I usually try to give my columns some kind of point. I’m sure the jury’s still out as to if I’ve always succeeded at this endeavor, but at least the effort has been there.

Not so, this time. This is simply an amusing story. It, as most of my stories do, involves my own misfortune. Enjoy.

For the last few weeks, I have been up to my eyeballs in basketball. Trying to cover what seems like roughly 4,346 games a week has caused me considerable stress.

It is that stress, I think, that uncovered a memory I thought buried. The memory of my one-on-one game of basketball with my friend Ronald.

I was an athlete in high school. Ronald was not. Ronald had what you’d call a weight problem. When he split his pants bending over one day, there was not a pair of pants or gym shorts in the school that would fit him. To my and others’ amusement, Ronald had to wear a toga from the costume room of the drama department until his dad brought him another pair of pants.

Despite this event, Ronald was cocky guy. One day in class, he was bragging about beating his cousin in a game of one-on-one. I knew Ronald’s cousin. He was about 5-foot-10, 150 pounds. I couldn’t imagine Ronald moving fast enough to do anything to stop him. However, Ronald insisted he won handily, and I told him to prove it.

The gauntlet was thrown. With my girlfriend as witness, we shook on a $50 bet that I could take Ronald on the court.

I’ve never been very good at the sport, and I’ve never played organized basketball. But I’d seen Ronald pause half-way up a flight of stairs to catch his breath. I’d seen evidence of his dexterity, or lack thereof, in how his giant stack of books and papers would slip from his grasp almost every morning on the way to Calculus, showering the grass with notes on limits and symbolic logic.

In short, I was sure I could take him. So sure, in fact, that I gave him a few concessions. We decided to play at his house, on his court. My aforementioned girlfriend would referee and decide any close calls. (She adored Ronald and having her as a ref was decidedly in his favor.) First one to ten baskets won, and I spotted him three.

You can probably guess by now what happened. Ronald skunked me. I scored exactly one point. In front of my girlfriend and with a pair of Ronald’s young cousins watching, I got beat down by a guy who had to buy special pants.

I can make a few excuses. His court was dirt, and it had roots popping out of the ground here and there. I made plenty of unforced turnovers when a dribble bounced wildly off a stick or rock. But that doesn’t explain my embarrassing shooting percentage or complete inability to keep Ronald from making every shot he took.

I lost $50, any ability to verbally spar with my girlfriend (&uot;At least I

didn’t get beat by Ronald,&uot; is hard to find a snappy comeback to) and a little bit of pride.

I’ll give Ronald two things: He has a sweet shot, and he’s a very good winner. He took my money and bought dinner for all of us, and then spent his own money to treat us to a movie.

Maybe there is a point to this column after all. There’s the obvious – don’t judge a book by it’s cover. There’s also a pretty obvious lesson in the dangers of gambling. Fifty bucks is an awful lot of money to a kid in high school.

But I think the main lesson to be learned from my little experience is the value of friendship.

Ronald never told anyone at school that he beat me in basketball. I

wouldn’t have cared, but he thought I would have. He kept it to himself.

The secret is now out. You beat me, man. Bad. I’m a better person for it, and we’re better friends.

But I’m ready for a rematch.

Nick Adams is sports editor of The Natchez Democrat. He can be reached at 445-3632 or e-mailed at nick.adams@natchezdemocrat.com.