SPORTS

Why can't we all just play basketball?

by Glenn Kaplan

Just down the street from Rax, on the outskirts of downtown Oberlin, there are some basketball courts.

They're nothing spectacular. Nothing stands out. No glass backboards or shiny, smooth pavement. No scoreboard or lace nets. Just some rusty old rims attached to square metallic frames.

Most of the time they rest lifeless and lonely, practically begging for a friendly game of 21 or Horse. Come late afternoon, they finally get their request; the courts come alive.

It begins with the methodic dribble of a few leather balls and quickly, mercurially moves to the erratic phrases of trash-talking, board-slapping ballers. As the pool of players subtly grows, pick-up contests inevitably follow. And that's when the magic happens.

On the blacktop, more than any other location and situation in America, different worlds literally collide. Take, for instance, a friendly game I participated in the other day. It was five-on-five full court and the composition of the teams mirrored our nation's unique diversity. My team consisted of two African-Americans, one Hispanic, a red-headed Irishman and me, a European Jew. As a unit, we functioned like we had played together all our lives. The fluid, non-selfish play seemed to indicate that any socio-economic prejudices that might have hindered our relationships off the court were left with the water bottles on the sideline.

To be sure, blacktop basketball is not a utopia, and frustrations and disagreements are as common as missed turn-around jump shots. The point, however, is that any misunderstanding or directed anger is due to poor, lackadaisical play rather than deep-rooted bias. Furthermore, when the rare racial resentment does rear its misguided head, the lashing is not politically tempered or buried within a passive-aggressive smile. People seem to be more emotionally honest when placed in direct competition. On the whole, players seem more concerned with winning quality games and less with what color their teammate's skin is.

Admittedly, I am being a tad idealistic and even a bit naïve. But sports, as I see it, serve as a common ground, a sort of social leveler. Whether one is watching or participating they are inescapably engrossed in the game. And that is the point, to abscond everyday headaches and gain a sobering perspective: ultimately, we are all just kids playing games on the playground.

That said, during the spring of my junior year, I took some time off and worked in the frantic city that is New York. After work, I would take the nine up to 116th and head for the courts in Riverside Park. The diversity that is so prevalent at Oberlin was lacking, and I often found myself within the extreme minority. Still, I got in the games, played solid defense and passed the ball way more often than I shot it. I befriended a guy named Roe from Harlem, a mere nine blocks up the street, and perhaps out of pity, he would always pick me up as the last guy to make out his team. Despite the fact that he gave me a black eye pulling down a vicious rebound, we began to talk more and more about life and less about my inability to make an open layup. As it turns out, we both had more in common than superficial appearances could ever indicate. He too liked to write and, like me, was deeply concerned with the moral and social problems facing our world. If it hadn't been for our mutual interest, basketball, our paths would never have crossed. In this respect the courts were like a mutual friend. We met through the blacktop and transcended our racial and economic differences. We were, pardon the metaphor, able to talk, understand and play one-on-one.

So what's the point? To be honest, I'm not really sure. I guess what I'm trying to say is that if we all played a little more basketball the world would be a better place.

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Copyright © 1999, The Oberlin Review.
Volume 127, Number 24, May 14, 1999

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