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Guardian of Basketball Barn

The Legend of King

By Mike BarzacchiniPublished 3 years ago 3 min read
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Photo by Kelcy Gatson on Unsplash

We’d meet at the barn to play basketball any evening we could get out of chores or homework. The weather didn’t matter. In fact, once we played during a blizzard when the winds howled so hard the double doors on the loft blew off and shattered across the snow-covered cornfield. We made it home that night just before drifting snow closed the two-lane country roads.

The half-court was on the second floor of the ancient barn. It featured a wood floor, with all the regulation lines painted on. The game was three on three, or two on two if not enough of the guys could escape their chores.

Below the court, on the first floor, were the hog pens. In the coldest weather, we always brought two basketballs. While we played with one, we stowed the other near the hog heaters. We’d swap the balls out between every other game to make sure to keep things bouncing.

This was our hoops’ magical place and like any magical place, it was guarded by a fierce creature. This creature had a name, King. He was easily the biggest German Shepherd I’d ever seen and surely, he was the most frightening.

King ruled not only the basketball barn. The entire farmyard was his kingdom. The journey from our cars to the barn was easily more exciting than any game we ever played in the barn.

For a monster his size, King was incredibly stealthy. We’d pull into the drive and park as close to the barn door as we could. Then we’d scan the area for any signs of the canine dragon who guarded the basketball lair. As soon as we’d open the car doors, King would appear, his cover blown, he’d greet us with a terrifying bark. Though none of us had ever experienced his bite, older classmates told tales of unfortunate players who had. We did everything we could to make sure this history didn’t repeat itself.

After a few terrifying sprints to the barn’s entrance with King in hot pursuit, we finally devised a plan that featured one player, let’s call him “Short Straw,” who would stay behind in the car. He’d bang on the window on one side of the car, distracting King, while the rest of us bolted out the doors on the opposite side. Then he just had to be faster than King to the barn door. Once we all made it safely into the barn, the next most important task was to secure the door so that King couldn’t follow us up the stairs. We never neglected to do this, except this one time.

It was early spring, just warm enough in the barn for us to toss our jackets to the edge of the court. I remember the games that evening being competitive and fun, with lots of the usual laughter and sloppy play.

At one point, I held the ball out near the foul line. I was trying to decide if I’d drive to the basket or dish the ball off to one of my teammates when the guy guarding me stood up straight and looked over my shoulder, his face frozen in fear.

I turned around to see King. Somehow, he’d found his way into the barn and up the stairs. No one moved while King circled and sniffed the court. Finally, he approached our pile of spring jackets. He stopped, lifted a back leg, and proceeded to mark the jackets as his own.

Mission complete, King retreated down the stairs, leaving us alone, trying to get our pulse rates back under control. It turned out this dragon dog didn’t breathe fire.

A few months after this incident, we all started to go on to the next phases of our lives. For some, it was college or careers, girlfriends, marriage, and families of our own. This eventually put an end to our regular barn basketball games. The magic barn fell into disrepair. It’s still there, decades later, but now it’s just a pile of rotting timbers. While King, like all larger-than-life monsters, lives on in memory, his legend growing larger to this day.

Humor
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About the Creator

Mike Barzacchini

Writing my third act.

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