I had a horrible nightmare Saturday night. I dreamed I was at the scorer’s table of the finals between the Albany Patroons and the New York Phoenix, with both teams fighting for that one playoff berth for the next round. The game was tied in the final moments.
All of a sudden, I heard someone screaming at me.
“He fucked up the clock! He’s cheating! The fat, bald guy with the glasses at the shot clock just fucked everything up!!”
Next thing I know, both teams’ head coaches are running over to me. And they’re furious.
“This is a fucking playoff game, Miller, how could you do this to us?”
“You son of a bitch, if you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, what the fuck are you doing at this table?”
Then some of the players walk over and start screaming at me. Something about playing for the chance to win the championship, and now it’s FUBAR’d because of something I did.
“This is your fault, asshole!” one of them shouted at me.
“This is all your fault!!”
“All your fault!!!”
And I’m hearing a buzzing noise. A loud, buzzing noise.
It’s my alarm clock. And i woke up in my bed. Sunday morning. Drenched in sweat. Heart beating like I ran a marathon.
And the pivotal game between the Phoenix and the Patroons is this Sunday afternoon.
I do not want to fuck anything up.
It’s 1:30 a.m., and I’m at Armory Studios in Schenectady. I’m operating the shot clock for the game. Those of you who have read my blog over the years know that I’ve worked at various spots on the scoring table, and even if I’m not 100 percent confident in a new project, I throw myself into it as much as possible and familiarize myself with everything I can. I may have a hiccup or two at first, but by the end I’m controlling things like a pro.
The Phoenix’ 24-second shot clock is a different model than the one the Patroons use. The Phoenix have a more modern unit, an Eversan model 9330. I sit down at the table, and start to test the unit. I should be able to press a button and have the unit start the countdown from 24 seconds to zero.
Left shot clock … 24, 23, 23, 21…
Right shot clock … 24, 23, 23, 23, 23…
Uh-oh. We’ve got a problem.
We tried everything. Unplugging the controller. Unplugging the clocks. Everything short of shouting meka-leka-hi meka-hiney-ho. Ugh. And my heart is racing. What if something happens with one of the clocks and my nightmare comes true? What if one of the reasons one of the teams in the Route 5 Rivalry doesn’t go to the next round is because a machine under my supervision decides to go rogue?
Trust me, nobody remembers who hit that foul ball in the 2003 Cubs-Marlins baseball game, but everybody remembers who tried to catch it in the stands.
Just then, the son of one of the support team members walked over to our predicament. “Why isn’t the antenna attached to the controller box?” he quipped.
One remote transmitter antenna attachment later, and both clocks were back to functionality. And my heart rate has now descended back from its previous Devo-speed rhythm.
The game itself was tremendously exciting. There were highs and there were lows. Both teams started out strong from the opening tip – and then the whole game changed on a single play.
The Phoenix’ A.J. Mosby, one of the team’s top shooters, had the ball and was crossing midcourt. He tried to avoid a defensive block, turned left – and suddenly he’s hopping on one foot. Then he’s down on the ground, screaming in pain and slamming his hand on the court in agony. Early diagnosis – right ankle, out for the game.
And at that, the Patroons poured on the points. But by halftime, the Phoenix caught back up, with Shadell Millinghaus getting some last minute points off of a key turnover to give the Schenectady team some momentum into halftime.
Meanwhile, I’m hyperfocused on operating the shot clock. My left thumb is on the stop-start key, while my right fingers control the rests for the 24-second and 14-second marks. It’s almost like typing a letter. Once you get your fingers on the home row … everything works after that. And that’s what you want from your job.
In the end … everything worked out for the Patroons. 27 points from Denzel Banks, who led the team in scoring. 23 points and 13 assists from Ja’Quaye James. 22 points from Tyshon Pickett. 10 points, five steals and two blocked shots from Phil Flory. Albany Patroons 102, New York Phoenix 97. Box score is at this link.
For their effort, the Phoenix had three players with 20-plus point totals; Shadell Millinghaus (23), Tafari Beckford (22 pts, 10 rebs) and Walli Hepburn (21).
But after the game – heck, even during the game when there were breaks – I kept an eye on AJ Mosby. He was back on the bench, albeit with his right shoe off. Listen, I feel bad for the guy, I really do. He was on the Patroons a few years ago, and he was the catalyst that helped us reach the 2022 TBL finals. It’s not like because he’s now wearing fire red and flame yellow that he’s become a different person.
And he wasn’t the only player from either team that had what appeared to be a nasty, gnarly injury. At one point in the second quarter, Phil Flory got tangled up and landed head first on the floor. Took a couple of minutes before he could get off the court. I mean, I’m glad he returned to play, but still … I haven’t seen a bump that scary since the last time I watched AEW Collision.
In the end, the Patroons advanced to the next round, where they will face the Washington, D.C.-based Capital Seahawks in a best-of-three. Game 1 will be on the road, but we get Game 2 this Sunday at 3:00 p.m. and Game 3 (if necessary) Monday night at 7:00 p.m. at the Washington Avenue Armory.
For the New York Phoenix, they had an excellent first season. Extremely respectable. Good quality organization from top to bottom. They won a regular season division championship in their first year, and that’s a great way to start their TBL run.
But the Albany Patroons are NOT DONE YET. Now it’s time to take on the Seahawks – who, last time I checked, are playing in a venue that is, according to Google, nowhere near the sea. Ha.
Survive and advance. Next round.
Let’s do this.
And now I can sleep at night.
And not have self-inflicted nightmares. 😀
Chuck The Writer 
Time to start a ‘dream journal’… and plan your tomorrows accordingly.
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