Je m’appelle Borat.

Every time Zach joins a basketball camp they give him a new ball.  We’ve got like five red and white basketballs rolling around the house, looking for people to trip.  Having read that there would be a basketball court in my neighborhood, I packed a ball.  I figured we’d just leave it in Paris at the end of the trip.  If nothing else, I would be culling the unwanted population.

Stoked about playing bball with the frogs, yesterday I found myself walking down the street bouncing the ball through sidewalk cafes, and in and out of pedestrian traffic.  Paris has an abundance of pedestrians, so it took some sweet moves on my part to avoid any ball-going-into-the-street-and-under-a-car action.  When you picture this scene, keep in mind that I’m probably the tallest man ever to step foot in Paris.

When I got to the courts, there was no one playing bball.  The hoops were in good shape though.  Mint condition actually.  Instead the courts were being used to play soccer.  Holding that basketball, I suddenly felt like a reverse Borat.  In time, however, the neighborhood kids got interested in that basketball.  They wanted to use it to play soccer!  This is not something I recommend.  But ok, I let them use it, as long as I got to play goalie, and Zach got to play defense.  Let me tell you, Zach may be an above average soccer player in Pittsburgh’s North Hills, but he completely sucks by European standards.

The game ended with Zach getting blasted in the face by the basketball.  Poor boy.  At least we won, which is all that really matters to him.

Yep, that's me in goal

Yep, that's Zach in the red/white North Hills Basketball jersey

Zach teaches his friends a new game called basketball.