Hoops

Partly due to nature and partly to nurture, every year about this time I get the itch to shoot baskets. Not necessarily to play basketball, as in a game, on a team, full court and all that, but mainly to handle the ball, feel the bounce, elevate to lay it in off the glass, be there for the rebound, get in a rhythm and move with it.

If there is a basketball gene, I have it, and about half the men in my family have it. My Dad played ball in high school, in college, and in the army, and he taught me the basics from an early age.

If it's also true that it takes seven years of training and conditioning to become an athlete, then I probably became a roundball player by the time I was 14 or 15. Dad didn't waste any time initiating me into handling the ball, dribbling, shooting, passing, but it was only when we moved to Detroit in 1960 that I played like all the time. So my body and mind came of age out on the driveway by the hoop, either with my friends or by myself.

All through school I hung out with jocks, birds of a feather and all that, and eventually got two degrees in phys ed. Some things just stay with you, and there is no way this guy will ever not be that kid. Genes and jones and a who knows who.

I was reminded of this the other day at the end of a long day at work. I needed an outlet so I grabbed the ball that just happened to be in the truck and spent a few minutes shooting at the hoop in the parking lot. My knees and shoulders and heart and lungs limited the time I could keep it going, but I need to go that more often. As long as I heed the warnings and limits of knees and shoulders and heart and lungs, I think they will gradually come around.

I can justify this insanity because "it's good for me." Yeah, that's the ticket, it's just a fitness thing. It has nothing to do with being 12 again and transported into sport heaven.