It's Friday, the country has gone to hell in a handbasket, and we all just need a laugh. Thank God for our young baller here. Like most youth, he is ambitious. He attempts to dunk on a Fisher-Price-type basketball hoop that is just a little too tall for him and fails. Twice. Out of anger and frustration, he lashes out at the cheap plastic apparatus, and fires the basketball at the hoop. Curiously, or maybe not so curiously, the universe chooses this moment to throw him a bone and the hoop collapses, putting the rim at eye level, and allowing the child to finally slake his thirst for victory.
He dunks with authority, and then falls victim to his own hubris. He rattles around on the rim—the Hector to his Achilles—before lashing out one final time with a kick to the hoop. Every action having an equal and opposite reaction, you already know how this ends. The hoop teeters away from him momentarily and then springs back right into his face, like a poisoned arrow to the tendon, and he is thoroughly, devastatingly owned.