One man's journey: a basketball epiphany

The guy in the Jordan jersey and blue shorts approached me from the other side of the court as I lofted another lazy jumper in Chicago's storied early morning summer heat.

"I'm a little out of shape," he said calmly, "but five bucks says I'll still take you." "Your ball first," I said.

He drove to the left and missed a short bank shot. I grabbed the rebound and checked the ball at the top of the key.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, finding a skinny white kid's presence too conspicuous to be easily ignored. "I'm a student," I replied without thinking, "and I'm..."

"Where? You look like one of them Northwestern kids."

"Connecticut," I said, satisfied with my evasive response.

"At least you're not from NU," he said. I was glad that I decided not to get that "Y" tattooed on my shoulder. I drove left, then cut back right, laying the ball into the chain net. 1-0.

A few more short jumpers and up-and-unders and I was up 11-3-and he was under five dollars.

"You deserve it," he said as my friends made sure that he gave me the money. To me, that win was worth more than those five dollars to me. According to everyone I've told about it, taking his money automatically made me a "hustler."

As hustlers go, I wasn't the best. First of all, I'm not a great basketball player. I can do just enough to beat some mediocre players. I only attempted it twice and I lost once. But that one win made me love sports again because in a twisted way I had accomplished every little boy's goal: I was getting paid to play basketball. It was fun again. The years of high school practice and conditioning that I had come to hate had been replaced by that little-kid feeling. I was again happy to lace up the new shoes and run and jump. Last summer, I never would have imagined that things would turn out this way.

When I decided to attend Yale, I resolved to remove sports from life. I found few sports lovers here, and my own love of competition dwindled. While the Yale Bowl sat empty, students stayed in their rooms reading James' The Golden Bowl. I vowed to myself that I would overcome my Penn State football addiction and my ailing knees. I would read Eugene O'Neill's The Emperor Jones instead of watching Shaquille O'Neal's assist to Eddie Jones, and move the pile of Sports Illustrated magazines off of the Janson's History of Art sitting on my coffee table. For almost a year, I stayed away from the gyms and walked past the sports section at News Haven. But after that morning this summer, I was an athlete and a fan again.

Ironically, I have Yale to thank for keeping my love of sports alive. Through an Association of Yale Alumni (AYA) community service fellowship, I spent the summer living in a halfway house on the west side of Chicago. Scattered throughout the area were a variety of parks and courts. At first, I watched from the window, but after a few weeks, the allure of the asphalt proved too strong. When AYA interviewed me, they asked if I played basketball. Good thing I did, because it turned out that this was the skill that helped me the most in my work. The first time that I really felt comfortable with the guys with whom I worked was on the court. After my victory, everyone suddenly seemed more open. I had rediscovered the universal bridge of basketball. I was playing, meeting people, learning the city. And once again I was happy on the court.

Robert Fulghum (whose book is buried beneath Slam in the bathroom) tells us that we learned everything that we needed to know in kindergarten. He was correct about some things: always take friends with you to the playground, share your ball, and don't cheat. But he was wrong about others. Sometimes it's okay to knock people down. Most of all, it's great to feel like a kindergartener holding a basketball for the first time again. And despite my parents' constant warnings not to hang around the courts in Chicago, I'll be back out there next summer. I'll spend nine months out of the year as a Yalie. But after fighting to earn respect in classrooms all year, I'll be back soon enough to try to earn it again on the playground. I don't know which victory is sweeter.

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