Feels good to have 7,000 made foul shots knocked out in a day, but otherwise … it doesn’t feel good at all.
The evidence will be coming soon — whenever I get around to publishing this ungodly video file — and that evidence will plainly show that the guy shooting for those last two hours on Sunday, Jan. 27 (me), struggling to get through the last 1,200, in no way resembles someone who should be attempting to make 1 million foul shots in any period of time.
It was awful. Every other shot, at least, was a two-handed heave. I’d make a Shaq comparison, but that would be completely unfair to his Royal Shaqtitude. Yep, that bad. Fortunately, I had two very patient and loyal friends taking on that last bit of blech (Thanks Will and Rob), so at least there was sound moral support. Felt kind of pathetic, if you want to know the truth.
The good news is that for the eight hours leading up to that, we were actually pretty efficient. Freddy opened the Bishop Brady gym and we started a little late, maybe 6:10 a.m. or so, and he was followed in the rebounding department by Kara, Chris (two hours), Lee (up from Needham, Mass.), Ray and Dana, and by 1:45, which is when Dana had to take off from his hour-and-a-half stint, we’d booked 5,800. That’s a solid run. Unfortunately, I sat and snacked for about 15 minutes between Dana and Will, so when I stepped back to the line after that I resembled … what? … probably about an 80-year-old man.
And at this very moment, most 80-year-old men probably feel better than I do. My hands are in desperate need of roughly a keg of Bag Balm. My neck hurts. My back hurts. My right elbow hurts. My psyche hurts.
Tomorrow, I’m thinking 1,000 … at best.
That’s 66,507 down, 933,493 to go.