What were the odds that the Hatfields and the McCoys would live in the same Vancouver, WA. subdivision?

My across-the-street neighbor, Scott, was in maniacal form this weekend, and that always spells trouble. Scott is roughly my age, but that is where similarities end. Scott is a roofer, an avid hunter, and self proclaimed bully of the block.
Scott is the spittin' image of the guy kicking sand into the skinny guy's face in the old Charles Atlas ads.

My 135 pound frame must remind Scott of the kids he used to steal lunch money from back in the good ol' days, so waxing reminiscient, he went out of his way to pick a fight with me. He started by dismantling Calvin's basketball hoop (the portable curb-side kind), and depositing it down the street, on it's side. I knew what this was about. Scott has been saying for three years now that playing "hoops" out in the street brought children much too close to his pick-up; that there was the potential of "basketball marks" on the side of his prized vehicle.

Later that night, I set Calvin's hoop back up, exactly where it used to be. Monica added a sign:
"This is private property! Do not move this basketball hoop, or we will call the police."

The next morning, Calvin came home with the homemade sign, torn to pieces.
"Here Dad", Calvin said, on the verge of tears,"Scott told me to give you this, and said to come out and talk to him like a man."
Flashbacks of wedgies and lunchless schooldays flashed in my head, but Calvin was looking on, so I had no choice. I took the last sip of my chocolate milk, and walked out with Calvin.

"Should I get a big stick, Dad?"
"Nah."
"Should I go get Mom?"
"Are you crazy?!?"

Here's a near verbatim transcript of our conversation:
ME:"Leave Calvin's stuff alone. It's fine where it is."
SCOTT:"What if I don't?"
ME:"Then I'll call the police."
SCOTT:"Ooooh big man."
ME:"You don't have the right to touch my property."
SCOTT:"It's on a public street, that gives me the right."

(This is when I unsuccesfully attempted to appeal to him with logic.)

ME:"You park your truck on the public street, does that give me the right to move your truck?"
SCOTT:"It gives you the right to have all your goddam teeth removed by me!"
ME:"I think I'll waive my rights."

I asked him where I should put the hoop.
I could tell he wasn't prepared for me to ask him that, he was only prepared for a fist-fight. To my amazement, he had me move it about five feet from it's original position. So I moved it. Scott flashed me a confused look, and went inside, I think to ponder whether he had won or not.

My answer came the next morning, when a Clark County Sheriff came by, and Scott ran out to meet the cop who was sporting a crew-cut and wearing those Oakley "Terminator" sunglasses.

"That basketball hoop is on a public street," Scott whined to the cop, "I want it removed... this is a formal complaint!"

Officer Oakley summed up the situation, and said, "Well, why don't you move it right there?", and he pointed to the exact spot where the hoop was originally. I did my civic duty, and moved the hoop back to it's original spot, and Calvin and I played a little basketball just to rub it in.

The only problem is, Scott is going to work extra hard to get me back for this.

"Ooooh, big man."