* (To read Part I, go here.)
I've been thinking a lot about basketball lately and how much the game has meant to me and how much it has done for me. And I'm not talking about winning and losing games or putting on a uniform or filling my ego by proving I'm better than the guy guarding me. I'm not talking about the challenges or the thrill of winning or agony of losing or trying to relive glory days in some rec league with a bunch of other guys who smell like Ben-Gay. Those days are long, long past for me.
I'm talking about all the late nights that basketball gave me a platform on which to just think, just be alone, and just contemplate my last move or the move I needed to make next.
I'm talking about all those late summer nights I spent in my isolated small town on the driveway, dribbling away countless hours with my friends, talking about girls, talking about dreams, talking about where we'd rather be, and who we wanted to be with.
I'm talking about hour after hour of shooting free throws and jump shots, retrieving ball after ball that found its way into a bush or rolled down the street and doing it all over again gladly and willingly.
I'm talking about night after night having a safe haven to go to when no other place in the world seemed nearly inviting.
Basketball has always been my safe haven, my sanctuary. A court, any court, has always been my temple. I've literally prayed on the driveway while banking layup after layup off the bank board. I cursed life doing the same. I've thanked the spirits for the fortune I was afforded and questioned out loud "why me?"
As recently as last night, I stood in the dark all alone on the court outside my house, listening to the ricochets of my dribbling ball shoot off the houses surrounding the circle. I'm fairly confident I routinely piss my neighbors off by pounding the ball of the pavement as the clock approaches and then passes their bedtimes. I'm quite certain they feel the exact annoyance and frustration my mom and dad felt all those years ago when the clock would hit midnight and I was still banging shots off the rim. I would have kept on going if not for my dad yelling out the bedroom window, "God damn it, stop with the ball already!"
I guess I'm willing to live with the scorn of those I'm pissing off in return for some alone time under the stars. I don't like to run (although I've begrudgingly started up again in the past months), and I don't know anything about cars or carpentry or anything else that could preoccupy my mind and time. I know how to dribble and shoot, and I know that doing it helps me put things in perspective. It's cleansing and it somehow repairs and strengthens my faith and resolve. I've given up trying to understand how or why; I just thank God for the gift.
Beyond returning me my sanity more times than I count, basketball has also given me relationships with people a lot older and younger and different than me. The basketball court is the one place I know of where my daughter and I can meet and everything is perfect. The court is where on many occasions I laughed until my stomach hurt while the late, great Kevin Kitrell cracked joke after joke. It's where I opened my ears and was rewarded with endless life lessons from the late, great Dave Schofield. It's where I coached boys and girls and watched them grow as players and people, watched them compete, and witnessed them take pride in themselves and take pleasure in their big and small successes. The court is where I learned humility and what hard work can give you. It's where I experience the greatest of joys and the worst rejections.
I love the fact that when I meet a "basketball" person, I instantly know it. I love that I've played basketball with people of numerous races, cultural backgrounds, religious beliefs, musical interests, etc., and none of that mattered in the least. I love that I've walked onto courts and instantly started playing a game with nine strangers and we all were somehow on the same page without a word being spoken. There's an unspoken language that basketball people share that instinctual and fascinating and I'd argue that's important.
Basketball gave me a way to earn my dad's pride. It gave me way to connect with my older cousins, with my sister. It gave me a way to pass on knowledge to my daughter who plays. It gave me the time to get in a few games of "PIG" while sharing random thoughts with my other kids who don't play.
I guess I've been thinking about basketball so much lately because my daughter shows the same love of the game when I watch her practice with her team. I've also been thinking about all the guys I spent so many summer nights with traveling to Council Bluffs to play in summer leagues and get in fights and get drunk and then get back on with life. I've been thinking about the guys I used to play with that aren't around anymore and how I know they loved the game just as much, if not more than me. I've been thinking about Coach Thorell and hard lessons he taught and how they served me well. I've been thinking about the coaches who couldn't teach or lend encouragement and how that made me just as strong. I've been thinking about the Lakers and the Celtics and the 76ers and if I'll ever feel the way about another man as I did about Dr. J.
I'm guessing that as long as my knees hold out and as long as I can afford to have a basketball hoop, I'll always retreat to the court when I need to do some soul searching. I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't have a basketball around, and I can't imagine a day ahead when the same won't be true.
So much more than a game.
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