Recoiling back into a regular human existence is going to take some getting used to.
After the initial shock and a weekend of irregular sleep and, well, pretty much everything else (for two days I slept in three to four-hour shifts and ate in between), I'm getting back on schedule.
I have even taken up racquetball with a couple other senior teammates for a little off the court exercise. Ever tried three-man racquetball? Three college basketball players (we're a bit larger and more aggressive than the typical 50-plus year old goggle-clad racquetballer), three rackets and a little blue rubber ball whistling off the walls while we bob and weave to avoid the walls, each other and each other's rackets.
It's poetry in motion.
Luckily for the three of us, the team played pickup yesterday. Getting out onto the court was relaxing - yeah I was a bit out of shape, but it felt nice to run around a little bit with the guys.
You see, there's something about pickup basketball that you just can't find anywhere. It's like a disfunctional family on Thanksgiving.
Getting to the gym, everyone is in great spirits. We're doing what we love and with no pressure from fans or coaches so it's as free as it gets. So guys joke, laugh, and tell stories as we warm up shooting around.
Then, like that first dicey conversation at the Thanksgiving table, someone calls a foul.
May as well call the National Guard because there's bound to be a riot.
Of course the player who missed the layup got fouled. Why else would anyone ever miss a layup? (this is sarcasm)
And of course the player he called the foul on "didn't touch him." It was a clean block - "all ball."
It doesn't end that quickly, because it wasn't "all ball." The fouling player "slapped my hand; you could hear it."
But, taking a page from the rulebook, "your hand is a part of the ball," so the fouling player is off the hook.
Right?
Wrong. Now players from both teams begin arguing for their teammate. Amid the commotion, the most level-headed of the group will shout, "Just shoot for it!"
Which leads to the foul-ee shooting for the ball because why would "I" shoot for it if "I" didn't touch you?
Whichever way this ends up, we will hear, "the ball never lies." Let me explain. If the foul-ee makes it, the ball doesn't lie because he made the shot which essentially means the player was fouled. If he missed, the fouler's team gets the ball and the ball doesn't lie because it really was not a foul.
Phew
But before play resumes, we have to know the score. Yeah right.
Through all that arguing, everyone forgot. We play games all the way to the astronomical number of five, so it's understandable to lose track.
There goes another five minutes counting baskets. "Wait, no you didn't score that was last game."
...and so on...
Afterwards, there is usually some bad blood in the locker room because someone played well, someone else didn't and someone's team lost every game. And the insults come raining down on the losers.
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is what makes pickup basketball so great.
