This is a blog devoted to thoughts on and around my extremely limited hoops game. In time it should serve as a portal to all things sports- and pop culture. FIRST BALL OF SPRING I'm not a good enough an athlete to play while overweight. My game is essentially that of Ron Artest (tough-ish defender, spot-up jump shooter at best) minus half a foot of height, even when in solid condition. And now I'm heavy, having shot no basketball in half a year. Where until this morning I only seriously suspected I suck, I now have full-blown knowledge of my current status. This morning, clanging jumpers off the rim of my Portland playground was one of the better scenarios. There were air balls and potential backboard denters. One time, I fell on my face after starting a shot too close to a leaf-filled puddle. I was, overall, a mess. Basketball is such a mesmerizing force that walking away is a supreme challenge. The trick to getting back to competence -- that elusive level I'm forever striving to reach -- would be to not stay out too long on my return outing. (Luckily, enough rain fills a Portland spring that getting on the court two days in a row is a rare option.) Yet, there I was, predictably, running myself ragged long after I regained some semblance of form and began to make shots. The prohibitive body aches that might keep tomorrow's workout from happening were already embedded in my musculature when I found myself chasing after anberrant shot, leaping upon and then over a low bench and then snatching the pill before it could know more Laurel Park wetness. I.E., I was doing way too much. The 2013 aim is to get okay enough to play in a 45-and-over hoops league. If that's going to happen, I'll need to discipline myself enough to be out on the court at least three days a week. (And of course blogging on it; that's my thing.) No opening day gymnastics would help that cause, right? I'd just be soaking my fat ass in a tub today, then sitting out tomorrow. But that wasn't happening. And just when I found myself balling out of control, in a bad way, I took a long jumper from the top of the playground key. My lift was perfect, like I was 25 and 180 pounds again. The shot lofted just a bit long and bounced off the back of the basket. Then the thing went straight up. When the basketball fell, it caromed off the rim's inside, hit around and rolled through the net before dropping to the blacktop. Shooter's touch! Maybe this would be the season I consistently had it. I was standing at the key's top, wrists still extended. The feeling is why you stay out there, arguably too long, to convince yourself that maybe you might be -- one day -- just a li'l bit more than okay.
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