Hoopaholic

My name is Sven and I'm a hoopaholic.

As I carpe diem, one day at a time, in my 12-step program of recovery from demon basketball, I am obliged to acknowledge that yes, I have a problem, and yes, I am powerless to control the problem on my own, and yes, some entity larger than myself is needed to begin the healing.

I recently had a setback in my struggle to live hoop-free. With invaluable support and encouragement from taiji and qigong practitioners, I was able to find alternative sources of muscle stimulation and healing energy. I was doing fine, and my knees were relatively pain-free most of the time.

Then I walked past the empty gym at Whetstone during a break in the rec center schedule, when no basketball leagues or open volleyball games were going on, and an uncontrollable urge came over me. There was a rack full of basketball sitting there with no one around. Just one shot, I thought, then I'll go home and no harm will be done.

You can imagine the rest of the story. One shot led to another, and pretty soon I was banking in turn-around jumpers, right-hand hooks, left-hand hooks, jump-hooks, layups. Only the gross physical limitations of this mortal coil prevented me from making shots from beyond the three-point arc, and before long fatigue made me stop and rest. Oxygen debt is unforgiving.

The rec center staff were getting ready to close up and go home. Did I pack it in like a rational person? Of course not! I shot another round from both sides of the paint, getting into a rhythm, warming up a bit, and even elevated enough to noticeably leave the floor momentarily. And they say white men can't jump.

I'm here to say even white guys born in the year of the metal tiger, at the very dawn on the second half of the twentieth century, if they have temporarily lost their marbles, can extend their qi and the magical orange orb more than they realized and almost touch the rim. Almost.

And when they happily hobble home in the snow, their knees ache just like they did in high school. But now the knees still ache a week later, and when doing a certain taiji movement, weight shifting right to left, one of the quadriceps gives out for just an instant right where it attaches on the medial side of the knee, and that's no fun. But I think I can work around it if I put my weight in the heel instead of the ball of the foot, there, much better.

My logical left brain says: this is nonsense, you're done, hang it up, and do what heals you, not what hurts. Makes sense to me. That's what I tell my students. Then my spatial right brain says: it's worth it, what I need is more basketball, not less, and those fast-twitch muscle fibers that have atrophied will come to life again.

Sure they will. Which Sven will win this argument? Maybe I'll make it my patriotic duty to play once in a while, out of respect for our new hoop-loving president. In fact, it would be disrespectful not to. Then when the health care system is fixed, I'll get some new knees.