—Scarborough and Wilcox, The Mesoamerican Ballgame THE SEMINAR ROOM was packed. Packed as in crowded, packed as in a packed Supreme Court, packed as in a fresh-meat inmate getting his shit packed by booty bandits. In other words, the matter being investigated, "Who Invented the Jump Shot," (a) has drawn an overflow crowd of academics, (b) the fix is in, (c) I'm about to be cornholed without giving permission. The tide of the session let the cat out the bag. It advertised two false assumptions—that at some particular moment in time the jump shot had appeared, new and fully formed as Athena popping from the thigh of Zeus, and that a single individual deserved credit as inventor. "Who Invented the Jump Shot" will be a pissing contest. And guess who will win. Not my perpetually outnumbered, outvoted, outgunned side. Huh-uh. No way. My noncolored colleagues will claim one of their own, a white college kid on such and such a night, in such and such an obscure arena, proved by such and such musty, dusty documents, launched the first jump shot.
