There’s that man again. Basketball lifer Al (pictured above), now a youthful 61 years old, is still launching midrange shots, making a fair percentage of them, and leaving his feet while doing it. After waiting out pandemic isolation and humid New York City summer months, we finally came upon a mutually convenient good-weather day for some sixty-something hoops this morning. We’ll both eventually reach the point where we can no longer do this (Prediction: I’ll be first), but for now, it’s still possible to ignore the pre-activity body aches for a couple of hours and participate in the basketball run at age 61.
PLAYING IT SAFE
Things change in a hurry. As expected, compared to just a couple of years ago, the games between Al and I have gotten slower and are taking longer. We hadn’t played in a while and the meetings are less frequent than before the pandemic hit. We’re now more careful about the type of weather we’ll play in. A few years ago, the weather didn’t matter unless it was raining. We’d play in the scorching summer heat and humidity or pre-winter cold. This morning we had a crisp, cloudless, blue-skied autumn day waiting for us, and the temperature was right around sixty degrees when we started.
Perfect.
With chronic back pain, the decision to play any type of sport, including just taking a walk around the local track, is preceded by a tug-of-war between that pain and the willingness to endure that pain. It’s no longer a slam dunk (no pun intended although, in this case, it’s definitely a pun) that the next nice weather day will find me shooting hoops. And in New York City, those “perfect weather” days can be counted without reaching ten per year before the extreme stuff takes over. So the opportunities for outdoor basketball, at least, are already limited. The pain I was experiencing as I was walking on the court after some light stretching must have been evident to Al, who wisely suggested that we play until the winner scores eight, as opposed to the usual eleven.
I agreed before he was able to finish the sentence.
BASKETBALL GAMES PLAYED IN BLACK-AND-WHITE
The gameplay definitely finds two guys staying true to their era (that would be the 1970s) and accepting of their physical limitations when compared to twenty years ago. The mad dashes to the hoop have become increasingly rare but, as we did back then, each attempted layup is preceded by less than three steps after the so-called “gather.” All shots are from within the three-point arc. The knees wouldn’t be able to negotiate the James Harden Electric Slide maneuver prior to taking a perimeter shot, and we don’t try it. We bypass a bunch of open courts with a smoother playing surface and nets on the rims to play on an enclosed court surrounded by fences so we won’t have to spend all day chasing the ball as it rolls away.
If these games were televised, they would only be available in black-and-white.
I even used the word “run” to describe participating in a basketball game, which is inaccurate. We don’t do much running, and I don’t believe anyone uses that term anymore when describing playing basketball, but I wanted to make the heading rhyme.
WE’RE NOT GETTING BETTER, WE’RE GETTING OLDER
The movements have become less smooth and more Herman Munster-like, a vertical leap (as opposed to a horizontal one?) of more than a couple of inches brings the promise of a price to pay later in the day and beyond. The shooting percentages have taken a small dip. Stamina and discomfort are issues, but who cares? We’re still out here. After three games of one-on-one basketball, the kind that leaves little opportunity for a breather, the back muscles started to loosen up a bit and actually felt better. But getting to that point was a real challenge. And the recovery time gets longer.
Epsom Salt was a great discovery, even if it was by accident.
KEEP MOVING ANYWAY
Realistically, we only have a few more weeks for potential nice-weather days before the usual northeastern winter stuff kicks in. We both take advantage of opportunities to go out to a park and shoot hoops individually, but the one-on-one competition tends to be more physically challenging. We’re not old men (at least in our own eyes), but we’re not in our twenties or thirties anymore, either. We can’t imitate the moves of our favorite players anymore (Al is a huge Dr. J. fan, I won’t try to imagine him trying to emulate THAT guy). But whenever anyone can still get up and move, whatever the activity, it’s a good day.
And today was a good day.
