Fifty-Somethings Firing Up Fifteen-Footers in Flushing

We’re back! After spending the Northeastern winter months in basketball hibernation, then dealing with medical issues which caused us both to miss out on some nice spring weather, my long-time buddy and I both got off our 58-year-old keisters — at his behest, I must admit — and returned to action for nearly two hours this morning in moderate but typical summer heat. Fortunately, the humidity wasn’t killer and there was even a brisk breeze, but there were absolutely no clouds to be found, and playing on the unshaded court would eventually cause us to wilt.  It had been several months since either of us had touched a basketball, and it showed.

Photo by Andy Hu on Unsplash

A SIGH OF RELIEF FROM THE COUCH CUSHION

No one was happier to see me leave the apartment than my couch cushion, which is about to crumble under the weight of its owner who has spent the past several weeks glued to World Cup action. In fact, my friend and I agreed to meet at 10AM, which was exactly the starting time for the third-place game between England and Belgium. Honestly, basketball may have had to wait for another time or day were that the championship game, but on this day we definitely wanted to get to the park before the July sun took full effect.

We were surprised to see that we were the first ones to arrive at the basketball courts, although there were a few folks playing tennis and jogging around the track in the recently renovated park. Usually there are a bunch of teenagers out there hooping early in the morning.

On this morning, perhaps they watching the World Cup.

A NEW, YOUNGER CAT JOINS IN

This time my friend brought one of his co-workers with him; a guy still in his prime basketball (and human) years. Dealing with a couple of physical ailments, I’ve become rather persnickety about who I play ball with nowadays. Games involving guys in their 20’s and 30’s are too fast and wild for me now, so I was curious to see what the new guy was bringing to the court. I was good as long as there were no flying elbows or anything.

The young guy was pretty good. Slick dribbler with nice form on his shot. He was relatively quiet as the two older guys traded some light-hearted trash talk, but as time went on he even chimed in with a few barbs of his own. The way we were shooting the basketball, we were all easy marks.

I actually tried to check him — like, seriously — after he’d drained a couple of jumpers. I got into a defensive “stance”, and before I could get my arms up, he’d dribbled past me for a layup which I never actually saw, because I was still in stuck in a crouched position facing the other basket as the ball kissed off the backboard and through the hole.

Suddenly, Linda Ronstadt’s “Blue Bayou” starting ringing in my head.

Unless you’re Uncle Drew, the ability to laugh at oneself is an absolute must when you’re still playing basketball in your late-fifties.

GLAD NO ONE WAS TRACKING FIELD GOAL PERCENTAGES

We hadn’t played for several months, and the rust was evident, especially for me. I was able to hit a few flat-footed shots and went on a bit of a hot streak during the second game, but the ones I missed weren’t close, and I got winded rather easily. By the end of our third game we were all gassed and hitting the front of the rim on our shots, and the pole holding up the basket is probably still shaking from some of the shots I clanged off the backboard.

I’ll remain silent the next time I watch an NBA player shoot 5-for-22.

Meanwhile, the sun was making its way directly overhead; no watch or sundial was needed to realize the 12:00 noon hour was approaching.

THE PHYSICAL AFTERMATH

After three competitive games we called it a day. We keep score, but as usual the main goal is to get a nice workout and to return home to our wives in one piece. My back felt fine, but I felt a jolt in the area of my achilles tendon (I want NO parts of that kind of injury) after attempting a spin move (I have no idea why I would be attempting a spin move) and landing awkwardly. My buddy injured his fingers going after a loose ball, I think, while the young guy, of course, emerged unscathed.

And after months of relative inactivity, the only muscles that aren’t screaming right now are the ones being used to type this article.

I think we’d better keep moving…