Basketball and Biology
By Bat Yam Charles Xavier grinned with immense satisfaction as the ball flew through the hoop and bounced back into his outstretched arms. Very rarely did he allow himself the opportunity to relax such as he was now, and when he managed to find time for something as simple as basketball, it always proved a welcome distraction from the "real world". How would he find time, with his students to look after and his papers to write? Charles often joked that he spent more time grading essays than he did breathing. "I had always been quite the athlete, though" he mused to himself. His intense, piercing blue eyes glowed as he remembered running track, playing basketball, football, riding horses, skiing, even dancing as a young man. He momentarily stopped shooting to wipe the sweat off his brow. He had been quite the odd duck, he remembered, always busy. When he hadn't physically active, he had been mentally active. How he had studied! His friends, those precious few he had managed to have, has called him The Brain. His almost obsessive studying added to his naturally rather formidable intellect, were why Charles entered college when he was sixteen. While back then he had studied practically everything he could get his hands on, he was particularly interested in biology. He had become one of the foremost scientists in human genetics by the time he was in his thirties, now some considered him the world's leading expert. Charles needed to be that busy, always. If he wasn't, he would hear the voices in the back of his mind, thousands of them screaming and crying and laughing and roaring and loving, each one different and unique and impossibly loud. He was not mentally ill, no, Charles was the most powerful telepath on earth. It seemed that everyone for miles around him was always howling in the back of his mind. If he was near them they could be blocked out, those who weren't could be ignored through intense activity. He nodded to himself as he landed another perfect shot! After he became a scientist and later a teacher Charles had found less and less time for his sports, and his physical options were decreased after an incident in Tibet resulted in the shattering of all the bones in his legs. Track and football were, no longer options. Instead he once again turned to academics for relief, opening his institute and brining in the students that would become his family. He smiled to himself, remembering those first hectic days when the school opened. Now his original pupils were adults, many of them teachers at his institute. And yet none of them had quite been able to beat him at basketball. He remembered, years ago, asking Scott for the first time to play with him. Oh, how the lad had been embarrassed! The shy boy had looked at his feet, thinking that it would not be fair to challenge the man in the wheelchair. As much as he adored and admired the man, he could not help thinking of him as, well, crippled. Charles was pained by the sentiment he could "see" in the boy's mind, and was determined to prove him wrong. While Scott stammered out one of his terribly unimaginative excuses, Charles turned and sent the ball straight through the hoop, barely touching the rim. When he turned back to face his pupil, the quintessential charlesxavierlook of one raised eyebrow and shining eyes on his face, the boy grabbed the ball from him and took off. Charles laughed, a very rare thing indeed, and went spinning down the court after him. Charles had always been proud of the boy's decisiveness and ability to think on his feet. He had beaten the boy spectacularly that day, and all the class had been watching. This was no small feet, as the boy was known for his prowess on the court. Charles had gained a little more respect from his students, they learned not too underestimate him. Later that evening Bobby had challenged him, and then Ororo, and even Warren dropped his aloof facade long enough to attempt to dethrone the new basketball champion. Even years later they had never beaten him, though he had to admit Hank (the beast) McCoy had once. That was another story entirely though, it was not quite fair when your opponent had opposable thumbs on his feet as well as his hands and was dexterous enough to use all four limbs to dribble. Charles had not minded his student's advantage in the least, he knew life was not fair and you had to learn to live with what it gave you. And anyway, Charles could still beat the beast at quoting The Bard and just about every other poet, and he could still beat his boys at foosball. The End
By Bat Yam Charles Xavier grinned with immense satisfaction as the ball flew through the hoop and bounced back into his outstretched arms. Very rarely did he allow himself the opportunity to relax such as he was now, and when he managed to find time for something as simple as basketball, it always proved a welcome distraction from the "real world". How would he find time, with his students to look after and his papers to write? Charles often joked that he spent more time grading essays than he did breathing. "I had always been quite the athlete, though" he mused to himself. His intense, piercing blue eyes glowed as he remembered running track, playing basketball, football, riding horses, skiing, even dancing as a young man. He momentarily stopped shooting to wipe the sweat off his brow. He had been quite the odd duck, he remembered, always busy. When he hadn't physically active, he had been mentally active. How he had studied! His friends, those precious few he had managed to have, has called him The Brain. His almost obsessive studying added to his naturally rather formidable intellect, were why Charles entered college when he was sixteen. While back then he had studied practically everything he could get his hands on, he was particularly interested in biology. He had become one of the foremost scientists in human genetics by the time he was in his thirties, now some considered him the world's leading expert. Charles needed to be that busy, always. If he wasn't, he would hear the voices in the back of his mind, thousands of them screaming and crying and laughing and roaring and loving, each one different and unique and impossibly loud. He was not mentally ill, no, Charles was the most powerful telepath on earth. It seemed that everyone for miles around him was always howling in the back of his mind. If he was near them they could be blocked out, those who weren't could be ignored through intense activity. He nodded to himself as he landed another perfect shot! After he became a scientist and later a teacher Charles had found less and less time for his sports, and his physical options were decreased after an incident in Tibet resulted in the shattering of all the bones in his legs. Track and football were, no longer options. Instead he once again turned to academics for relief, opening his institute and brining in the students that would become his family. He smiled to himself, remembering those first hectic days when the school opened. Now his original pupils were adults, many of them teachers at his institute. And yet none of them had quite been able to beat him at basketball. He remembered, years ago, asking Scott for the first time to play with him. Oh, how the lad had been embarrassed! The shy boy had looked at his feet, thinking that it would not be fair to challenge the man in the wheelchair. As much as he adored and admired the man, he could not help thinking of him as, well, crippled. Charles was pained by the sentiment he could "see" in the boy's mind, and was determined to prove him wrong. While Scott stammered out one of his terribly unimaginative excuses, Charles turned and sent the ball straight through the hoop, barely touching the rim. When he turned back to face his pupil, the quintessential charlesxavierlook of one raised eyebrow and shining eyes on his face, the boy grabbed the ball from him and took off. Charles laughed, a very rare thing indeed, and went spinning down the court after him. Charles had always been proud of the boy's decisiveness and ability to think on his feet. He had beaten the boy spectacularly that day, and all the class had been watching. This was no small feet, as the boy was known for his prowess on the court. Charles had gained a little more respect from his students, they learned not too underestimate him. Later that evening Bobby had challenged him, and then Ororo, and even Warren dropped his aloof facade long enough to attempt to dethrone the new basketball champion. Even years later they had never beaten him, though he had to admit Hank (the beast) McCoy had once. That was another story entirely though, it was not quite fair when your opponent had opposable thumbs on his feet as well as his hands and was dexterous enough to use all four limbs to dribble. Charles had not minded his student's advantage in the least, he knew life was not fair and you had to learn to live with what it gave you. And anyway, Charles could still beat the beast at quoting The Bard and just about every other poet, and he could still beat his boys at foosball. The End