Let me try to take you back to many years ago. See that picture of a basketball court on top of this blog? I can’t remember exactly when but years ago on that same court I was playing pick up on a typical sunny weekend afternoon. It was way too hot to be out of the shade but there I was anyway along with a bunch of other basketball ‘adiks’ like me, getting a game in before there’d be too many people trying to play on two courts.
I don’t know exactly what made it happen but during a lull in the game I looked up at the blue, cloudless sky. There were a few branches from the trees in the way but for the most part it was a perfect sky. On a perfect afternoon. On the perfect time of day with me doing the most perfect thing I can think of: playing pick up ball.
And it hit me that right there, right then I did not want to do anything else anywhere anyhow anywhy. I was playing pick up and everything else in my world could go straight to hell and I couldn’t give a fuck (and a lot of it was at the time).
I remember thinking: Right now on that rough cement court I loved the game and as I was playing it I was loving my life. I loved the sound our sneakers made. I loved the sweat dripping off my chin. I loved the near smooth basketball even if everyone was avoiding the responsibility of buying a new one and it was getting smoother each week. I even loved the sweaty idiots I was with, many of whom I would never have reason to talk to if it weren’t for the fact they loved the game too.
I loved the game with every stitch and every pore and every atom in my body and to this day the distant sound of a bouncing ball or the whistle of a referee from a nearby school would send me reminiscing about all those battles, all those relationships, all those hours sitting by the court itching at a chance to play.
It’s my life. It’s why I made this blog. It’s the very core of who I am. My memories of pick up ball are both beautiful and bitter sweet. Why bitter sweet? I’ll let you know in a second.