Photo by Andrew Itaga on Unsplash
A couple of Saturday mornings each month, a childhood buddy of mine and I venture out to a nearby park with a basketball court to shoot some middle-aged hoops. We’re both 57 years old, he’s in better shape than I am, but neither of us would be considered a physical specimen by anyone’s measure. I’m a couple of inches taller than he is with more of a mid-range game, while he’s an accurate long-distance guy. Getting into a serious defensive crouch is a challenge for both of us; getting out of one would probably require assistance.
Caving In To Middle-Aged Peer Pressure
The first time we played, after many years of not playing ball together, we found a court and after about 20 minutes of just shooting around, talking about family, work and reminiscing about our high school days, my friend tosses me the ball – a two-handed chest pass -and says, “Are you ready?”
I looked at him quizzically before responding, “Ready for what?”
“A game. Time to serve you up.” (Which he did, but I digress…)
After some initial hesitation I finally relented, not sure if I was doing the right thing, knowing that I wasn’t really in shape to play a competitive game, but also knowing that winning was less important than getting home in one piece. I took it slow, but it wasn’t like I had a choice. As it turned out, neither did he.
The games between us are usually fairly competitive but not terribly taxing physically – more like an intense version of H-O-R-S-E played in slow motion – and we probably expend half our energy doing some friendly trash-talking (like yelling, “Face!” when making a shot over the other’s outstretched hand as we did years ago). The first one to score 11 points wins and we’ll usually get three games in (especially if we split the first two), resulting in about a 60-minute workout, of sorts. Doesn’t sound like much, but at least iI’s also 60 minutes off the couch. We’ve been doing this for a few years now, and it’s not getting any easier.
A Little Pain Now Or Lots Of Pain Later
On occasion I’ll just take my ball and head to the court by myself, just to work on the shooting mechanics and maybe run some wind sprints. Stamina is always an issue, especially when playing against a guy who is a dead-eye open “jump” shooter who has to be chased out to the 3-point line. Carrying extra poundage doesn’t help, either.
This is about as strenuous as it gets for me on a basketball court. The knees are fine, no foot issues, however, chronic back issues tend to limit what one can do anywhere, especially on the court. But when you’re over 50 years old playing on public courts, perhaps the most important part of your body is your brain.
Finding The Right Court
The first time we got together to play, we drove around and found an empty court right near the river, so there was a nice breeze even though the sun was directly overhead. There were actually two empty courts despite the location, which was surprising, but we soon found out why.
The court was in a wide-open space inside of a park, actually at the opposite end of a softball field’s home plate, so we were essentially playing basketball in the outfield. So whenever a shot went awry, one of us had to chase it to the other end of the park, THEN had to bend down to pick the ball up.
So one of us would say, “I got it” the first few times the ball got loose, then after the fatigue set in, we’d both just look at each other while the ball rolled away before one of us would begrudgingly make the chase. Now nothing less than a court enclosed by fences will do.
We also had to inspect the court. A crack in the pavement, a pothole, leaves, banana peels, candy wrappers, broken glass…heck, just bring a broom.
When The Clock Doesn’t Go Backwards
When you’re overcome with joy at finding an open, enclosed court and nearby parking in a densely populated city, it’s very easy to forget to stretch before getting the action started. For anyone – particularly the middle-aged weekend warrior – stretching is an absolute must. The so-called lower extremities are always eager to remind you that you are no longer in your twenties, even though you are no longer running or jumping. The back is always ready to flare up. Those sudden changes of direction are no longer an option.
Knowing (And Accepting) Your Physical Limitations
One morning I’m on the court shooting some flat-footed shots about 12-15 feet from the basket and making a decent percentage of them. The shot has improved with age, primarily because there’s little else I can do on the court. There were some young guys, probably in their early to mid-twenties on an adjacent court just shooting around. There were an odd number of them, so when one started walking towards me, I knew what was coming:
“Excuse me. We’re trying to get a game going and need another guy. Wanna play?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, man. I can’t run with you guys. I’d be a liability.”
“Hey I saw you draining those shots over there. You’ll be OK.”
“Nah, I’m gonna play it safe. I just don’t have a lot of mobility.”
I watched those younger cats play for a few minutes and knew right away I’d made the right decision.
I know how the twenty-and thirty-somethings roll. I was playing with a group of them about 10 years ago before suffering my first back injury. They run fast, jump high, are competitive, still have something to prove, and will knock you down. The elbows and forearms fly around with abandon.
As for me, in addition to having the lateral movement of a mailbox, my recuperative powers are nowhere near what they used to be.
If I’m gonna play basketball with strangers, I’m staying within my age range.
The Inevitable Challenge
A few weeks earlier I was shooting around by myself, and some guy about 5’4″ or so (I’m 6’4″) and maybe in his thirties walks by, thought he had a bright idea and made a futile attempt at sounding menacing with it:
“Yo, BIG MAN! I’ll play you for FIFTY DOLLARS!”
“Nah, I’m OK. I don’t gamble. Just shooting around a bit.”
“Man, but look how BIG you is! You SCARED or something?”
“Yes. I’m scared you don’t have fifty dollars.”
Then he just stared at me for about 20 seconds before walking away.
Chew Your Pride Well Before Swallowing
Another time I was on the court by myself and one of my shots got wedged between the basket and backboard. I’m tall, but I also knew that I’d pay a price physically if I attempted to jump and get the ball down myself. Jumping up there wouldn’t have been a problem; coming down would have been. That would have been one costly landing.
Embarrassed, I had to ask someone on another court to retrieve the ball for me.
Our Heroes Can’t Help Us Now
We also have to remember – especially during a competitive game – that we can no longer emulate these guys we watch (or used to watch) on television. Reaching middle-aged status doesn’t necessarily preclude one from at least attempting to copy the moves of a favorite player as we used to do 40-plus years ago. Even attempting a subtle move like a Walt Frazier head fake can be perilous.
Imagine trying to complete an Earl Monroe spin or Tim Hardaway/Kyrie Irving/Uncle Drew crossover at age 57. And attempting those Hakeem Olajuwon/Kevin McHale-like post moves can test the limits of those ankles and knee joints. The closest I’ll get is a Dirk Nowitzki high-arching fadeaway rainmaker off one foot, but even that’s pushing it.
It’s Difficult, But Go For It
For those of us who enjoy playing basketball and want to continue playing into our golden years, it’s a great way to burn some calories and build endurance. After getting a complete physical examination, just have to leave (at least a portion of) the ego on the couch, wear the proper footwear, stretch, stay on the ground, avoid those sudden changes of direction, drink plenty of water, take plenty of breaks, listen to any signals your body sends and if you need an opponent, find one in your age range with a comparable skill level (losing all the time bites at any age), and go for it.
Then hit the bathtub afterwards. It’s well worth it.
