Triceratops

Sura 4 Al-Nesaa'

[4:2]  You shall hand over to the orphans their rightful properties. Do not substitute the bad for the good, and do not consume their properties by combining them with yours. This would be a gross injustice.
 
[4:10]  Those who consume the orphans' properties unjustly, eat fire into their bellies, and will suffer in Hell.

-- The Qur'an

Three threes times three. What are the odds? The basketball court at College Green Park in Iowa City is decidedly shooter unfriendly. The goal is fractionally higher than ten feet and lacks a net making it hard to judge its distance. The court slopes downward across its width from north to south and a lone tree branch serves as a giant rejecting arm for properly-arched shots. Making 3-point shots from the low southern corner is never an easy feat and for Eric, Franz and me that afternoon it had been seemingly impossible.

As day gave way to twilight I recognized the opportunity for a wager and asked Franz what he would give me if I could hit three consecutive three-pointers from the inauspicious location. As fate would have it, Franz had gone to the bank earlier in the day with the intention of changing currency leftover from his semester in India to dollars, but had balked at the poor exchange rate. Now he had a pocket rife with rupees and offered this as my prize should I successfully pull off the improbable demonstration of shooting prowess. I readily accepted his unusual ante and in retrospect should have recognized it as a harbinger of the strange events that were to unfold.

I pushed the first shot up with no confidence, but still it rattled through the rim – the first basket made from the spot all day. This fluke of fate was followed by good-natured hooting from Eric and Frantz. Fully expecting the second shot to go awry I tossed it up with blithe unconcern. Disbelieving laughter by all, as the ball found its way through the hoop. Now I became focused – so much so that it virtually ensured disruption of the smooth flow of muscle, joint and tendon necessary for proper release of the basketball. To make matters worse I was thinking. I have to make this shot. I have to make this shot. I was getting tight. Over-concentrating. The internal nattering nababs of negativity were beginning to hold sway. There's no way you'll hit three in a row. I tensed unnaturally as I flicked the ball skyward, and yet immediately experienced that uncanny shooter's foreknowledge of success. Evidently the various misalignments caused by frayed nerves had cancelled each other out. I raised a triumphant fist even as the ball was still in flight and began a victory strut to center court. 'Swish' the ball went through the hoop (or rather 'phwoof' for lack of a net).

Three threes in a row. What are the odds?

I had never really wanted Franz's pocket money – it was the challenge of a good bet that motivated me. I told him to keep his loot, but he was insistent that I had rightly earned it by connecting on the remarkable trio of baskets. He suggested I donate the money to Swarna's orphanage or some other worthy cause should I not want to spend it on myself. This I could accept, but I told him he at least had to take a chance at winning the money back by replicating the shooting stunt. Finally he acquiesced and took up position in the low corner of the court. The daylight was starting to fade, so visibility of the rim was fast becoming an issue.

After Franz's first shot found the basket the frivolity that had followed each of my attempts gave way to an awed solemnity. The three of us had entered a magical realm and none wanted to break the spell. I retrieved the first shot, bounced it to myself and then crisply delivered a chest pass to Franz. Franz dribbled the ball once, twice, three times. All were quiet. In the movie version of the incident we would hear only Franz's heartbeat as he lined the shot up. Bwump-bwump. Bwump-bwump. Bwump-bwump. Complete silence as the ball was sent airborne. Super slow motion of the rotation of the basketball's seams counter to the motion of the ball. Seam, seam, seam, Voit. Seam, seam, seam, Voit. Seam, seam, seam, Voit. The ball hit the rim and began a precarious trek around its perimeter. As kids we had called these shots 'toilet bowl rimmers' and knew that half the time such shots were fated to spin out of the basket by centrifugal force. One, two, three times it circled the rim. Breaths were held before the ball sank through the basket. Sighs of relief.

I repeated the single-bounce ritual from the previous shot before sending another chest pass to Franz. Don't change the routine. Franz wiped the perspiration from his hands before bouncing the ball to himself. Once, twice, three times. He sent the ball on its way toward the basket and just as with my third shot I felt certain of its passage through the hoop. This time Eric, Franz and I all march to center court with arms upraised.

Three threes twice in a row. What are the odds?

Franz still insisted that I keep his sizable wad of rupees and put them to good use in India. I vowed to match his contribution with a like amount effectively doubling his charitable offering. Now Eric fell prey to our philanthropic fervor – he announced his intention to have a go at the challenge and, if successful, match our donations.

The sun had set now and the only light on the court was reflected from high-flying cirrus clouds on the horizon. Eric launched the first two shots post haste as if there were a Cinderella timer on our charmed marksmanship. The three of us were operating as one mind now, collectively building on the streak. Triceratops. Statisticians will tell you that the success of the proceeding shots should have had no effect on the outcome of the next shot, but we knew otherwise. The final shot would be exactly the same one that had not been makable all afternoon. But now I had hit three in a row, followed by Franz's three and Eric's two.

For us the outcome of Eric's final shot was fait accompli. The Gods of Benevolence were underwriting our assault on statistical sensibility. We could have drawn and quartered Eric and his disembodied right arm would have managed to set that final shot on its hoopward journey. Fate was not going to be denied on this day. The early stars twinkling in the sky bore witness to the final flight of the basketball and the celebration that followed.

Three threes three times in a row. What are the odds?

If we figure the odds of hitting a single three-point shot at College Green Park at ten percent, then the odds of hitting two in a row are just one percent. The odds of hitting three in a row dwindle to one in one thousand. But the odds of connecting on nine such baskets in succession are just one in one hundred million. The exact same odds, incidentally, as an emaciated parrot with bad hair randomly typing every word of this blog with its sunburnt beak.

PS: It turned out that Franz had over eighty US dollars worth of rupees in his pocket. An amount roughly three times this was presented to Nav Jeevan Home for the Aged and Orphaned Children on February 20, 2006.