Parting Shots

Last Saturday I showed up at our stake center ready for some rousing Church ball. I had awakened early, cooked one slice of french toast, ate a banana, and chilled some Gatorade to go. Soon, I went through the glass doors of the building and, while there were quite a few cars in the parking lot, things felt a little quiet inside. Finally, I heard a ball bounce in the gym. There were six guys shooting around but nobody from my team yet. They informed me that the games had been canceled due to a funeral later that morning but invited me to play in a pickup game if I wanted.

I waited to see if any more guys would show so maybe our team could still play together against these six. We had a few appear but most opted out, not wanting to play, I guess, unless it was an organized game . . . with officials, a scoreboard, compressed competition. Me? If there’s a ball bouncing, I just want to play . . . I prefer to call my own . . . no refs to mess with the flow.

A couple more willing guys showed and we ran the court. I got to play the whole time and nobody criticized anyone else. No yelling. Very little fouling. It was really fun. When an older gentleman appeared and asked us to wrap it up, someone said, “Next point wins!” I threw a pass inside but the big guy’s inside shot attempt went long. But the other team also missed at the other end. Back on offense, someone threw a nice pass to me on the left side of the arc and I popped a three to end it. Game winner . . . but nobody carried me off the court on their shoulders. No cameras were rolling. The only accolade was the satisfaction of putting in the last shot in before going home.

That done, we helped set up chairs so they would have overflow seating for the funeral. As I was exiting the building, I noticed the open casket and the white-haired gentleman whose time had come, there in a side room, readied for the viewing. Such a contrast from the flurry of activity I had just been a part of. This made me appreciate even more the amazing nature and potential of our human bodies. Also, that we should take advantage of what time we have because none of us get out of here alive.

Finally, I am hopeful that when I die, no basketball games will be canceled or postponed on my behalf. Or maybe there should be a pickup game. Or perhaps just free throws. And while I’m sure there is some convention (or even law) that will prohibit this, I really wouldn’t even mind if you wheel my casket out to the gym and put it right under the rim. And everyone can take a turn and shoot a free throw and it can bounce unceremoniously right off the lid over my head. (Lid closed, please.)

TANGENT 1: When I was young, sleeping on the bottom bunk, my siblings used to drop toys and other items off the top bunk onto my head. They were usually unsuccessful in their attempts to wake me and would have to find heavier items to drop.

TANGENT 2: My cute little niece who, in my mind, will always be a toddler, could always be convinced to sit directly under the net of the mini basketball backboard while her dad and I practiced shots in their living room. Thankfully that ball was softer than the toys of my youth and she only experienced slight brain damage.

TANGENT 3: My wife already thinks I spend too much time playing, watching, shopping for, thinking about basketball. She may not allow any shenanigans at my funeral. She’s probably right but I love the idea of casket free throws. (Shoot! Casketball . . .  just think of the dead-on potential for puns!)

A Thing of Beauty . . .

Last October another package arrived from my brother. It was the infamous Air Jordan XIs. Now these black patent leather shoes are the pinnacle of shoe design and the “holy grail” of many shoe collectors. My big brother Clair first gave me the pair back in 2001 when I changed jobs. You can see the letter from all those years ago --->

A few years ago I had given the “Space Jams” back to him but now, like a shiny black penny, they had returned. These shoes are a curious thing. They are cool to have, fun to look at and maybe try on every year or two, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to wear them. My Dad used to enjoy quoting Keats: “A thing of beauty is a joy forever.” That comes to mind every time I pull these out of the box. I can’t imagine an occasion that would merit my wearing these—perhaps a championship game or my son’s weddings? We’ll see. For now they sit in my closet and wait. The shoes, unworn, would have sold last year for between $300-500. The Jams were re-released in December, and the new shoes are selling for at least $225.  I would never sell them so it doesn’t really matter. They are just fun to have even though they are just “stuff”—the bond with my brother is so much more important to me.

When the new Jams came out in December, he and I hopped on our computers and tried all of the online retailers with little success. Eastbay crashed and Finish Line’s site was slow and quirky; in the end, I was able to get two pair from Champs. While the hunt for rare kicks was fun, the hour and a half that I got to talk to my brother on the phone was better than scoring a pair. From football on the lawn to basketball in the gym, sports and the requisite accessories have given us reasons to spend time together. And if you boil it all down, spending time is really the most important thing in relationships.

I wore the new pair of Air Jordans on Clair’s birthday. They look better at the free throw line than running down court. So go ahead and foul me.

TANGENT 1: Space Jam was the first movie my oldest son and I ever saw together in a theater. For that reason, the song “I Believe I Can Fly” is still one of my faves.

TANGENT 2: After my wedding, before the evening reception, I was at the mall with my new bride and Clair. He bought us each a pair of white high-tops to celebrate the occasion—they looked mighty fine with my Miami Vice tuxedo.