BASKETBALL

Basketball was my first love; she was there before my Queens and the bevy of Co-Eds that came along once they saw us together. She was there in the beginning; I was an 8-year-old unknown baller. We rode together on my bike to the Spindale House to sign up to play with her. Our love affair only increased when I got my own later that year, I took her to the Carver Middle school ball field.

We would spend countless hours together. She endured 90 degree middle of summer heat without one complaint. The rain would come and the snow would fall. My Love was there making me better while the other ballers were tucked safely in their heated and air-conditioned homes watching the Little Rascals and Batman. While we were putting in the work to dribble faster, shoot better, dream bigger. 

I fantasized about stealing the ball, racing down the court as the clock ticked down, beating the buzzer to win championships for the Spindale House Tigers. Yes, my first team I played for were the Tigers; we had orange t-shirts and shorts. Basketball was my companion when in our first year we lost all six games. Although we led our league in scoring, we cried together after each loss. We wiped away our tears to get even better. We practiced advanced drills like the Mikan Swish, Rhythm, and Around the World. 

My 1st Love was there when the same Tigers went 6-0 the next 3 years winning Spindale House Championships. My Spindale House coach, Norm Guthrie, took our Tiger Team to Littlejohn to watch his beloved Tigers play. Littlejohn was the most magnificent building I had ever entered.

The sights, the sounds and the pageantry of a collegiate game were amazing. Seeing legendary players like Marc Campbell, Raymond Jones and Mike Eppley. Afterwards, Coach Guthrie was the first person to tell me. Tim, if you keep working on your game, continue getting better one day, you could be a Tiger. Prophetically speaking it into existence. 

Basketball was there when we were relegated to the sidelines while the bigger, older boys played, not giving us a chance to show how much we loved each other and how well we have become together. She consoled me at night when I would cry alone for my biological that didn’t bother.

She would comfort me when everyone else was asleep. We would sneak out of my parent’s apartment and shoot baskets on the hoop my step dad put up for the kids in our apartment complex. My Love and I would walk to Carver Middle, going through my legs behind my back and over my shoulder; she was so much fun to have around.

Basketball would ride with me several miles away from the safe confines of Ledbetter to play at the Projects and playground in Forest City. My friends Larry and Tony would make sure the men we played against wouldn’t beat me up because my love and I were fearless, relentless as a 13-year-old 8th grader.

We would practise together before school and late at night. I would become highly agitated when our coaches didn’t want us to display our love by limiting our time during games, so we wouldn’t embarrass the other teams. As an 8th grader at Carver Middle, we were only allowed to play the 1st and 3rd quarters. We still averaged 21 points while only playing for 12 minutes. We finished 10-0 undefeated and never had a close game. I would be on the bench in tears begging Coach Luckadoo to put me in the game even though to his defense we were up 20 to 30 points. 

However, I thought it blatantly unfair to keep us apart because the other middle school ballers didn’t love her as strongly as I. How could they deny our love? I got older, but she never aged. She was just as beautiful as the day we first met. Basketball had a timeless poetic beauty that was unmatched even by the loveliest female humanoid. I grew bigger and stronger. Our skill level matched that of a virtuoso pianist or Prima Ballerina. She rolled off my fingers into the net, producing beautiful string music. 

My internal Zen came when we were alone at night on the Carver Ballfield, illuminated by one street light, provided my ultimate solace. It provided a full court longer than regulation. The two goals one was half a foot higher than the other. The bank was always open because the bank made it easier for you to go through. 

We would play out at least a 1000 times hitting the game-winning shot or free throw to win state, college, and NBA championships. She was there when we won a State Championship at the Dean Dome and regular season ACC championships at Littlejohn. Basketball was also right beside me when I drove home from Clemson to bury my beloved cousin Simmie Dave. We had shared in so many streetball battles on Ledbetter together.

My Love has been my gateway to visit some of the most amazing places on the planet. The Hawaiian Islands, Times Square, Washington, DC, the beaches of Puerto Rico and a far away land on the other side of the planet: China. My Love ushered me to historic landmarks: Reynolds, Cole Field House, Greensboro Coliseum, Littlejohn, The Dean Dome, Cameron Indoor and The Mecca Madison Square Garden. 

Basketball has been with me through thick and thin; glorious victories and heart wrenching defeats. Embarrassing play and virtuoso performances. My love allowed a little black boy from a town of 3,000 to play and visit places he couldn’t even imagine in his dreamworld on the Carver ball field. Some would say our love isn’t real, only a metaphor, a Shakespearean theme of love. I would say if you never felt chills while a packed gym erupts after a great play; felt the joyful embrace of a teammate after winning a hard fought game or seen the joy in a child eyes seeing their favorite player for the first time. Once you witness those special moments then I think you would agree the love of basketball is real. My 1st Love Basketball.