Me: Sir, I would like to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.

My Girlfriend’s Father: Absolutely not, Jesse. You don’t have stable employment, you don’t own a car or a house, you’ve never showed an interest in having a family, and my daughter says you’re emotionally unavailable.

Me: You’re right, I really have nothing. This must be how the Detroit Pistons’ general manager Joe Dumars felt after he drafted the disappointing Darko Miličić over the superstar Carmelo Anthony in the 2003 N.B.A. draft. I’m sorry I wasted your time—

My Girlfriend’s Father: Wait a second. You know the tertiary details of the Darko Miličić saga?

Me: Yes, I do. Instead of tending to your daughter’s emotional needs, I’ve spent years reading about the inner workings of the National Basketball Association.

My Girlfriend’s Father: This makes me reconsider your candidacy as a son-in-law.

Me: It does?

My Girlfriend’s Father: Of course! Knowing about that obscure blip in N.B.A. history is exactly what I’ve been looking for in a son-in-law. Not only can you marry my daughter—you can also inherit my company.

Me: My goodness, thank you, sir! What does your company do?

My Girlfriend’s Father: That doesn’t matter. As long as you keep reading about basketball, you’ll do a great job as C.E.O. And you’ll have access to our company box at the Garden, where the New York Knicks play.

Me: And have played since February of 1968. Thank you, sir!

My Girlfriend’s Father: Please, call me Pop.

Me: “Pop”? As in the nickname of the Spurs’ coach, Gregg (Pop) Popovich?

My Girlfriend’s Father: No. As in father.

•

Police Officer: Do you know why I pulled you over?

Me: Yes, officer. I was speeding.

P.O.: I clocked you going ninety-one miles an hour. The speed limit is sixty-five. That’s a difference of twenty-six miles an hour.

Me: It’s also Kyle Korver’s jersey number.

P.O.: And I ran your license plate and saw that you have unpaid speeding tickets in—wait a second. Did you say that twenty-six is the number that Kyle Korver—rotation player and shooting specialist for the Cleveland Cavaliers—wears?

Me: Yes. I’ve memorized the numbers of every player in the N.B.A.

P.O.: Are you a savant?

Me: Far from it. I just read about basketball all the time. In fact, it’s the only thing I read nowadays.

P.O.: You stopped reading books?

Me: Yeah, I don’t feel competitive when I read about basketball players. But, when I read a great book, a big part of me is feeling jealous of it.

P.O.: Even when you read something you’d never write? Like Tolstoy?

Me: Yes, I even feel threatened by Tolstoy.

P.O.: I’m sorry you’re plagued by this self-doubt and borderline hubris. And I’m even more sorry that I pulled you over. Memorizing all those players’ numbers to distract yourself from your own creative hangups is really smart.

Me: You think so?

P.O.: Absolutely. In fact, I’m so impressed that I will make sure the district attorney understands your passion for basketball trivia and expunges your other traffic violations.

•

N.B.A. Commissioner Adam Silver: Jesse, I’d like to offer you a job as a superstar player in the N.B.A.

Me: I’m not very good at basketball.

Silver: That doesn’t matter. Think about it: When you’re in the throes of a fast break, barrelling down the court, facing a cabal of seven-foot-tall opponents, what’s the most important skill?

Me: Quick reflexes?

Silver: No. An ability to name the assistant coaching staff of the Oklahoma City Thunder.

Me: Vin Bhavnani, Mo Cheeks, Darko Rajaković, Royal Ivey, Mark Bryant, and Adrian Griffin?

Silver: Exactly. How do you think Michael Jordan won all of those titles?

Me: He was physically gifted?

Silver: Nope. He just studied. He and Scottie Pippen quizzed each other using flash cards.

Me: That’s what I use, too!

Silver: Well, it shows. So, even though you practice only a few times a year, at the Chinatown Y.M.C.A., and you’re a hundred and thirty-five pounds, you’ll be an N.B.A. superstar. ♦