I pick most things up quickly. My hand eye coordination is good. I love games. I am resilient. I am quick. Most folks would tell you this is true about me. Except when it comes to basketball. Okay, so the town I grew up in in Ohio was all about football. It didn’t matter what part of town. I lived along the highway, but there was a big yard between my house and Jimmy Walker’s and the neighbors were kind enough to let us kids assemble for a friendly football game whenever we wanted. If I went over to friends’ houses that lived in town, we still played football, even if it meant in a street or alley. To be honest, I don’t even remember a single basketball hoop anywhere. By the way, I have been holding on to this excuse for ever.
When I moved to New Hampshire in the 5th grade, I did play one season of basketball for my school team. I don’t think I was bad compared to the other kids, but this blond kid named Robbie was really good and I seem to remember the basic strategy was if you found yourself with the ball, just pass it to Robbie. He would dribble down the court and make the layup almost every time. Not so exciting for the rest of us, so next winter, I just stuck to skiing.
Now there are lots of sports that I never played in school, and have played only rarely in my almost 40 years on the planet: bowling, badminton, softball, tennis, swimming. But when someone says, “Hey JGo, I gotta extra racket, wanna hit some balls around?” I am right there holding my own enough to make it fun. With basketball, I’m that guy that everyone wishes they never actually asked to play. Folks are polite about it, and they may even pass the ball to me once in awhile, but that’s only if they don’t feel any urgent need to score any points.
The concept seems simple enough. You put a round ball through a round hoop. I can throw and catch from my football days. I have been juggling since grade school and can keep 3 tennis balls bouncing off the ground almost indefinitely. I am one of the quickest dudes I know. But for some strange reason, none of these skills seem to apply on the basketball court. I can’t shoot, I can’t dribble. My passes are too slow. I am never standing in the right place. I am horrible! It makes no logical sense. So in grad school, when most of my older, slower, whiter cohort mates asked me to play with them, I figured I would put an end to this madness of me not being able to play this favorite American past time that even the whitest black dudes I know can manage with a little skill. If you were in my grad school cohort, and you are reading this right now, you are shaking your head because you know what a truly sad sight it was. You would have thought I was blindfolded and playing with mittens and roller skates.
When I moved to New Hampshire in the 5th grade, I did play one season of basketball for my school team. I don’t think I was bad compared to the other kids, but this blond kid named Robbie was really good and I seem to remember the basic strategy was if you found yourself with the ball, just pass it to Robbie. He would dribble down the court and make the layup almost every time. Not so exciting for the rest of us, so next winter, I just stuck to skiing.
Now there are lots of sports that I never played in school, and have played only rarely in my almost 40 years on the planet: bowling, badminton, softball, tennis, swimming. But when someone says, “Hey JGo, I gotta extra racket, wanna hit some balls around?” I am right there holding my own enough to make it fun. With basketball, I’m that guy that everyone wishes they never actually asked to play. Folks are polite about it, and they may even pass the ball to me once in awhile, but that’s only if they don’t feel any urgent need to score any points.
The concept seems simple enough. You put a round ball through a round hoop. I can throw and catch from my football days. I have been juggling since grade school and can keep 3 tennis balls bouncing off the ground almost indefinitely. I am one of the quickest dudes I know. But for some strange reason, none of these skills seem to apply on the basketball court. I can’t shoot, I can’t dribble. My passes are too slow. I am never standing in the right place. I am horrible! It makes no logical sense. So in grad school, when most of my older, slower, whiter cohort mates asked me to play with them, I figured I would put an end to this madness of me not being able to play this favorite American past time that even the whitest black dudes I know can manage with a little skill. If you were in my grad school cohort, and you are reading this right now, you are shaking your head because you know what a truly sad sight it was. You would have thought I was blindfolded and playing with mittens and roller skates.
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