by Derek Neal
I’ve recently started playing pickup basketball again. When I was younger, I played basketball all the time. At two or three years old, we had a toy hoop with a bright orange rim, white backboard, blue pole, and black base. It was, I believe, a “Little Tikes” brand hoop; I’ve just looked it up online, and my research seems to confirm this. In any case, I will now remember it this way—the vague memory I hold has solidified into one canonical version. But it might have been a different brand, the base of the hoop might have been a different color.
When we moved to a new house at four years old, my parents installed a hoop in the driveway. It could be raised to 10 feet, regulation size, or it could be lowered to 7.5 feet, allowing you to dunk. I played every day. Later my parents discovered that the neighborhood association didn’t allow for the installation of permanent basketball hoops with cement, but at this point it was too late. The basketball hoop is still there. I am 30 years old.
Some years later a full-size court was created along with a small park up the street from my house. We played 2 on 2, 3 on 3, or 5 on 5 full court if the group was big enough. Sometimes we just shot around or played horse. This location became known simply as “the courts,” plural even though there was only ever one. In addition to basketball, it also served other purposes. The park was accessible from two separate bike paths, which connected two different neighborhoods. If I was headed to the courts with the guys from my neighborhood, we could reasonably expect that the girls from the other neighborhood might be there as well. Read more »