Basketball a strange, frenetic dance
I’m writing from a dustyfloored gym.
It’s still dark outside, a little past 5 in the morning. Thirty minutes from now, the rest of the crew will arrive. Ten guys, ages 20-something to 40-something. By then, I’ll have push-broomed the floor, but it’ll still be slick, especially along the sidelines where the air ducts leak. Last week, James slipped over there and sort of did the splits.
Nobody warms up much outside of me and Big Vic. Vic’s a 6’5 Frenchman who went to high school in Paris, Arkansas, as a foreign exchange student. I met Vic six years ago via email. He reached out in response to an Arkansas Democrat-Gazette feature I’d written about this same morning basketball group.
Since then, we’ve seen players come and go. Sometimes, all it takes is one morning, one hourlong session of full-court basketball, for guys to realize this isn’t for them. Others, like me and Vic, have stuck it out through twisted ankles, pulled hamstrings and too many other small injuries to count.
Up until recently, we played three days a week. We’re down to two now, which has made things easier on “The Commissioner.”
That’s what the guys call me because I’m the one who sends out the group text. I’m in charge of making sure we have enough players. After dropping to two days a week, I’ve had more guys wanting to play than I’ve had spots available.
We only need 10. Two teams of five. Nobody gets up at 4 in the morning to stand around on the sideline. There’s a waiting list now, a thoroughly engineered system for who’s got dibs on the next open spot.
If all of this sounds ridiculous, it probably is. Get 10 guys together and turn them loose with an orange ball, two hoops, and their pride on the line — what else would you expect?
It’s not much different from 25 years ago when we were boys playing pickup games at recess. We’re older now, sure, but boys never really grow up.
A few weeks back, we almost had a fight. Nothing serious. Some disagreement over a foul that turned into a shoving match. A few cross words. A couple of sideways glances between guys who weren’t involved. The moment
passed and the game ensued.
It was beautiful. Ridiculous? Yes, that too, but beautiful all the same. It’s magic. That’s what basketball is — what it can be — even when the bright lights, the fans and pep bands are stripped away.
It’s this strange, frenetic dance we do, the 10 of us together, jumping, spinning, sprinting until the final point is scored and the gym goes quiet once more. Like it is now, like it’s been all night and into the morning, waiting for us to arrive.