re a good player, probably the best forward on your team in high school, and you know that this may very well be the opportunity you’ve been waiting for to show off some hidden skills.

You quickly change into your basketball gear, finding yourself getting more excited by the second. You get ready to head downstairs for some serious game, when you spot Pam still sitting at her desk. Your heart immediately sinks. You move to the waiting seat in front of her desk for a last minute chat, hoping to God that she plans on watching the big game, your classy moves, your chance to really shine in front of her. You pretend to fix the laces of your shoes as you try to casually ask if she’s coming down to see the big game and she, luckily, responds that she is. You want her to wish you luck, but can’t wait till she does it on her own. You ask for it, in more ways than one, and you’re hardly surprised when she’s teasing you. She informs you that Roy is very competitive and that they have plans this weekend up at the lake.

In all the time you’ve known her, you can hardly recall more than a handful of times when Roy had actually made plans for him and Pam together for a long weekend.

And now, you have every single intention of ruining that weekend. It’s cold, it’s mean, but it’s the truth. You don’t want her to go to the lake with Roy and that gives you some kind of extra incentive to win this game.

You casually inform her that you will undoubtedly spend this weekend at the mall and invite her along. After all, you think, Pam should be the real reward for this game. The winner gets to spend time with her this weekend, the winner will earn her pride and warm smile...

You’re now fully determined to win this game. She teases you more, but at this point nothing can stomp on your game. She laughs at you, with you, and then you both head down to the warehouse together side by side. On the way down and even on the court, you tell Pam about your high school glory days, giving her a small taste or preview of what’s to come today. But Roy suddenly shows up beside the both of you. He walks straight to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, bringing his lips firmly against hers, and you have to look away now. You have to or you’ll wind up doing something you completely regret. No, today you beat Roy on the court. That’s how you win. You decide, as you hear Pam giggle in her fiancee’s arms, that right now, right here, you’re going to prove something to her, to him, to yourself. You may never be number one in her heart, but you will be the best man out there during this game. In that small, small way, you get to beat Roy.

On the court, you wish him luck and you mean not a word of it. Michael asks Pam to do the jump ball and when Roy makes a nasty comment about sleeping in the car, it takes every ounce of strength you have not to knock him in the face.

But you don’t. No, this court is your battlefield today. You will prove, without fists or words, that you’re better.

The game is in action and everything feels like it’s moving so fast. Roy scores points quick, but you’re on the rebound, and you’re running and checking him, and scoring. But not good enough, not fast enough. During the next timeout, you make sure to ask to cover Roy. You want this game one-on-one. It’s not about Saturday, it’s not about work, it’s not about whose the better basketball player, it’s not even about your pride.

This is completely and totally about the girl who clapped when her fiancee scored a point and cheered when you did.

Next quarter, you’re on fire, and you can’t help yourself from finding her eyes on the sidelines as you run down court, smiling, her smiling back, impressed at your performance. She’s impressed, she’s smiling, you tell yourself you have to win this game to win her heart.

Maybe it was lost in that thought process that you didn’t move quite fast enough to avoid Roy’s elbow as it smashes against your nose. You hear an awful crack and you immediately taste the blood in the back of your throat, flowing from your nostrils. You bend over, your hands placing pressure hard against the bridge of your nose, as you try to shake it off. There’s no injury in this world that’s going to stop you from winning this game. You break only for an instant, wiping away the blood with a clean towel, and then you’re back. In the game, on the court, playing your hardest.

You steal the ball from him, once, twice, making shot after shot, pushing into him harder than you should, slapping the ball from his grasp, knocking him to the ground. You do it because you’re angry, because you hate him. Because he gets to call her his fiancee, he got to spend the last ten years with her on his arm, he gets to spend the next fifty with her too. He wakes up to her every morning, goes to bed with her every night, kisses her, holds her, gets her mind, body, heart, and soul. And he doesn’t even appreciate her.

He doesn’t know that mixed berry is her favorite flavor of yogurt, he doesn’t know that art is her passion and that she’s amazing at it, he doesn’t know that she’s mad because their engagement present of a toaster oven is broken because it’s three years old, he doesn’t know that she’s got a thousand different smiles and that every single one creates a new speck of color in her eyes. You hate him because he’ll never love her as much as you do. You hate him because it’s because of him that she’ll never you love back. You hate him because even if you win this game, you’re still second....in her life and in her heart.

You push into his shoulder hard, knocking him firmly on his ass, and it feels like you’re at war. But the game’s over now. You don’t care about the score anymore, you don’t care who lost or who won. None of it feels like it matters.

You’re upstairs now, collapsed into the seat in front of reception, utterly exhausted. You played your heart out, your body is weary, your nose kills, you’ll definitely need to soak in ice tonight. Then, she’s there. Rounding the corner of her desk, congratulating you on a job well done. You try to keep the chat light and casual, but Roy’s there soon enough, joking with you like he didn’t try and break your nose earlier that day.

But Pam noticed you were good. She says it. She says it with her fiancee standing right next to her, and you’re smiling, laughing, a warm feeling seeping into your heart, and it feels like every bruise you’ll find tomorrow will be worth it.

Then, she walks away, with her fiancee, out the door, into the nearest tub, with him, without you, even with skills like Larry Byrd, and you, you feel like you just lost it all.