Playing Ball: A reverie

[Ken_Nye]

I had to stop playing basketball about two years ago.
I still miss it.
You'd think a 65 year old man could deal with
something like this,
and I guess I have,
but not without some grieving.

I played basketball for most of my life.

Our fifth grade gym teacher taught us how to play.
I was pretty good right from the get-go.
My dad put up a crude backboard in the driveway
and hung a floodlight from out of the kitchen window.
At dusk or after dinner
I was always out there.
Some times my dad came out and rebounded for me
as I shot foul shots,
but it was usually just me.

Bordering the driveway was a huge granite outcropping
that had a flat sloping surface.
If I threw the ball at that rock
and then broke for the basket,
the rock threw it back to me as if it had
spotted me breaking down court,
and I took it in for a lay-up.

The back driveway was of packed gravel and dirt.
In rainy or damp weather, every shot off the backboard
left a huge muddy ballprint
and the backboard looking like a blotter
on which a Wilson or Spalding salesman
had gone berserk.

I got a new ball every Christmas,
and tried to keep it looking new as long as I could.
New York winters were usually snowless,
so at dusk or after dinner I was out there,
making a mess on the backboard.
When I came in,
I washed the ball in the utility sink.

I'd give anything to be fourteen again
and to have just twenty
minutes
in that backyard,
just me and the rock
and a brand new basketball.

[David Nelson Bradsher]

What a sad but sweet piece, Ken. I gave it up a few years ago when I knew my caregiving duties wouldn't allow me to be dunked on by 18 year old kids anymore because of the risk of injury (to self and ego).

I especially like:

The back driveway was of packed gravel and dirt.
In rainy or damp weather, every shot off the backward (backboard)
left a huge muddy ballprint
and the backboard looking like a blotter
on which a Wilson or Spaulding salesman
had gone berserk.

Others may have suggestions on how to trim this down, but I enjoyed it in its present state.

[Jonathan Morey Weiss-Namaste47]

I enjoyed this as well, Ken. Used to run full court for hours......Liked the concept of the granite as a sixth man (so to speak...although it was really the second man)

Believe Spalding is what you want. I had the pink ones when we used to play stickball in Brooklyn

[johnnysaturn]

Yeah this rings a bell with all of us who have had to watch the last connections to our youth slip away. I played indoor soccer for years until my knees told me they were no longer prepared to support my illusions that I was still 18.

[MichaelFirewalker]

for me, it was horses----NOTHING moves my old heart like the uniquely resplendent image of power married to grace, and smoothly galloping beneath my eyes in the finely tuned form of a fiery Arabian stallion...nothing, that is, except an equally stunning woman...

michael

Ken, I like the way your poem tells its story, straight up from the deepest wells of your heart, no fluff, no guff...and really good...worth reading over many times...

[Ron Wallace (Scotshawk)]

I've read this before, and I love what you've done with it. A good deal of work has led to an excellent work. I hope an opportunity arises to hear you read this; it has your voice.
If anything else be done there may be a way to make a connection in the last two stanzas tying the attempt to keep the ball "new" by washing it and the desire to keep your athleticism on the 14 year old level. Regardless of any further tinkering, this is a favorite of mine. Ron

[ramadevi]

Ithink all mid-lifers can relat to this heartfelt reverie!

I know I certainly can! even though baseball was not my big thing.


Nice story-telling, Ken!