Hoop Dreams
Yesterday, I shot baskets with my 64 year old father. He is still a better shooter than me after all these years. Even when I was 16 and was going to basketball camps every Summer and practicing daily, he was a better shooter than me.
I just don't have the correct mechanics in my wrist and elbow and in my guide hand (my left hand). When I was in my twenties, pretty much every Summer, I would make a vow to master these mechanics. I would dilligently trot myself to the park and shoot hoops. But I wouldn't just shoot absent-mindedly: I would try to focus on my form and work out all the kinks. I really believed that I could intellectualize the basketball shot. I would analyze it. I would spend an hour shooting with only one arm, just to make sure that my guide hand was not inappropriately affecting the trajectory of the ball. (This is a nugget of wisdom that a coach at a basketball camp that always stuck with me). I would have brief moments where I truly believed I had figured out how to shoot a ball. I would be up at the park at 10:30 at night, shooting hoops under the lights, with my work clothes on, and I would knock in a dozen in a row, and really feel like I was ready to beat the world. Of course, all that activity was wasted energy. I never got significantly better at shooting. Every Summer, I basically would have to reteach myself how to shoot only to get back to the point I was at the previous Summer. It is the Myth of Sisiphus (sp?) all over again.
We gave my Dad a hoop to put in his driveway for his 62nd birthday. While this is kind of a strange present for a senior citizen, it makes sense to us. I mean, we have been shooting hoops together in his driveway for close to 30 years, and we still enjoy it. Plus, for 20 of those years, my parents had the worst driveway in town. It was a split-level driveway with a 6 inch curb bisecting it. The concrete was never level, and over time, various pits formed in the surface. Eventually, the driveway had more craters than the surface of the moon. When it rained and you stepped out of your car, you were more than likely to step into 6 inches of water, that would flow over the top of your sneaker and ruin your night. Needless to say, this was not an ideal basketball surface. A few years back, he got a decent driveway, and both of us kept proclaiming that we need a new hoops. So voila...2 Thanksgivings ago, me and 4 of my cousins spent the entire period before the meal assembling this monstrously complex hoop. (It eventually took 3 days to assemble)
My Dad beat me again yesterday in a game that we call "Shoot-out", though he did have to invoke a dubious "win-by-two" rule in order to accomplish the task. He always wins. Or at least 90% of the time. The thing is that he has absolutely no extraneous motion in his shot. He balances the shot perfectly like a waiter holding a tray, and without moving his body one iota, he flicks in the shot. My elbow and wrist are all over the place when I shoot.
When I was young, our town's rec department used to have this event called a Turkey Shoot every November. In this event, a parent and a child would enter a free-throw shooting contest as a team. Parent and child each got 10 free throws and the number of shots made represented the team's combined score. The highest scoring team takes home a free Thanksgiving turkey. Both my Dad and I have always been decent free throw shooters -- I have seen my Dad knock in 30 in a row on many occassions and I have become decent by taking 8 million of these shots -- so we should have dominated this event. My Dad claims we DID dominate this event and that we didnt pay for a turkey throughout the 1980's. I think this is pure mythology. I remember winning it once or twice, but I dont remember a Milley Turkey Shoot dynasty like he claims. My memory however is a bit fuzzy on the results however, since it wasnt my money buying the turkey. Our arch-rivals were a family named the McQuilkens. The son was an all-star player on our high school team and should have beaten me easily. The father was...well...not so much. If I remember correctly, however, I usually held up my end of the bargain, knocking in 8 or 9, and my Dad was the choker in the years that we lost.
Forgive my indulgence in these mundane memories. Basketball has provided somewhat of a framework to my life for a long time. Even to this day, the only TV shows I really watch are the 82 regular-season Boston Celtics games. It is really the main thing I have in common with my Dad. We both excitedly watch all the games even though the team has stunk for 20 years. Watching the Celtics in the 1980s was such an unbelievable experience that it has made both of us hardcore fans for life. Now that's brand loyalty. Even as I type, I am on somewhat of an emotional high because the Celts have won 3 in a row to improve to 4 and 6. Boy, do I need a life!
I just don't have the correct mechanics in my wrist and elbow and in my guide hand (my left hand). When I was in my twenties, pretty much every Summer, I would make a vow to master these mechanics. I would dilligently trot myself to the park and shoot hoops. But I wouldn't just shoot absent-mindedly: I would try to focus on my form and work out all the kinks. I really believed that I could intellectualize the basketball shot. I would analyze it. I would spend an hour shooting with only one arm, just to make sure that my guide hand was not inappropriately affecting the trajectory of the ball. (This is a nugget of wisdom that a coach at a basketball camp that always stuck with me). I would have brief moments where I truly believed I had figured out how to shoot a ball. I would be up at the park at 10:30 at night, shooting hoops under the lights, with my work clothes on, and I would knock in a dozen in a row, and really feel like I was ready to beat the world. Of course, all that activity was wasted energy. I never got significantly better at shooting. Every Summer, I basically would have to reteach myself how to shoot only to get back to the point I was at the previous Summer. It is the Myth of Sisiphus (sp?) all over again.
