Monday night was the NCAA Championship. Duke beat Wisconsin in an entertaining game. Freshmen Tyus Jones and hardly known Grayson Allen overcame mighty Frank Krzyewski (who thoroughly outplayed soon to be #1 draft pick Jahlil Okafor). It was a great game and a great tournament. I thoroughly enjoyed it. It brought to my attention that over the years basketball has given me a whole lot of enjoyment.
My earliest memory of shooting baskets is with my brother Dan on a hoop attached to our garage. It was my dad's creation - a plywood backboard reinforced with 2x4's. The driveway was flat, so that was good, but it wasn't really wide enough. I was the youngest of seven brothers. I was maybe 7, but my oldest brothers would play with their teenage friends. Me and the other younger guys would jump in as soon as they left. The hoop was constantly in use. Eventually we had to take it down because the vibrations of the ball hitting the rim and backboard could be heard and felt inside the house.
The plywood backboard was transferred to the telephone pole across the street. It was way better. There was more room on the sides, and better yet, a street-light directly above. We could play at night! The hoop immediately became a neighborhood hangout. It got so much use that the dirt beneath the basket was worn down several inches below the level of the road. I don't remember anybody twisting an ankle on it, but I do remember it being hard to score from 'the hole'. Worse, a puddle was created whenever it rained. Attempts to fill it with sand just made the paved area around it slippery. At some point, without warning, the telephone company tore down the backboard.
We squawked and a few weeks later my dad put up another one. The replacement was a particle board job. I don't know where he got it, but it had seen service somewhere else. I remember he repainted it before he put it up. I spent a good chunk of my childhood shooting at that basket. A lot of kids in the neighborhood did. Over time the backboard became soft and warped. It didn't phase us. If you played there a lot you gained an advantage over anyone who didn't. And nobody played there more than me. Whenever I had nothing else to do I'd play basketball. Winter, summer, day, night, sun, rain; it didn't matter. I wish I had a record of the number of hours I spent shooting. It would be mind-boggling. Having brothers meant there was usually someone to play with. Plus there were all the neighborhood kids. Even more kids came by once the hoop was in the street. And if there wasn't anyone to play with I'd play by myself. I'd mark spots on the street and keep shooting until I made a set number. I'd imagine being John Havlicek or Jo Jo White when I was younger. Doctor J or David Thompson; Larry Bird when I was older. I'd imagine winning championships with dazzling shots. I never lost.
The first organized team I played on was in elementary school. I don't remember what grade we were in. It was a Saturday morning youth league at the high school. I don't remember much except that it seemed impossibly hard to score. The game I remember ended 2-0 after overtime. So we must've been very young. I'm guessing 2nd or 3rd grade. My next door neighbor Jimmy Coughlin swished a shot from beyond the foul line to win it! After that I remember an elementary school team. We were Hatherly and I remember playing against Jenkins. We made our own tie-dye jerseys. Must have been sixth grade. The Hatherly gym had a tile floor, but this was an away game and the Jenkins guys had a wood floor. We could score by then. We had a few plays. I was one of the taller guy and did ok. I can see images of the gym in my head, a referee and a few parents sitting courtside. I can't remember anything else.
We played on the blacktop at recess every day. The hoops were low; maybe eight feet. There were aluminum backboards with rusted metal nets . Recess was after lunch and we'd choose teams while we ate. Then we'd sprint out to reserve the court. I think I was one of the better players owing to playing so much at home and having good size. I was always chosen to be on one of the teams. Basketball at recess was great fun, except when Joe Cochran played. Joe would argue every foul, out-of-bounds or violation. Joe was from my neighborhood and I guess he was my best friend, but he bullied other kids. One of the only intact memories I have from basketball at recess was of Joe hyperventilating after arguing he was fouled. There was a big commotion with Joe on his knees unable to breathe. A teacher responded quickly and put a paper lunch bag over his mouth. Joe didn't argue as much after that.
Later in life, through high school and after, basketball sort of became my identity. Writing this has made me wonder: Do we choose what we pursue or do we just pursue what we're successful at?
