We now have two ballers in the presidential race. Obama still plays pick-up, but Palin was once a state champion point guard. Let us imagine a one-on-one game between Sarah Barracuda and Black Sweatpants.
Black Sweatpants: Ok, let's shoot for the ball.
Barracuda (banking in a two-footer): Sweet. My ball.
Sweatpants (not really playing defense, but trying to show Barracuda some respect): The point guard position is about ball distribution. An unselfish position.
Barracuda: And hitting clutch shots. (the ball rims out). Foul!
Sweatpants: I respect your calls. Your ball.
Barracuda (launching a three before Obama checks it out): Foul!
Sweatpants: Foul? You didn't even check it.
Barrucada: You hit my arm, Barack. It was flagrant.
Sweatpants: Fine. Call your own fouls.
Barracuda (dribbling into Obama, who puts his arms straight in the air): Another foul. That's blocking. Golly, did you ever learn the rules of this game? Maybe that's how you people play. Street ball.
Sweatpants: Enough! That was a charge. Let's look at the replay. It will be clear that you dribbled into me when I had position. That's called a charge!
Barracuda: There's no replay in pick-up, mister. And I'm up 1-0. The clock is ticking. Two minutes left and I've got to get back to moose hunting. Your ball, smartypants.
Sweatpants (makes an elegant crossover that leaves Palin frozen): You're out of practice, Sarah. (Fading away, Obama releases a beautiful jumpshot that goes straight through the net). That's it! Now we're tied and it's my ball.
Barracuda (arms circling around one another): Come on, Barack, you know you shuffled your feet. That's traveling.
(Enter campaign aides, impatiently tapping their feet).
Aides: Sorry kids, but there are interviews to do, funds to raise, spots to film. The game's over.
Barracuda (to Aide): Make sure you get this down: Palin 1, Obama 0.
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