Bounce, Bounce, Bounce
Martin Luther King recreational park thrives with activity. Small dogs prance about in exaggerated steps, swarms of pre-teenage children buzz the background beyond the basketball court, fathers busy themselves at the barbeque pits, but my interest is held by the six young men on the basketball court whom seem to be making last minute battle preparations—tying and retying shoe lace, stretching arms and flexing hips. It is a nostalgic moment for me, for I remember similar playgrounds of my youth. I take a seat on the soft green grass aligning the basketball court—opting to leaving the benches open for the young warriors.
“Take it out,” someone says. A long-legged kid makes his way to center court and calls out, “Ball in.” Then the battle is on in earnest. Bounce, bounce, bounce, between the legs and feign to the right. “Set it up,” a teammate reminds him. Quick as lightning, another young man dashes to side perimeter and the basketball appears in his hands, having sliced through air but a heartbeat ago. The young man catches and bounces his way toward the basket; simultaneously, a defender mimics his every movement. The attacker glides to the left only to realize that his defender has anticipated his direction. He then abruptly stops and reverses direction, his defender heads toward the right side, but no the attacker is feigning that the direction. What going on? Is he going left or right? Eternal drama and conflict concentrates into the tiniest particle of time. The attacker jumps skyward, his fingertips caress the basketball as his body continues skyward. The release is a thing of beauty; it is arcing toward the rim a few feet away. A scream pierces the blue sky as the defender’s hand swats the ball away at the last possible moment. A chorus of deafening “oohs” follows the block shot. The ball sails out of bound and both players touch back down to earth, their eyes lock on each others and a half grin-half smile appears on their faces, mutual admiration it would appears. With a nod of his head the attacker concedes the battle but not the war; the war is never lost.
Bounce, bounce, bounce, the ball is put into play from the side, once again by the long-legged kid. The ball zigs-zags in and out it, probing strengths and weaknesses, analyzing hundreds of possible permutations. Suddenly there is an opening—the smallest of opening—the basketball is bounced-passed through that impossibly small opening to the attacker on the wing. Confident, the attacker positions himself for the easy shot. Franticly, three defenders (with unthinkable speed) converge on the wing attacker. The attacker is inundated and temporarily loses that very same confidence that had reined just a breath ago. He bounces the ball between his legs, away and toward the long-legged kid whom stood ready in the rear. One of the defender immediately darts toward the long-legged kid. It’s a long shot but the long-legged boy’s eyes light up with the color of glory as he jumps up and releases the ball toward the basket. The onrushing defender has almost managed to catch up to the ball; still, he misses it by a hand and crashes on top of the long-legged kid. The ball “swishes” beautifully as it goes through the net. From their position on the ground both boys react to the ball.
“Yeah!”
“Damn... Great shot.”
The defender gets up and extends a hand toward the long-legged kid to help him up. There is no animosity, just intense love of spirit and physical prowess that is brought about only through intense competition.
The six young man huddle at the center of the court. All of them are nodding their heads up and down as if they had just discovered a weakness in their opponent’s game, all smiles, and all confidence is back. “Give me a sec,” one of the boys says, and bends down to retie his shoelaces. Another boy takes this opportunity to touch the sky and still another one bounces up and down on his toes like a prize fighter.
From the side, I tilt my head side to side and smile wondering what each boy must be thinking about at this very moment. Are they appreciating the beauty of basketball and the lessons that this simple game will teach them? Will they be back, hopefully, to admire future generations of younger players? It seems so unfair, but the game, like life itself, speeds by so quickly. And I hope that these six boys grow up slowly, wrapped in the wonderful memories that they are creating at this very moment. For in this game they will find the strength, the intelligence, and the humility to endure the unrelenting war that is life.
Again, the tall-legged kid makes his way to the center line. The attackers prepare themselves; the defenders become shadows. Strategy surges forward and defensive schemes leap into action. “One- nil.” Everyone agrees. “Ball in,” he yells out, and immediately minds and bodies are put on high alert. I inhale deeply, rooting not for the defender nor for the attacker but rather for the game.
Then the battle is on in earnest. Bounce, bounce, bounce, between the legs and feign to the left. “Set it up,” a teammate reminds him. Both the attacker and the defender bolt into battle. “He’s coming around, watch that back door. NOW. NOW. Bounce, bounce, bounce…
