Basketball

When I was a kid, I used to play basketball obsessively. Every day. In the summer, at least twice a day, sometimes three times a day, sometimes just once but it lasted all day. It was all I ever wanted to do…well, that and try to see down girls’ shirts. I remember my first time playing basketball. I was in the sixth grade and had just transferred to a new school where I hardly knew anybody. I was quickly adopted by the nerds (which is very typical of my life—don’t get me wrong, the nerds are great, it’s just that when you’re in elementary school your worst dream is either to poop your pants in the middle of gym class, or to be a nerd). We went outside for recess and someone had a basketball, so we started playing. I had never played before—I come from Texas where kids play football or just stand around punching each other—but I seemed to pick it up pretty quick. I soon became one of the best players among the nerds. That’s not very hard, because the whole reason they were nerds is because they weren’t very good at playing sports. Some people think the easiest way to climb the social ladder is to be good-looking. Wrong—it’s to be good at sports, at least in elementary school and if you are a boy. In elementary school none of the girls are “hot” yet, and most of the boys and girls look the same anyway, except for hair length. So the way to be a popular boy is to be good at sports.

And another thing—I never considered myself a nerd. I always considered myself cool, but I just had to hang out with the nerds because none of the other cool kids knew that I was cool yet. It was just a matter of time until they found out, and then I would assume my deserved place in the social hierarchy of the public school system. I always felt that I was on the verge of breaking into coolness. I felt that way in 6^th grade, 7^th, and 8^th. By 9^th I realized that I had made it all the way through middle school without getting into the cool group, so I started to give up, but then I went to a new high school in a different area and my “I’m cool, they just don’t know it yet, but when they find out…oh baby” theory came back full force. 10^th, 11^th, and 12^th grades passed with no change in status.

But from 6^th grade all the way through 12^th, basketball was the most important thing in my life. Once I graduated high school and moved away, I no longer hung out with kids that played ball. My new friends were skiers and granolas and hippies and musicians and other non-hoopsters, so I basically dropped my obsession. I had no one to share it with...

...Until 2 days ago. Beau and I spontaneously decided to go play with his church basketball team. The team hadn’t won a single game all year. We walked into the gym and saw them. They were a sorry-looking bunch of ragamatags, droopy and beaten down by life’s hardships. Especially one of the guys was really droopy, and he was pretty tall so it made him look even droopier. Beau and I arrived with fresh energy and optimism. We were Tornado and Goose (though we never figured out which one of us was Tornado and which one was Goose), the dynamic duo come to resurrect the dead and breathe the hot and heavy (and slightly beef stewy—I had just eaten dinner before going over there) breath of life into these sweaty, shiny, droopy potato-looking players.

The game was incredible. We juked, we jived, we ran, we slid, we pushed ourselves and our team, we came out after three minutes because we were so tired and out of shape. But when it was all over and we had won, I felt as if a part of me had returned. My love for the game was back. My purpose in life restored. I am a new man, a basketball man. I am Tornado…or Goose, I’m still not sure.