The Theft of Irony

Last night, after a 16 hour day on 3 hours sleep, I had to get some exercise. Obviously, I was in no shape to play hardcore pick up ball at the courts I usually play at, so I went over to the smaller courts by my apartment just to shoot. Some pretty good guys were playing pick up and needed a sixth, so they talked me into playing, despite my exhaustion.

I played a game with them, and my team won pretty handily. After the game, the tall lanky white kid who'd been trying to cover me says something and I pick up a midwest accent from him.

Me: "Where you from, man?"
Him: "Small town in Iowa."
Me: "Ah, how long have you been in NYC?"
Him: "Three weeks. I'm an editor at a Christian magazine," he said, with what I found to be suprising obvious embarrassment and expectation of catching shit for that job.
Me: "Ah, how'd you find this place to play?"
Him: "I live across the street, and I don't want to play over at the other courts," which by the way, he was good enough to play at. "Those guys over there are like future criminals and drug dealers. Some kids wanted to borrow my ball, so I just went home."
Me, realizing of course what this kid is actually talking about is the fact that those hardcore courts are populated with probably 80% black guys: "Whoa. You do realize that 'those guys' are just like everyone you know in Iowa. About the same ratio of bad guys there as there are at the courts you used to play at in Iowa." And to drive my point home, "And wouldn't God say the same?"
Him: "Yeah, I guess."
Me: "Listen, I have asked kids on the side of the court to hold my $1500 Breitling watch while I play. And everytime I've gotten it back."

So we played one more game. Some goof ass on my team tried to block a shot and came flying out of nowhere to hit me in the face, and I now have a fat lip. The goof lands wrong and limps off. I was so pissed. I was already exhuasted and ready to just go home, so I look around for my ball.

You guessed it: Someone had stolen my ball!

I can't decide if the fact that someone stole my ball after me having said that the Iowa kid shouldn't worry about such things is the ironic part.

Or if the fact that my ball was stolen on the non-hardcore courts where this kid felt safer is the ironic part.

I do know that this theft is ironic. And that now I need a new basketball.