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May 11, 2005
Hoop dreams
As the hipsters like to say, I heart Slate Magazine. Admittedly, there is a good bit of bauble that I just don't give two hoots about, but they usually have at least one great article a day.
Today, it produces what I think is one of my all-time favorites: the NBA playoffs as an extension of YMCA pickup basketball.
Last week, I figured out how to reduce the NBA playoffs to a human scale. Like most people, my basketball expertise comes from playing pickup basketball. In a pickup game, you don't know anyone's name or background. Since there aren't any uniforms or color commentators, the only way to relive your performance is to seize on easily identifiable traits. I can't believe I had to guard the sweaty guy. Or, I totally crossed over the guy in the Michael Jordan jersey.
If you stare at pro players long enough, they start to look less like superheroes and more like the guys we've all hooped with at the YMCA. Ricky Davis isn't one of the NBA's top bench players. He's that annoying guy who thinks he's the team captain. The cagey old man who backs you down into the paint? You might know him as Chicago's Adrian Griffin. The guy who has more wristbands than points? Ben Wallace.
In the run-up to the NBA Finals, you won't see Steve Nash dish to a guy in jeans, and Ray Allen won't be hounded by a defender who refuses to take his watch off. But here's a list of some of the pickup archetypes you'll see in the next month.
I'm no baller. I've played basketball perhaps fifteen times my whole life. It started when my mom sent me to fifth grade basketball tryouts at Medill Elementary School, where I was promptly cut. I deserved it, because I sucked. However, I thought a grave injustice occured when Ben was also cut. He was a pudgy kid who wasn't the most popular, but he was nailing shots left and right. I said to myself, this kid's good. But he joined me on the discard pile.
So, despite my aversion to hooping - though I would certainly consider learning to play now - I recognize these basketball archetypes from playing pick-up soccer. They're slightly different, but still recognizable: there's the guy who shows up in an actual soccer jersey, but can't pass or shoot worth a damn; there's the mercurial Latino player who tries to dribble through everyone; there's the whiner who thinks everything is a foul; and there's me: the chunky guy who thinks he's Pele but plays in a style more akin to Terry Tate.
Posted by oz115 at May 11, 2005 08:53 AM