First time I picked up a basketball Jordan was still in the NBA. I think it was around the time of his final retirement. If I remember correctly, I hurt myself. I jammed my finger against the ball. My swollen hand ached for days. I thought I hated basketball after that experience. But it kept calling to me.
Years later I am much taller, a little older, non-wiser. I picked the ball up again. This time I got the hang of it. I tried the moves I saw on TV. It was a lot harder than I imagined. Inspired by the legend Jordan, and the legend in the making-Kobe, I kept playing. Soon I discovered I was actually good at it- or so I like to think.
The moves came naturally to me. The crossover, the finger rolls, the trade mark post up a fade away jumper, and the Iverson shake. That one took some practice. I remember my favorite players and their moves. Kobe and Iverson with the shake, Garnett and the post up, the Shaq attack, Jason kidd’s razzle dazzle, and Vince carter’s magical flight. Now that was spectacular.
One day I went out to play at a court in my neighborhood. I can’t remember much of the details of that day. I guess I mentally blocked it out. I recall being dribbled so bad every one screamed. I promptly withdrew myself and went straight back home. I determined never to show myself back there again. At least not until I improved my game.
I bought my first ball in the nineties. 1997 I think. It was like one of those one’s the Globe Trotters often used. Red, white, and blue with stars. I loved the sound it made when it struck the ground. I would play for hours any where I could. I would record NBA games form the television on the VCR. Recording over every old VHS tape I could find. Soon I had a collection of games which served as my coach. I practiced vigorously, looking forward to the day when I would have my revenge.
I soon mastered the moves, one in particular. The cross over. It was familiar with Iverson and Kobe at the time. You would fake right, with a head and shoulder shake, and then go left in an instant. Your opponent would go in the opposite direction. Satisfied with my mastery of this deadly move, I returned to the court-this time with a little more confidence.
There he was, oblivious to my existence. Innocently playing like he usually did. I don’t think he remembered me then. I recalled the embarrassment he put me through the first time we crossed paths. I could feel the excitement bubbling within me like a volcano. Fate matched us up against each other on opposite teams- with a little help from me patiently scheming and timing.
The game was a three on three half court. My team was down by how many points I couldn’t remember. I didn’t even care. I wanted to win my war not the game. All I wanted my chance at redemption. Finally my desire was rewarded. It was just me and him now, our team mates in the paint. I lured him out cunningly like fish following the bait on a hook. He followed innocently. If only he knew what I was planning. We were at the three point range now. I made sure everyone could see us. His eyes met mine. I could see the puzzled look on his face as he struggled to remember. My face must have looked familiar to him- the arrogance.
He took the defensive pose. Knees bent low arms spread to his side. There was no way I could get by-or so he thought. I dribbled the ball between my legs. Right to left, right to left. I could see him relaxing his stance. Convinced that I wasn’t going to do anything. I knew it was time to strike. I dribbled the ball through my legs, left to right. This time I went wide, stretching my hand with the ball as I faked right. A lightning speed head and shoulder fake followed. This added to the deception. He jumped to my right. I went left in split second.
The thunderous screams and applause that followed matched the distance between us as momentum pushed him farther away from me. It was done. I passed the ball to a team mate. We made eye contact again. This time the arrogant little player recognized me.
“Oh yeah it’s me”
I never actually said the words but my eyes said it all.
My team mate made the basket, we were one point up. The spectators never noticed that. They were still replaying the cross over in their minds, and mimicking the move from the side lines.
My player status redeemed I withdrew myself promptly. Leaving him frustrated and confused. He knew I was just showboating. That was one of the most satisfying events of my life. Only now as I type these words looking back, do I realize that I can use negative experiences to push myself.
Many more years later, I still love the game. The sound the ball makes when it strikes the floor. That feeling in the brief moment before you release the ball when making a fade away jumper. Suspended in mid air, your eyes on the rim a steely focus. That feeling when you dribble an opponent, leaving him embarrassed-Satisfaction. The screams from spectators that follows-even more satisfying.
I haven’t played in a while. I can’t find the time or energy. I watch the game though. This time I download videos from the internet and watch them whenever I get the chance. My body may not be as agile as it once was, but my mind is very much sharp. The skills never leave you. It’s in the blood. I imagine someday when I have a kid I will teach him to play.
ArchitectSly 