NotebookMy Achy, Breaky, Basketball-Loving Heart
“Players with fight never lose a game. They just run out of time.”
—John Wooden
There’s a good chance I’ll think this blog was a stupid one to post, but sometimes the best things in life makes us feel and do stupid things. Like spending time writing about men’s rec league basketball.
Had a game last night. It didn’t go well, and I drove home aching and angry.
Not me.
I rolled my ankle on the second play of the game. Twisted my knee later. Played like crap. Played slow. Couldn’t cut. Got burned regularly. Missed shots I usually make. Could barely drive, and when I did, I couldn’t finish, or I threw the ball away.
It’s a bad night at the gym when the best drive you make is the one home.
I didn’t limp or make faces. That’s basic Man Law. No acting like you’re hurt, even if you are. (No, there are no rules that I know of regarding blogging about it later.)
And, oh yeah, I ticked off the refs. One of our best players got hit and bled everywhere. Blood went all over the floor, right in the middle of the lane. They didn’t notice, so I asked them to stop the game to clean up it.
“You don’t own me, son!” Sir Ref barked at me. “You don’t talk to me like that!”
Holy overreaction, Batman.
“I wasn’t talking to you like anything. I just don’t want us to all be running and dribbling through blood.”
“Ball in!” Whistle blew. Ball inbounded. Blood still on the floor.
I didn’t get a call all night. I drive a lot. I get fouled a lot when I drive. I love three-point plays as much as I love three-pointers. I didn’t go to the foul line once. First game ever without a single free throw. Not that it mattered; the way this game was going, I probably would have missed. I actually cussed out loud once or twice. I never do that, not in the middle of a game, for all to hear.
We lost, and I drove home aching and angry. But I took it as a good thing. It means I still care.
Just found out our playoff game is tonight at 7. I’m team captain, so I texted the guys to let them know, and added, “Gonna be ready to do some f---ing work after last night. See you there.”
I haven’t felt like this in awhile. Again—it’s just men’s rec league. But last night ended as well as it could have. We were down by 25 with like, six minutes left. To win would take a miracle. But we kept playing. We didn’t quit. And when the game ended, we’d still lost, but we only lost by 12.
Why do I care so much, so much that I’m dropping f-bombs in texts? So much that I’m blogging about it? Does that make me just a sad, pathetic person?
I don’t know why I care. Or what that says about me. Not exactly. But man, I’m glad I do.
Being a sportswriter, I’m all the time writing about or reading about guys redeeming themselves for bad games. In my own little insignificant rec league career, I get to a chance to live it today.
It’s hard to get up for these games sometimes. I’m an adult and have adult things to tend to, like deadlines to meet and errands to run, and the days can wear on a guy. I’m tired when I walk into the gym.
But I’m stoked about it.
I know that these games mean next to nothing. But they mean just enough.
Reader Comments (3)
Dude, when you stop caring about it, quit. Yeah, it may be rec ball, but it's what you are investing yourself into at that very moment so be ALL IN or not in at all. We all need stuff to keep us fired up from time to time! Just remember to harness the ol' anger though...
Play, write, work or whatever it is at the moment with all you got or with all your heart as a very wise person once stated. The outcomes will take care of themselves.
Ball it up tonight!
Great Wooden quote and by the way, thought the post was awesome.
Hahaha I love the caption on that photo, just now noticed.
I mean.. I'm glad you clarified because I really thought it was you!
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