a masochistic alumni

Every Thanksgiving weekend is the alumni basketball game at my old high school. We didn't have football, so basketball was the big thing. Names like Jason Kidd and Ray Young came from the school. Banners of retired jerseys and proclamations of state championships line the gym walls. The guys play the junior varsity team and the varsity team, the women play the game in between. Unlike the guys who want to come back and play, most women come back, but only watch. If I go, I play. Might as well. Don't get a chance to play at all during the year, but I'll play.

There were 8 of us. Sarah, from the class of 91, plays every year like clockwork. Their team is big this year, we can barely keep up with them. I write my name on the sheet with my graduation year. I'm the next oldest player. I am now at least 10 years older than my opponents. Time to stretch. Going to need lots of stretching.

Mark Curry, from "Hanging with Mr. Cooper" fame, is an alum as well. He brings his 1 year old daughter over to stretch with us, says she's a future Pilot. The basketball is half her size, she releases her hug and lets it dribble to the floor.

It's a few minutes into the game before anyone scores. We stay pretty even the first quarter, then trail behind for the rest of the game. We sub in when we can. But I have to admit the bench feels good. If I focus, I'm able to get some bursts of speed to slow down the ball, maybe encourage a steal or a turnover. I manage to get to the foul line. I haven't been on a foul line for 10 years. Fortunately, I still have a pretty pure shot. There's a ritual to the shot. It's a gimme, but few practice it. Bounce twice, spin the ball backwards in my hands, bend the legs, look up at the basket, shoot. I feel my legs leaden as I lower myself. Legs, I think, get the ball up. Swish! one! whew! do it again! The ball releases I feel it spin straight from my fingertips....in! quick, now run back.

The game ends. We shake the other teams hand. For the record, I got a rebound, 2 points, a gym burned knee and played about 20 minutes.

My brother and I sit behind the alumni bench to watch the guys play the varsity team. Only a few of them continued playing through college. Most play street ball. The refs call often trying to protect the high school kids from the large guys. The alums end up losing but not without a bit of fun showboating for the crowd. Mark Curry sits on the bench as honorary coach. He gets up now and then, looks down the bench as if wanting to send someone in, then sits down deciding it better to not. A comedian to the last.

There's something about the comeraderie of basketball that I miss. The plays in the huddle, the drama of seconds ticking by, or calculating how many plays, how many points, before the game is over. The beauty of the arc of the ball as it swishes to the hoop. The trash talking from the stands. I played basketball for 7 years growing up. I can't help but miss it. Even when I don't play, it only takes a minute or two to get back into gear, I just can't run as much.

I woke up this morning under warm covers, the rain pelting the window, not wanting to move, knowing moving would bring me to the reality of the soreness. But it was fun! I don't mind. It brings me back to a lot of fond memories growing up. I was a decent player, but not that great and not as good as I could have been. But there are moments on the court, when your body moved in ways with grace and power that astounded me, the potential of being. Takes your breath away in more ways than one.