About three years ago, my beautiful wife, Lorraine, and I decided to join an exercise gym. We spent a Sunday morning at the gym on a trial basis. I chose this place because, unlike most modern spas, this one had a basketball court attached to it. It was a nice gym - very nice - very yuppie.

It contained all the usual equipment: stationary bicycles, stairmasters, treadmills and weightlifting barbells and pulleys. Using these, however, all involved solitary movements. I like a little human contact and a little competition.

Lorraine was jumping around in her cute little warm-up suit and I was riding the bikes until my legs numbed up. Next, I started pushing and pulling at the various barbells and weights and soon enough my arms were killing me. I stopped all these torturous motions and sauntered over to the basketball court.

I started dribbling and shooting the basketball. My arms felt like lead and my fingers lost all tactility. I had no touch with the ball due to the strain of all the previous exercises.

A game of 4-on-4 was being played - full court. I waited my turn and soon I was in the game. Without doubt I was the oldest player on the court.

There were two big oxes in the game. Two huge bulls. My team had one of these large, economy-sized gentlemen at 6'4" and 225 pounds, and the enemy team had an industrial-sized personage at 6'6" and 270 pounds.

The big jock on my team was soft spoken but the other guy looked mean and acted mean. The game was getting close and coming down to the final baskets which would decide the winners. Tension was building when the opposing "big guy" came down with a rebound.

He moved one foot and then he moved the other foot. When you move two pivot feet it is called "walking" or "travelling." The penalty is loss of possession to the other team.

I called "walking" because he moved two feet. He turned to me and said, gruffly, "What do you know about this game?"

I replied that "I was playing this game before you were born."

He then stated, "But I was a pro."

In a soft voice, but looking right at this large gent, I stated, "I'm not really impressed."

They gave me the ball and I took it out from the sidelines. As I was about to put it into play the large chap approached me and told me directly, "We don't make those [expletive] calls in this game. The next time you make one, I'm going to break your head!"

I looked at him and took the ball out and the game started again. We played for a minute and I stopped and turned to my oppressor.

I pointed my finger in his face and said, "Did you threaten me? Did you threaten me? Because if you threatened me, I'm going to call 911!"

As these words poured from my mouth, I was amazed at myself. It was a crazy and reckless thing to do. He looked at me, put his head down and we continued the game.

My team won! (with very little help from moi.) Their big guy picked up his stuff and just left. I was shocked! I played one more game and we lost. I walked off the court and reflected on what had just transpired.

In the old days, one guy would make a call, the other guy would disagree and bluster a little. We would then choose odds or evens and stick out one or two fingers and continue the game.

Bringing the police into it was never a possibility. Needless to say, Lorraine and I never joined that particular gymnasium.

Stanley Greenberg