Bigger than Basketball

Thursday mornings I always wake up a little bit sore. That’s because Wednesdays are basketball days.

Thursday mornings I always wake up a little bit sore. That’s because Wednesdays are basketball days. I have our weekly pickup-basketball game marked on my calendar, every Wednesday from 5:30 to 8 p.m. Friends and family know I’m practically unreachable during this time. If you have plans, considered them canceled.

As I write this (on Thursday morning), my back is tight, neck a little sore. Bruises on my arms. I’m tired and sore but I’m also grateful, grateful that my body can still jump and run around and be physical. Grateful for the Wednesday ritual that’s led to regular exercise that’s good for both my physical and mental health, and for the friends I’ve made because of it.

Some of our weekly pickup crew at a basketball court in Manzanita, Oregon, during a recent boys weekend trip.

Pickup-basketball is more often than not a game of unspoken rules. Without referees or clear organizers running the show, outcomes are usually dictated by “shooting for it” — shoot for teams, shoot for takeout, shoot for whether it was a foul. As Rasheed Wallace frequently decreed, “Ball don’t lie!”

In our group, our weekly pickup-game has only two “official rules.” 1) Play as hard as you can, and 2) don’t be an asshole. You’d be surprised how often the second rule is broken among other pickup games. It’s what makes finding the right group of players hard to come by. Aside from most folks working day jobs, taking care of their kids, and generally having a life outside of basketball, most of us in the group are in our mid- to late-30s, which makes the threat of injury a little more of a possibility. Finding people who respect the unspoken rules, who want to be competitive but friendly, and who try their best to not injure others is tough, but not impossible, so when you do find that group, you try to hold on to them. And because I’ve held on to this group, it’s opened up opportunities for connection that I wouldn’t have had otherwise.

First, my buddy Ted Gold hosts a fun podcast called The GoldenPod, wherein he interviews mostly local folks about their connection to basketball and Portland. Recently he asked if I knew anyone who would be open to working on the podcast with him, doing some of the audio editing and social media, to which I pointed right at my chest. I’m now the editor/producer of the show, and we publish new episodes every other Wednesday.

Second, I’m playing music again, in a band called Slacker Key with Sam Greenspan. Sam and a mutual friend of ours started playing music together (I play bass guitar) with informal jam sessions, which slowly morphed into Slacker Key practices. I’ve since played a couple of shows with the band and we even recorded some songs.

Lastly, and most importantly, I feel like a part of a community. Since joining the group, some of us have had kids and gotten married. A few weeks ago, some of us took a trip to Manzanita, Oregon, where we shared a house, hung out, saw the ocean, played poker and 2k, and more or less just had a chance to be together. We’ve celebrated birthdays and holidays together. Five years on since I’ve moved here, and I finally feel like the roots are being planted, and it’s in part because of this community of hoopers.

Some of the varied courts we've played at in Portland.

Now, yes, this is a Substack devoted to writing. So how does this relate to writing? I’m friends with tons of writers and artists who scoff at sports, poopooing at “sportsball” for its meat-headedness and barbarianism, and the jock culture that surrounds it. But I’m here to say, as someone with feet in both worlds, you’re more alike than you are different. Sports fans are nerds, through and through. They love stats and figures. Watch them throw out the name of a random small forward from the early 2000s and then see the nodding heads, the verbal barks of approval. Beyond that, what’s more dramatic than sports? Last night, I watched Luka Dončić cry during his tribute video for his first game back in Dallas since the trade. He then went on to score 45 points and get the win.

As writers I think we get too devoted to the idea of writing being the thing we do. We must write. We must produce. We must do these things or we are not continuing to grow our base. But having things to do outside of writing, having hobbies, fuels our world. You can’t write without experience. You can’t write about the world without living in it. It doesn’t have to be a sport, but find a hobby and embrace it. It may lead you to inspiration for a new story, a poem, an idea. And it may just lead you to some form of community.