FunnySauce: Church Basketball

Last night I played church basketball. I admit it, I love church basketball right now! That fact must be apparent in my face when I arrive home because Shelley continues to encourage me to go play every Wednesday night. She has even started calling me "white magic," which I admit I like.

To put church roundball in perspective, you must understand that I grew up playing mostly street basketball in school playgrounds in Los Angeles. I played on blacktop courts with rims that had shredded chainlink nets at places like Bud Carson Middle School in Hawthorne or Jane Adams Park in Lawndale. In those games I only called a foul if I had someone with me that was big enough to back it up. I am only 5'7", which in any street basketball dictionary is considered "elbow level." Driving the lane was always a dangerous plan. I could do it, but I would usually be "punished" by a hard foul. For some reason, the lane was always someone else's "house." Which is why I love, I mean I absolutely love, to watch my fellow Hoya alumn Allen Iverson play. In the NBA, he is a little man, but he drives the lane fearlously, and I've seen him take the hard hit.

Church ball can also be tough if some big (ex-community college player) egos show up. Other than the day of my birth, the only time I have been hospitalized overnight was from being "clothes-lined" in a church basketball "scrimage" game in Laramie, Wyoming.

So you can understand that I generally have some trepidation playing round ball with a new crowd.

The group I play with right now, though, is awesome. We just have fun. I drove the lane last night several times and made some fun shots. I know my drives are not pretty. I mean I am one of the "old" guys and my feet do not actually leave the floor much anymore. But nobody is going to "teach me a lesson" for driving the lane in their house, because we are in the Lord's house. Everyone actually calls his or her own fouls, and we get along. Amazing!

We also had a short intermural season at the beginning of winter. For those games, Shelley and my kids actually come to watch. So the pressure is on Dad to perform! I mean, Madison played freshman round ball in high school last year, so she is sitting in the small crowd with her arms folded thinking "let's see what you got, Dad." And I did okay! I am not one of the best players, but I sub in and I hit a three pointer at the beginning of the the game. I also drove to the basket twice and finished wih 7 points. I mean it wasn't all pretty. There was the incident when I scooped up an offensive rebound right under the rim and as I went up excitedly for an easy put back, my shot was brutally swatted out of bounds. But that's what happens when your short and can't jump anymore. The important thing? --my family was all proud of "white magic" -- he'd done good.