Foul shot, from the view of the more intelligent of the two.

This boy is an idiot.
His hands are so sweaty!
I shall never, ever,
Get into that hoop.
Bump,
Boing,
He bounces me on the ground
After wiping his inexperienced hands on his egotistic uniform
All that thing ever does is advertise.
Here I am now, raised in all my glory to the adoring fans�
I am perfection.
Wait�
This boy IS and idiot.
I should be two degrees to the left�
Oh! Oh my!
Whoosh!
I fly through the air,
Far more elegant that a bird
And slightly off center.
I wobble, waver on the edge.
Could have gone in, you see,
But the look of terror on his face is so satisfying.
The crowd is begging silently, though, so�
In I go.