HOOPS MANIA

I’d barely heard of basketball 

But then at Washington Grade School 

Our sixth grade class formed a team

Bobby and Dick, Tommy and Gundy,

Kenny and Jim, also Roger

My parents had no interest

But my grandfather, my sweet Swedish grandfather,

Insisted that I join the team

I cried, I complained

Procrastinated, sulked

I’d never even touched a basketball

But Grandfather forced me to do it 

 

The smallest kid on the team 

All the others, quicker, tougher 

We practiced at the Presbyterian Church

I sat at the end of the bench

…as far from the coach as possible 

Praying he’d never notice me

I played in games every now and then 

I don’t recall that I ever scored

one — single — point

Probably I never took a shot

 

After the season ended

My grandfather put up a hoop

Over the garage door in our driveway 

My brother Steven was my practice partner

I was four years older and six inches taller

But Steven was fierce as a wolverine

We played horse, twenty-one, and one-on-one

Dodging, spinning, rebounding

Dribbling the ball on the loose cinder

After many weeks

We started making a few shots

 

The snowstorms arrived in late fall

We shoveled the court and played on the ice

Shedding our coats in the freezing U.P.  temps

 Slipping and falling but bouncing back

After dark we brought out the desk lamp

Hooked it up to the extension cord

And aimed the light toward the hoop

We’d stay out till bedtime

Sweaty and exhausted

In junior high our gang played in the school gym at lunchtime

Then I’d go to the D.A.R. Boys Club after school

Deeny-Boy was my practice partner

I dreamt I might be drafted by the Minneapolis Lakers

If only I could perfect my twenty-foot shot

This dream, like most others, never worked out

But still I learned many life lessons

How to win and lose with humility

 That developing skills is an endless process

That victory takes a lot of hard work 

I owe a big debt to my grandfather

Kids need some help to find their path in life