December 7 Doubt on basketball's 'hot hands'

Finally, I'm about to get some action, Big Sam motions to me to put on my hat. That's what I think anyway, we have a very complicated signalling system and it's often difficult to remember all the combinations in the heat of a game. I'm a basketball player and a damn good one. The ref blows once and I jump up and take my place on the court, knocking knuckles with Lou, mutual respect for a fellow oldie. The opposing team know me, their fans know me and I am greeted by a chorus of abuse. I raise my hands to the air, hot rocks in my palm. The game has become like a pantomime but I play my part, I act immortal, like Kung Fu. The whistle blows again, Sam shouts out something, the ball comes towards me, the horns on my hat mark me out as a special player, I jump, and catch the ball. Cheers! Spinning like Robin Cousins I flex and shoot. The ball is stuck to my hand, the Spalding rips and tears a little. Big Sam is talking to the robot duck. My hat falls over my eyes. Someone is clapping, the court is on fire. I can't follow this anymore, time out.