Why we play

When a man who loves the game(*1) takes time off and steps away for a moment there can be many factors. Injury can be a factor (*2). Decline in ability can be another. Recently, I have not “hit the hardwood” in a minute. I haven’t had that feeling of walking in to a gym knowing I’m going to be underestimated, drain threes, and then as a result be denied the ball. I haven’t heard the squeaks of ones or Jordans(*3) against the floor. I haven’t felt the sweet taste of victory or the sour taste of defeat in some time. Frankly, I’ve been too busy. My forced mini-retirement (*4) has been a result of working too hard and getting home with barely enough motivation (*5) to get through an episode of Generation Kill. It’s food then bed.

Last night it changed. Invited by a friend to play in his league game I forced the energy to get back out there. The team was sponsored by the music venue in the city named after the late B.B. King(*6). Because of this fact I expected the team to be made up of an eclectic bunch to say the least. My friend who invited me to play can, and is, often described as a rocker. Minutes before game time I see the squad we have assembled, the lucky teammates who get to witness “the return”. Along with me and my afore-mentioned rocker friend is another rocker in camo cargo shorts who rocks a mullet with the top of his head shaved(*7) and a young skinny lawyer. I suppose you have just completed the math and you are damn right, that is only four…against a team with nine muscle head Lehman types. And to further set the scene, to describe how hot it was in the gym would do injustice to the word hot itself. Here goes nothing…the Arborist, the Rockers, and the Lawyers set to wage war.

I will stop myself from building suspense here in an effort to pretend we might have won. To the contrary. We got run. Our score was doubled. But, I remembered some things about why I love the game and have never walked away from such a mutha’ucking pounding with such a good attitude. Our team, this rag tag bunch, never gave up. Never at one point did we not give in and stop playing and it was obvious to all. I’ve never gotten so much love at the end of the game from another team about our effort. The refs were riveted and called multiple time outs for us so we could catch our breaths (*8). Onlookers to the game started rooting for us (“Keep shooting four four”)(*9) and these were friends of the other team (*10). Walking away, with my head held sky high I realized, again, why you play the game. Love. Damn I’ve missed balling but sometimes you forget why. You loose sight, in this busy get-that dough-society of things important to you and that is wrong. Neat tip, do the things in life that make you happy. I got two words that sum this all up…RETIREMENT OVER.

*1: basketball
*2: courage leg
*3: if you good "down there"
*4: athletes, including myself, are completely destroying the meaning of the word retirement
*5: motivation being a problem in this instance but, in fact, a lifelong issue (tree)
*6: a venue with criminally high show prices. $55 for Method Man tixs anyone? How bout $50 to see Toots and the Maytal? Wait, Is B.B. even dead?
*7: His name was Jake and he is responsible for all the Rocks Off concert cruises around the city so if your looking to get stuck on a boat with RJD2 or O.A.R, I got you.
*8: a.ka. Mike Shields heart attack prevention
*9: telling me, or Coz Chuck, to keep shooting is like telling a boozebag to keep drinking, I'm on it fool.
*10: This is very important. Although I just wrote how I was semi-inspired byt the support showed to our team during our huge "effort" I must tell you know how most off me feels. Real sh*t alert. Loosing means nothing on the court and winning is and will always be everything. I found it more than condescending that these effin mutha'uckas were cheering us on like we were the 0 and 8 team wlaking into to play the defending champs and how cute it was that we tried our best. Truth be told I was the best baller on the court and every high five that came along with a condescending smile and a "hey, nice shooting man" offended me deeply and I will never forget it. I would love to see all those good sportmanship a holes in a dark alley or, more importantly, on a court with my squad. Thats really real.