Covid 19, Basketball and the Human Condition
I went to shoot some hoops today at Willows Park in Summerlin, Las Vegas, Nevada. After a year of rimless backboards due to Covid, I can once again engage in an activity that brings me joy.
I thought this little essay would be about just that, the joy of shooting hoops. However, as I was beginning to write this, I realized that Willows Park had provided me more than just a place to play basketball. There is a lyric in the Joni Mitchell song “Big Yellow Taxi;” “Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone…”
Basketball has been a part of my life since middle school, then high school, college, and competitive league play after that. At this point in my life, the best competitor I face is myself. How many can I make in a row? How many balls go in that don’t touch the rim? Is the backspin enough, so it bounces right back to me after it goes through the hoop? (That is lazy, but cool when it happens) Basketball is and always has been my favorite way to exercise.
I’ve been coming to Willows Park to shoot hoops for the last 17 years. It’s a big park, and it is spotless and well maintained. It has a vast grass area with softball fields on both ends. Even with the softball fields in use, the grass area in the middle has enough space to play with your dogs, throw a frisbee, or play touch football. There is a walking track around the park with a nice little uphill climb that takes you past the basketball court. A walk up the (many) stairs from the field will take you to the basketball court, children’s play area, and community swimming pool.
The basketball court is three-quarters the size of an NBA full court. It has a high school three-point line. On two sides, there is a short concrete wall that acts as a buffer between the trees, grass, and the court’s edge, about 4 feet away. The concrete is perfect for sitting on, and the trees provide welcome shade until fall and winter. A third side is next to the parking lot, separated by a row of tall bushes and a sidewalk. As the bushes have grown, they are better at keeping the basketballs from rolling into the parking lot after missed shots.
The court has its little quirks. There have been those days when it seemed almost every shot I missed would bounce over to the side with the bushes and seemingly accelerate through a small gap to begin its journey down the sloping parking lot. If you don’t catch up to the ball, or it gets caught up underneath a parked car (fortunately, I have long arms), or someone happens to see it and get it for you, it will roll into the street (sloping, naturally) and continue forever.
Then there is the south end of the court. It has no natural or artificial barrier. A missed shot to the right gives you a small section of grass and then the concrete walkway as your only chance to get the ball before it begins its descent down the long grassy hill to the bottom of the field. You get the ball and have to hike back up the hill. Miss a shot to the left, and usually, the bushes catch the ball unless it finds the gaps (If that happens, see the previous paragraph). I hope to be still alive when the bushes all fill in.
There have been times I thought someone had left, only to find them coming back onto the court after chasing their basketball a few minutes later.
I see the only permanent solution is not to miss any shots.
I’ve shot here early in the morning, later into the evening, in the wind, raining, when the weather was scorching, and when it was freezing — a shooter for all seasons and mother nature’s whims.
The wind will blow in Vegas, especially during the summer. If you play outside, you adjust to it. Otherwise, find a gym to shoot in.
I don’t use any of the park’s other amenities, just the basketball court. However, I do like to sit by the court after playing or just taking a break. That’s when I realized what else I had been missing at Willows Park besides basketball.
Whether it’s others playing basketball, individuals or families walking by the court to use the field, or children’s play area, there is so much to see. Proud dog owners are showing off their purebred animals groomed to perfection. Those people and their dogs seem to move by with a bit of a swagger. Until that Animal Rescue hound (where are the owners?) dares the pure-bread to play, then all bets are off as the genetically superior dog falls back on his instincts and starts chasing the hound, dragging their owner until they let go of the leash. I’ve seen cats on leashes. Enough said.
Mixed with the sound of splashing water in the pool are children screaming with joy. They are happy to be outside and wet. It’s the “Running of the Bulls,” Summerlin style. Terse instructions by the lifeguards, “Stop running in the pool area!” Some parents lie on loungers covered with beach towels, tanning and syncing their times to turn over with checking on their children. The lifeguards are babysitters and the adults, able to relax just a little bit, this being their substitute for the pre-child nights on the town.
The pool is close enough to the basketball court to hear casual conversations among people. Two younger-looking women are sipping from their cans of soda right by the pool fence about 5 yards from me.
Their friend, Jessica, got a new car, a Mercedes, but an entry-level model from what I could ascertain. They are chastising her for preaching about living within your means because Mitch, I’ll assume Jessica’s husband or boyfriend, is not working. Oh, and one of them put too much Jack Daniels in her can of soda.
Two high school-age male lifeguards are managing the kids climbing up to the top of the waterslide. One of them is telling a child on the ladder to stop pushing, or he’ll make him come back down. The other is ignoring the kids but is pointing out all the good-looking women. “It’s going to be a great summer,” he says, “The women are much finer looking than last year.”
On the walking trail, we see committed athletes using it as their training ground. There are also casual joggers, couples with baby strollers, and young and older people walking hand in hand. Some are fashion and brand conscious, Adidas and Nike are everywhere. People are wearing their favorite players or team’s jerseys, and others are wearing colorful tank tops or threadbare concert t-shirts, homemade tye-dye shirts, and shirts with off-color humor printed on them.
There are shorts of all kinds, cargo shorts, military camouflage shorts, cut-off jean shorts, too long and too short shorts.
I’ve seen middle school kids that would play hoops at Willows Park grow up. Some did well in high school and went on to play basketball in college. Some come back and play and have wives and kids in tow. A few are already on their second marriages.
That kind of information can make a man feel old.
The park had been one of my places to recharge. Although it can be hard to hide, one can blend in for a time and emerge with a fresh and renewed outlook. Who knew, before Covid, that many people would suddenly find an integral part of their life, previously taken for granted, now unavailable to them?
After a year, my shot is rusty, very rusty. I have laughed out loud at myself a few, well, many times when the mechanics of my shot resulted in an attempt that made me look around, embarrassed, to see if anyone had noticed it.
Basketball is perfect. Unlike baseball, football, soccer, etc., you don’t need a group of people to participate. It’s just me, a basketball, and a basketball hoop. That’s my three-ingredient recipe for happiness. If you want to play a game of 21 or HORSE, stop by; the competitive fires still burn. That’s Willows Park in Summerlin, Las Vegas, Nevada, USA.
Just give me a month or so to get my shot back.
