Baller - for real
1st in a series
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They never told us that “Do or die” was going to look like this. Running around in circles, huffing and puffing. I took a hard look at my health in the first year of my retirement, and knew I was headed for trouble without much spare time to do something about it. Then my doc threatened me with an extra pill, and that kicked my butt into gear. I changed all the things. I started showing up at the gym on the regular for the first time in a long time.
Albuquerque has a great system of community education and exercise. Twenty bucks a year gets you access to it all. I go to the North Domingo Baca Multigenerational Center. It’s big, it’s new, and it lives up to its name. It has a good track, which is needed when the winters are mountain high cold, and summers import the air straight from Hades. It has a good fitness center. They feed lots of folks breakfast and lunch and you don’t have to be old to eat. A Lot of group homes bring their folks out in the morning. After school, the little people have a program. People of all ages play, and work out, and socialize. It is a good scene.
But I like Saturday afternoons. The Ballers show up. The track where I move about is upstairs – kind of the mezzanine to the open courts below. On Saturday afternoon, the courts are filled with young people playing basketball. Mostly young men, but some high school girls, a few guys past their prime with their knees wrapped, refusing to give up. A beautiful mix of ethnicities. There tend to be two games going. The all-comers court, and the we-mean-business court. They take the game with religious seriosity, but good humor. I have not seen anger or trash talk.
Some of the ballers have hauled along their much smaller sibs. Primary graders. I can hear the mom’s saying “Get these munchkins out of my hair for a couple of hours!” They are often attached to the high-end game. They have their own balls. They watch close, and when the action moves to the other end they sneak onto the court and take their shots. They usually get out of the way before the action comes storming back at them. Mostly. But they do not get yelled at, and they do not get run over. The Multigenerational thing is also taken seriously at Domingo Baca.
Yesterday there was a new player. She was maybe four feet tall. Maybe 8 years old. She had a momma sitting at the side reading a book. She was wearing a perfect Los Angeles Lakers uniform, and a yellow silk ribbon in her high blond tail. She had her own ball. She walked onto the all-comers court and took some shots. Hitting 1 in 3 at the regulation ten feet up. Her dribbling needed work, but her hand to ball size was also way less than regulation. One of the big boys noticed her and smiled. He got in her space and made like he was gonna guard her. Just playing – looking to engage her – good will in his heart. She looked down at the deck and bounced her ball a couple of times. Then little Laker looked up – that eyes only from under her bangs look that said: bring it. They sparred a little then she did a perfect fake to her right and flashed around on the left, shouldered him in the butt putting him off balance and then set herself, took her shot from at least 10 feet out, and sank it – nothing but net. She retrieved her ball and walked away, never gave him so much as a look.
The old ladies on the mezzanine track whooped and hollered. She didn’t look at us either.
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