On days that the shooting happens first thing, which has been the better part of the last seven months, the morning ritual includes coming down the stairs, flipping on the driveway floodlights and checking the branches on the maple-oak-ash-elm (really not sure) tree next to the driveway to check for wind. And now that the calendar has flipped to November, the eyes turn next to the backboard to get a gauge of how many layers we’ll need, which hat to wear, and whether or not we’ll want gloves.
Truly, I’m not complaining. Given the choice, I’d much much much much much much much much rather see this than that maple-oak-ash-elm swaying all over the place. You can bundle up for cold, and the ball still flies straight. But there just ain’t no remedy for wind. (Hey, I think I just wrote the first line to my new country song.)
Kind of a cool picture though, eh?
So with those 1,000, we’re now at 494,007 down, 505,993 to go to 1 million made foul shots, and I think we’re now officially creeping up on the halfway mark.