05/06/2008: "Basketball Jones"

Hi All,

So, a month ago I joined this basketball team. I've played ball since I was a kid; my Dad always put nets up in the front of our houses wherever we lived, and the one in Saint Catharines had an adjustable rim so's we could bring it down to eight feet for dunk contests, where even my fat ass could get up and stuff one down the basket's throat. I played in highschool, though not every year: I was cut one year, and another year I was supposed to be cut but the kid who'd beaten me out ended up playing hockey, which led to the fairly embarrassing situation of me having to wear a warmup suit with "LOCKYER"---the kid's name---on the back. Eventually the coach caved and got me one with my own name. I had ample opportunity to wear it, on the bench, during every game. I was fat back then, like I said, so my main talents were setting picks and getting winded. I think my career-high was 4 points. Still, it was a good time. We went to tournaments, where I sat on many well-polished benches. There's a camaraderie to sports---traveling on the same bus, hanging out watching sports-related movies, towel-snapping each other in the locker room ... actually, the whole towel snapping stuff was sort of weird, looking back. And there was always that sonofabitch who pissed in your shampoo bottle. Or maybe that was just my horrid experience.

Actually, I played rugby in University and those guys took it over the line. There was rookie hazing--this murderously long run back to a house where there were chests of beer everywhere and the seniors waiting with hair clippers and they cut awful patterns into our hair and then, the next week, if you were spotted with a hat on the seniors made you do push-ups and whatnot. Looking back, it was all pretty "Dazed and Confused": seniors driving around in beatup old K-Cars, up and down the streets of Peterborough looking for rooks with hats on so they could make us do pushups or just give us grief. Lame, really. But what did I know, then? Then on our first bus trip porno mags circulated before the game, supposedly to "amp us up" I guess, or this was what rugby players did. One of the magazines, I remember---and actually used this detail in a story---was called 'OLD FARTS', how demeaning, and was full of octogenarian sex. I don't know who that would amp up, apart from retirement home residents. Then on the way home, for the 4-hour bus trip, we stopped at the beer store and bought cases and cases of beer, then taped garbage bags over the bus windows so we could drink, and someone bought a giant garbage can from a hardware store which went in the back of the bus so we could all piss in it without stopping the bus. Then that got tipped over 20 kilometers outside of Peterborough and there was piss all over the floor, running out the exits. All us sweaty, stinky rugby players in dark, piss-filled bus. Good times!

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, basketball. Well, my idea was that I like basketball and with nothing to do now, athletically, apart from working out and running---both of which have become essential to my bodily well-being but both solitary endeavors---so I knew a big rec center locally has a league so thought I'd join that and if not, another league. Startlingly, in a city big as Calgary, this was my only option. Plus I was a loner, a single, not a really great player, so I had to try to 'catch on' with some outfit. Thankfully they have a waiting list, so I put myself on that, along with a description of my 'skillz':

www.csmba.ab.ca/league.php?scriptName=LEAGUEINFO&leagueID=5234&leagueInfoID=32203

...I'm still there. I should ask them to take me off, as I'm on a team. But what happened was, this guy thought to himself: why not just get together all the waitlist players and make a team? So he did. I joined. It's fun, but I'm seriously the old man of this outfit. My teammates are all 19-22, I'd guess, and competitve as I was at that age. I remember in university, when I got a bit better at basketball, I'd go into a real funk if I had a shit game in my league. Now, I don't really have any competitive fire that does not channel directly into writing, so I'm entirely blase when I lose a game of basketball, pool, darts, poker, basketball, whatever. I can shank a golf ball into the water and say, "Fiddle-de-dum, fiddle-de-dee, whatever shall be, shall be!" and wander off on my merry way.

But since these guys care about their ball, wins and losses, I try to care as well. We've still lost all of our 4 games, sometimes getting trounced, sometimes closer, but the truth is, with ball, you cannot discount the importance of having played together. When I played 3-on-3 tournaments our teams sometimes beat teams far better only because we'd played together a long time: we were comfortable with each others' games, knew where to get a pass where our teammate was most effective, etc. I'd say playing together adds 8-10 points a game---and as we've lost a few games by that much or less, I think we've lost simply because we haven't played together. We sail passes where we think our recipient's going to be, miss little defensive assignments because we assume help's coming. Little stuff. I don't mind. I could lose all season. I'm familiar with losing (exhibit A: my boxing record). But for these guys' sake, to maintain enthusiasm, we've got to win.

So I'm finally rounding into shape a little. Scored 8 big points last game, all inside, once on a nifty under-the-bucket move. Our other players are good; a lot of talent. Just got to bring it all together. Awful part is, one game a week's ripping my body apart. It's tough getting out of bed Friday mornings, all the aches and blisters, and I think I wrecked my shoulder socket because it's tough lifting my left arm above my head. Still, good times.

All best,
Craig Lockyer.