We blew a 14 point lead in the second half of the Basketball City semifinals last Tuesday night. I ate frozen dumplings and a couple scoops of peanut butter while the west coast NBA games lit my living room.
I used to think people who cared about basketball after college were losers. When my college ‘career’ ended, I took pride in the fact that I never got a basketball tattoo. The last thing I wanted seared into my bicep was a reminder of how committed I was to something that I had to give up upon graduation.
As I entered the workforce, I felt dumb for spending so much time developing a skill unnecessary to my career. Intimidated by the steep corporate climb, I would have traded my jumpshot for the ability to code.
A day after I moved to NYC as a 21 year-old, I played in a 6AM run in East Village. I smirked at a team of 30 year-olds huddled, talking strategy after losing. It’s just pickup. Why do they care so much? I thought to myself.
In my formative years, caring was never the problem. I listened to introspective J. Cole intros (lol) while I shot jumpers, and watched sappy Jordan Brand commercials on bus rides to games. So when I graduated, I did the opposite— I read books on the train to men’s league games to convince myself that I didn’t care.
A few years into consistently playing in that 6AM run, I became the commissioner. I grew the game to over 100 active members. I woke up at 5AM four days a week. I biked through the cold to play before work. But still, I pretended not to care.
Then I almost retired at 26. An injury and a pandemic sidelined me for two years, forcing me to lean into my washed-up hooper era full of gratitude. It only took me six years to shake off my early 20s angst, and accept that it was okay to love basketball as someone that requires a half hour of geriatric hip exercises before playing.
My jumper turned out to be useful off the court, too. I added my high school highlight tape to my online resume, and got two basketball-related advertising gigs. Every friend I’ve made in NYC has been through pickup. And I’m pretty sure it helped me court my girlfriend (something coding wouldn’t have accomplished).
These days, I throw on those old J. Cole mixtapes to my pregame playlist, and even introduced some Lynyrd Skynyrd. Turns out the music you find sentimental at 28 year old is different than when you were sixteen. I’m in three different men’s leagues, and often find myself on league websites speculating potential playoff matchups like I’m Jay Bilas.
So when we lost the other night, it sucked. But at least I can finally admit it.
It’s not too late to get that tattoo.
This was as cathartic to read as I'm sure it was to write 🙏👊
Turns out it's still fun to care
Killer reflection, Shooter, very introspective and relatable.