SPORTS April 25, 2005 Issue

SHOOTING HOOPS ON GOD'S PLAYGROUND

KENT KADICK

With the 2004/05 basketball season moving into its final weeks, I remember how, at 14, I fell in love with this extraordinary game. Playing basketball is a mental exercise as well as physical, requiring immediate response, and creativity. That has always drawn me in. As a kid I'd play all day and never get bored—practicing by myself for hours, perfecting a shot or honing a move. As I got older, I continued to seek out games in the park or in the gym. I never became NBA material, or anything near it, but that didn't dissuade me. Seeking the perfect game became my goal.

While a public school art teacher, I got to play once or twice a week. Then, raising a family and living far from the city, I lost even that opportunity. But basketball was still a passion. And though I wasn't able to play, I could still watch Michael Jordan and the Bulls—hardly ever missing a broadcast.

Thirteen years went by without my playing at all. But now that I'm retired and again living in the city, I've rejoined the weekly games. Initially there was a lot of teasing from my much younger teammates about my age and lack of conditioning. Granted, I could barely run up and down the court—and some of the regulars wouldn't even pass me the ball. When they did, I'd choke and be unable to shoot well. I also had to contend with aches and pains, and the fear of injury.