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Just a Game and Not Just a Game
In three hours, the Boston Celtics and Golden State Warriors will tip-off Game 6 of the NBA Finals. People all around the world who enjoy watching humans shoot round orange balls through iron circles will tune in. My brother and my nephew will attend the game. I’m happy for them. I will be attending from our couch. I will be walking around the block at halftime with our dog, JoJo, trying to collect myself and remind myself this is just a basketball game.
I’ve loved basketball since I was old enough to remember. We had a hoop bolted into our garage and we lived right next to a park that had a court. I would shoot baskets at the park, often as the sun was setting, coming in at dusk. I was lucky it was a single rim. One of the rims got bent, so everyone always played on the other one. The net would get ragged. At one point I bought a net and brought a ladder over to the park to replace. I was scared of heights, so getting up there and actually replacing the net took some serious resolve for 11 or 12 year-old me.
I loved playing one-on-one with my older brother. By ones and twos. To eleven. Sometimes to 21. Win by 2. Until I was maybe 12, he was always at least a foot taller than me, so I had to learn to be crafty and hesitate. Cross-over and dribble with both hands. He helped me learn how to dribble with my left hand. Some coach at a summer camp stressed the…
