Begin The Begin

“Begin the begin” is the title of an R.E.M. song. The band releases a live album today. R.E.M has been one of the more influential musical groups of my life, especially growing up. I’ve always been inspired by music. When I was younger, I would blast the stereo through my sister’s bedroom window so I could hear music in the driveway while shooting hoops. Today begins the NBA season. I remember my very first basketball game. It was a fourth grade intramural contest with a neighboring Elementary School. I’d played in other games before. Day camps, night leagues and friendly park scrimmages were all customary growing up an athlete. Intramurals was different because we actually traveled to another school to compete. It was the first time I remember traveling with any team. Our school had gray T-shirts, and I sported mine proudly. I remember getting to our opponent’s gymnasium. The coach offered us their locker room to change into uniform. It was an easy sell for our nine year old eyes. We were on top of the world, feeling very much like big-time celebrity hoopsters. Years later I would discover how much I really disliked changing in strange locker rooms. I always preferred the comfort and familiarity of my own school. But as a novice athlete, I wasn’t nervous at all. Pre-game jitters were barely a part of my semi-limited vocabulary. Our team wandered onto the court for warm-up drills. I still remember observing all the smiling faces of parents I’d never seen before. Some of my teammates’ parents made the fifteen minute drive to attend the game too. I was one of the starting five that day. Maybe it was because I had a nasty three-point shot or because I understood the importance of good defense. I was always better from long-range and hooking them from downtown. I used to practice in my driveway at home every day after school. My mom would move OCE-311, and sometimes MMU-282 (the license plates of my parents’ cars) into the street so the driveway was all mine. It was almost guaranteed I would come to dinner with black hands from the tar on the driveway. I used to pretend I was in the NBA and there were defenders all around me. Sometimes, I was tripled-teamed. Of course, I magically escaped the pressure to snag a lay-up. There were times I even drew a few fouls. I practiced and practiced my foul shot, imagining myself in the dwindling seconds, with the game on the line. It was fun to shoot hoops alone. I never minded not having company. Occasionally, my dad would join me and pitch me the ball from the outside lane. My sister seldom ventured onto my “tarwood” to play HORSE or Around the World on weekends. She was master of the airball. Neighbors and friends did come over to challenge me one-on-one also. But it was the independent nature of solo basketball I truly enjoyed and cherished. Maybe that’s why I became a tennis player. Nevertheless, I did like playing basketball with my Elementary School teammates. Our first game was special.
I made the most of my court time. I scored six points, or the equivalent of three baskets. Or maybe I scored three points on six attempts. It’s impossible to remember the details. I don’t even know if our team won the game. That’s not what’s most important, after all. Winning and losing, in the moment, seem colossal, even to a pre-teen intramural athlete. Years later, those aspects of the game become minuscule niceties. The things I recall most are how to always keep my head up when you dribble. I remember how to set screens and to remain poised during foul shots. Never put yourself above the team because basketball is a team sport. If the alley isn’t clear and you can’t make the shot, pass the ball to another player. When your chance comes around again, seize it and release your shot. Basketball is a metaphor for life. You have a choice where you bounce and when you stop. The net will always be there, as will opportunity for success. You just have to choose wisely and strike at the right time. If you don’t, you will miss out on something great. Stick with something long enough and eventually it will be a slam dunk. And even if you miss the shot, you can learn from your error and recover the rebound.

Parting points: “This is our beginning coming to an end”- “Wheels” by Foo Fighters