A subtle bass line pulsates from inside my headphones, most likely loud enough to be heard by any passerby as I lace up my green and beige New Balances before heading to the Rec for an hour of pickup basketball. Despite my limited previous experience, which came from a brief tenure on the first-year high school basketball team, I have come to find ‘hoops’ as my go-to weeknight ritual over the last few months. Standing in stark contrast to the pastel Kobes, Kyries and KDs that are typically on display, my ‘old-reliables’ have sustained continually middling performances in five-on-five play.
On the court, one could loosely describe my role as a ‘facilitator’ — doing just about anything to get the ball into the hands of those capable enough to score (namely, anyone but myself). Instinctually, I stray away from creating plays or shooting out of fear of embarrassment. When I am given the ball at the top of the key, I’m usually waved off by familiar faces who know that I won’t be taking a chance. The few shots that I do take are a mere foot away from the hoop, or the result of a rebound of someone else’s missed shot. Consequently, I am generally perceived as a non-threat in most basketball contexts.
Yet recently, I have found those initially unfamiliar faces to be a comfort. Beyond the stereotypical freshman fears of not fitting in or finding a friend group, the bar to get into a pickup game is extraordinarily low. The general criteria is to rely on three simple words, “I got next.” You don’t have to be a superstar, and you certainly don’t have to be six feet tall, but if you want to play, that’s enough. It doesn’t take long to find your people, even if you don’t manage to get to sixteen points first.
Further, the common courtesy of pickup extends beyond a handshake at the conclusion of each game. You’d have to look very hard to find someone who doesn’t admit if they last touched the ball before going out of bounds, or if they fouled you on the follow-through of a layup. I understand that for most people, I’m getting in the weeds with basketball jargon, but my point is that generally people won’t cheat, lie or take special effort to cheapen the sacred nature of the sport. In fact, clever plays or flashy passes will generally result in clapping from the opposing team, or at worst generate a look of disbelief accompanied by an under-the-breath mumble of how did he make that?
With finals season upon us, I think it’s important to give ourselves a little bit of grace, or, more importantly, a bit of fun. While I know many of us are tempted by the allure of a solitary day spent studying, it seems unbelievably essential to do things that are not tied to any measure of success, academic or otherwise. Thank goodness my effectiveness from the three-point range and my average of two rebounds aren’t tied to my GPA, or else I would be on academic probation.
What that could look like for you might be baking, watching a movie with your friends or simply taking time to be. For me, it feels like squeaky hardwood floors accompanied by the standard Wilson ball beating a steady heartbeat into the ground.
I wouldn’t call every person I’ve shared the court with a friend for life. Hell, I can’t even remember half their names. But then again, I don’t need to. Because each time I step on the court, the subtly upturned heads of familiar faces are all the greeting that I need. That’s a feeling of family in and of itself. One that isn’t contingent upon blood or similar interests, just a shared love of putting a ball in a hoop.
I have never been the most skilled player, but if you ever happen to be at the Rec at eight on a Tuesday night, look at the basketball court. You’ll probably see a myriad of swishes, some lucky shots, a behind-the-back pass or two and a few people just running up and down the floor, enjoying themselves. For most of us, that’s all we could ever ask for.
Bryce Leiberman is a freshman from Madison, Conn. studying Political Science and Philosophy. His column records a search for authenticity exploring the past, present and restless work of becoming oneself.
