That's My Work, Son!

There are many cases where you just find the police story a little too far fetched.  A little too unbelievable.  Sometimes we need a life lesson to reinforce those times.

I play in a weekly basketball league.  My opponents are all at least ten years younger than my team.  It's a league to benefit inner city youth and to help provide opportunities off the street.

This past week, I witnessed something I never thought I'd see in life, let alone a basketball court.

I sat in the bleachers, waiting for the game before me to finish.  A player on the team currently playing had just subbed out.  The ref walked over to him, holding something.  The game was still going on.

"You dropped this," the ref said.  The ref held out a plastic bag.
The player didn't pay attention.
The ref pushed the player's shoulder.  "Hey, you dropped this."
My attention is drawn to the interaction.  The ref held a clear sandwich bag.  Inside, are tiny rock-like crystals.
"Oh, damn son.  That's my work, son.  I dropped my work."
The player took the bag and pocketed it again.  Then he substituted back in the game with the goods still in his pocket.

A few issues.  First, it's a league to keep youth off the street, not bring the street to the league.  Second, how could he possibly keep playing basketball with the bag?  He couldn't have put it anywhere else?  Third, crack-cocaine should not be called work.  (Interesting note, I also learned this week it's called an onion on the streets).  Fourth, if an officer brought this fact pattern to me, I would have a hard time believing someone was so stupid.  Sometimes I need to see to believe.

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