Of Hoops and Dreams

My hands felt near frozen. This was crazy. “Just go inside now,” I thought. No. I needed to make one more shot and then I could go in. Only three shots made in a row could produce the psychological, ethereal key that would unlock my own mental door allowing me to physically go back inside out of the cold.

It sounds insane, because it probably is. But I was really stubborn and…dedicated? Day in and day out I would practice basketball in the cul de sac court outside my home, even during the cold winter months. I not only wanted to get better but I loved shooting. It felt very satisfying.

Back in the 1950s, a good gentleman had installed the basketball hoop there in the cul de sac as a gift for his sons and the neighborhood. This same hoop had serviced numerous players over the years. And I had spent many, many countless hours there as well.

I played a lot of basketball. I watched a lot of basketball. I wanted to play in college and possibly professionally. I remember attending numerous college games with my uncle. One memorable game I said, “Bruce. Someday you are going to see me down there on that court.” I meant it.

I worked and practiced repeatedly towards that goal on that street court directly outside my home. Rain, snow, shine; I was there shooting. So what happened? I made the high school basketball team. Things were good, though I was a nervous wreck. The competition was high and I was anxious and stressed about it instead of just enjoying playing the game.

One fated year something changed. My brother started playing this new, up and coming sport called Lacrosse. And I liked it. They invited me to a pick up game and I got hooked.

Now we all make questionable decisions in our younger years. Hell, it continues into our older years. This happened to be one of those decisions that you question throughout your life or wonder “what could have been.” I quit the basketball team to play Lacrosse instead.

What!? What happened to my dream of playing on that college basketball court? To this day I’m not really sure. Perhaps I was overly anxious and stressed about tryouts, competition. I can’t really say now, but I often wonder that it was a mistake. I sometimes wish there was someone there to have pushed me and not allow me to quit.

I did go on to get Rookie of the Year in Lacrosse and do very well years after, which offered some validation. But I always came back to basketball. I always went back to that basketball court outside of my house.

I provide this history and context help illustrate the deeper attachment I felt to that court on the street outside my home, as silly as it may sound – so one can better understand for what happened next.

Fast forward to years later. Things change. A new family moved in across the street by that basketball court. I had since married and moved away to my own home in another city. I would visit my parents, who still lived there, and spend time on the court now and then. The basketball hoop conjured memories of pained, cold hands taking “one more shot” in the cold winter air. I’d wonder at dreams missed and forgotten, where memories blur somewhere with lost hopes of shooting in a stadium on a college court.

One day I got a call from family that the city had come and ripped out the basketball hoop. The new family across the street didn’t like it. A ball had hit one of their cars. So they called the city and complained. I couldn’t believe it.

Others couldn’t understand why this upset me. Yes, I was mad. Without over-dramatizing this experience, I merely hope to convey the personal emotional connection. For me there existed a deeper sentiment and meaning that many did not understand. That basketball hoop had stood in that spot for 60 plus YEARS! No issue.

My brother and I had rebuilt the backboard when the old wood had begun to fall apart from age. We repainted the court lines and installed a fresh net many times. That hoop had been my palette to paint a youthful dream eventually left to the wayside. It had been my outlet of stress, anger, remorse, excitement, sadness – raw emotions all let out onto that court. And it took only one detached and naive person, ignorant of the history, in a moment to flippantly protest and demand its removal. For what? Don’t park your car by a basketball hoop! Move YOUR car. …Ahem

I have since moved on; but while considering this experience two veins of thought have stuck out persistently in my mind, both seemingly unrelated.

First, I wonder how this situation might illustrate a concerning change in society. Consider, if you will, what has changed? What allowed for a basketball hoop to exist, non-threateningly in a neighborhood for 60 odd years to then suddenly be ripped out because someone was ‘triggered’ and, in my opinion, reacted rashly?

What changed? I can guarantee it was not the basketball hoop. It was consistent throughout the years in its purpose. A basketball had an unfortunate, errant bounce. Contrast the kind gentleman who 60 years prior had gifted a basketball hoop to a growing neighborhood to the type of person that became offended in an instant and had it ripped out. Something changed along the way in our history to produce more of the type of person that looks to be offended. Yes, there have always been offensive and easily offended people around, but modern society has certainly become something special.

We find a new breed of individual that considers being made to feel uncomfortable as a crime; the world around them must conform to their own perceptions and feelings; the world needs to change and not themselves. (I’ll not move my car, I’ll move your basketball hoop.)

When we become ‘triggered’ by some event or some thing, we may rip out the proverbial “basketball courts” in life irrespective of the effected, avoiding our own self-introspection. We selfishly disrupt the world around us until we are made to feel comfortable and safe once more at the expense of everyone and everything else.

It’s sad that that basketball hoop no longer exists to serve more aspiring players throughout the years. But it’s also sad and unfortunate when individuals view the world through a shallow lens, acting rashly and reactively. This happens with ourselves, even naively. It is hard to admit but in a weird way perhaps I had already mentally ripped out that basketball hoop years earlier through my own rash decisions of walking away from basketball dreams. But we move on.

Which finally brings me to the second idea: change is hard. Change is uncomfortable. Things happen. Environments change. People change. We change. We meet forks in the road and we make choices; choices that change our paths and affect our dreams. So change can come for good or worse, often by our own volition. Among many things it can cause regret, heartache, excitement, joy. But we must continue on nonetheless.

I don’t mean to trivialize these interweaving ideas but you know, it’s okay to be uncomfortable sometimes. The real world is often impartial to one’s feelings, and situations of discomfort are no exception. Change by whatever means is almost always going to be uncomfortable. We learn to manage and alter the paths we are on. But as I have mentioned in other posts about doing hard things, change is one of those hard things. When humbled through such experiences, they can enlarge our perspectives and provide an opportunity for growth.

Now, I don’t profess to have all the answers but rather offer some observations. We do need less of ‘being triggered’ and more humble introspection. Perhaps, and I mean this in no way to be self-patronizing, but perhaps we should have more people play basketball out in the freezing cold. Shoot three pointers out on a street court, on a winter night, out under the street lights. Have them feel a bit of discomfort and encourage some perspective. Yes, it’s okay to be uncomfortable, at least only until you make three shots in a row.