Today I played some mediocre basketball. But it was still great fun. And as I went down to play and as I returned back to work, I thought once and again of the games of one-on-one I used to play with my big brother Justin. (Bigger in spirit, it turns out; I grew a little bigger in stature). He would have been 51 today but he gave up this earth more than 16 years ago. I wish he had been there today, to play on my team, to help me be better. Like I've said countless times, brothers and basketball are synonyms in my mind.
In April 1995 my wife, oldest boy, and I went up to visit with Justin and my folks. At one point Dusty and I played basketball out in front of the house in Mountain Home, and for a while, it was just like old times. Vestiges of his former personality came out while we were playing—as we dribbled and hustled and took one-handed “horse” shots from the old green Chevy pickup. He even laughed a little as we talked, but then, the shadows of his illness would obscure his smile and he would disappear again. It was the last time I would see him, and I am so grateful for those brief, beautiful moments.
When short guys complain about tall guys having the advantage in basketball, I always tell them that I would gladly trade in a few inches for some skills. And occasionally I will mention my brother who would consistently beat me because he was a step quicker off the dribble and had an underhanded “scoop” layup that he undoubtedly saw and borrowed from another even older brother. The scoop can only be stopped with a hard over-the-shoulder clobber foul or a good hard flagrant shove; and I often did what I had to. In the end, he taught me that it’s not how big you are, it’s how good. I learned to foul hard and to keep a defender in front of you lest you be pressed to clobber his head.
So speaking of "a ringing in both ears," Dusty Dan sent me a few audiotapes while I was down in Ecuador (in the 80s) and, regrettably, I recorded over most of them … but on one of the last ones, he is talking (and laughing) with his wife Janet, explaining the wonders of stereo recording on his fancy Sony Walkman . . . a device which he later let me borrow anytime I wanted.
Here is the short clip I listen to when I need to hear some “straight” talk. It's not a lot but sometimes you hang on to whatever you've got left.
P.S. Dusty also let me consume nearly all of his Sour Cream and Onion Lays potato chips purchased with his paper route money; I consider this to be one of the great examples of sacrifice observed in my youth.
