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!)