Thursday, December 08, 2005
Not particularly well thrown. Maybe a little short in fact.
I can't remember if it was a forehand or backhand. Ryo threw it.
But I was playing 500 with my brother and he'd been talking smack. I saw it coming, from less than 50 yards away. I knew it was the 100% perfect throw for me. But unlike the story's unfullfilled moment, I went up and felt the soft of the plastic stick to the flesh of my hand. It felt as if I'd have caught it whether I'd closed my hand or not. I came down, smiled at my brother, and proceeded to wag the disc in front of him and yell "Owned!" over his assertions that the next throw was his, and the following ones after that, until we were too tired to jump or I'd had enough.
Sometimes I miss my brother, other times I really miss him.
Props to Murakami.
Labels: two cents