We gave my Dad a hoop to put in his driveway for his 62nd birthday. While this is kind of a strange present for a senior citizen, it makes sense to us. I mean, we have been shooting hoops together in his driveway for close to 30 years, and we still enjoy it. Plus, for 20 of those years, my parents had the worst driveway in town. It was a split-level driveway with a 6 inch curb bisecting it. The concrete was never level, and over time, various pits formed in the surface. Eventually, the driveway had more craters than the surface of the moon. When it rained and you stepped out of your car, you were more than likely to step into 6 inches of water, that would flow over the top of your sneaker and ruin your night. Needless to say, this was not an ideal basketball surface. A few years back, he got a decent driveway, and both of us kept proclaiming that we need a new hoops. So voila...2 Thanksgivings ago, me and 4 of my cousins spent the entire period before the meal assembling this monstrously complex hoop. (It eventually took 3 days to assemble)
My Dad beat me again yesterday in a game that we call "Shoot-out", though he did have to invoke a dubious "win-by-two" rule in order to accomplish the task. He always wins. Or at least 90% of the time. The thing is that he has absolutely no extraneous motion in his shot. He balances the shot perfectly like a waiter holding a tray, and without moving his body one iota, he flicks in the shot. My elbow and wrist are all over the place when I shoot.
When I was young, our town's rec department used to have this event called a Turkey Shoot every November. In this event, a parent and a child would enter a free-throw shooting contest as a team. Parent and child each got 10 free throws and the number of shots made represented the team's combined score. The highest scoring team takes home a free Thanksgiving turkey. Both my Dad and I have always been decent free throw shooters -- I have seen my Dad knock in 30 in a row on many occassions and I have become decent by taking 8 million of these shots -- so we should have dominated this event. My Dad claims we DID dominate this event and that we didnt pay for a turkey throughout the 1980's. I think this is pure mythology. I remember winning it once or twice, but I dont remember a Milley Turkey Shoot dynasty like he claims. My memory however is a bit fuzzy on the results however, since it wasnt my money buying the turkey. Our arch-rivals were a family named the McQuilkens. The son was an all-star player on our high school team and should have beaten me easily. The father was...well...not so much. If I remember correctly, however, I usually held up my end of the bargain, knocking in 8 or 9, and my Dad was the choker in the years that we lost.
Forgive my indulgence in these mundane memories. Basketball has provided somewhat of a framework to my life for a long time. Even to this day, the only TV shows I really watch are the 82 regular-season Boston Celtics games. It is really the main thing I have in common with my Dad. We both excitedly watch all the games even though the team has stunk for 20 years. Watching the Celtics in the 1980s was such an unbelievable experience that it has made both of us hardcore fans for life. Now that's brand loyalty. Even as I type, I am on somewhat of an emotional high because the Celts have won 3 in a row to improve to 4 and 6. Boy, do I need a life!
posted by itchy at 7:31 AM
2 Comments:
Remember Dishiphus? He keeps washing the dishes, only to have the pile of dirties rebuild more quickly than he could clean them....
Yes, I'd have to say that you do, indeed, love basketball--though it didn't come up much in your four years of college. And you like tennis, too. I think punk-rock you denied your athletic yearnings for awhile, but I'm glad they're back since you clearly enjoy it so much.
But I'm confused--you used to say that Larry Bird said that if you practiced free throws long enough, you'd get really good at them, but you just had to shoot and shoot for ever and a million years and never give up... AND you get 8 or 9 every time? How is that bad???
I remember the Larry Bird lecture because you used to make ME shoot free throws, and sometimes I would try and try several days a week, and I still sucked. However, I was eminently useful in your dad's new hoop assembly (don't you remember how I came through with the WD40 when you and five other men were tugging hopelessly at two ends of a wedged-in pipe?), and if anyone enjoys a driveway hoop, it's him. I never think of your dad as a senior citizen. Anyhow, Calvin will probably be a basketballer (though I intend him for the orchestra, but I think I'd fight a losing battle there...) so... start tossin'!
I distinguish between free throws and shoting in general. When you are moving around and shooting from different locations, your body has to make instant decisions about exactly how to execute the shot. Therefore you have train your body on good mechanics until it becomes part of muscle memory. Free throw shooting is nothing but repretition. You shoot from the same exact spot a million times over the course of your life. This is the one shot I ever got good at. I failed to mention yesterday that my day and I played two games: one called "shootout" and one called "Bird". Bird is just free throw shooting. We played one game. My Dad got nine in a row. I got 22 in a row. But I rarely get more than saym 5, in a row when I am shooting from different locations.
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