It's a simple, beautiful game - From Courtside

Basketball Digest, Jan, 2003 by Brett Ballantini

WHEN A SURPRISE WARM front struck Chicago one weekend in November, I took it as a call to action.

My blacktop hoops gear--packed away for the long winter--was quickly cracked back out of storage. Chuck T's laced, beloved red-white-and-blue ball reinflated, I hit the pavement

Outside--on a local court for one more run through my favorite and most familiar drills, shooting jumpers in shorts through a gusty wind that might make a native Californian or Floridian wondering if this was even outdoors weather, much less jump-shooting weather--it struck me, as it does time and time again: Basketball is a sport of beauty.

I'm not even talking about the beauty of a soaring Julius Erving or a twisting Michael Jordan. I'm referring to the simple motions of the game, and the ability all of us have to play it, every day of our lives.

Basketball can be played by anyone, at any time; full five-on-five in crowded courts that make the Rucker look sedate all the way down to one-on-none, shooting off the dribble--you, a ball, the court

That's how I played this past weekend. My game, as is anyone's who falls short of six feet, is strong on fundamentals, short on flash. It's footwork on defense, knowing when to use a bounce pass, being willing to use the glass--and, in my case, an inexplicable baby hook shot that looks as funny as it reads coming from a 5'9" guard. I may still have quick hands, but most of the time, my breaks and cuts on asphalt must look like I'm rollerskating on a waterbed.

You know those black-and-white photos of canvas-shoed players from the `50s who seem to be taking every shot like a layup even if they're 20 feet from the basket, frozen forever in a semi-Heisman Trophy pose? I've unintentionally brought that form into the 21st century. I haven't played above the rim since the late `70s, when heavy storms piled snow six feet high at the end of our driveway and a snowsuited slam dunk was only a climb to the top of that mountain away.

I start my shooting close to the basket, darting across the lower arc of the lane to swish short Larry Kenon specials as I first learned them, as a young Chicago Bulls fan not even witnessing prime Mr. K. I pause every so often to catch my breath with some free throws and gradually extend my shots out to the college three, and on a really good day, the NBA arc.

This weekend, with the wind whipping my ears and every one of my misses clearly due to surprise gusts, the little things were most striking: the soft thud of the ball brushing the backboard, the gentle rip of the cord when a jumper swished through, the magical rotation of the ball released from fingertips, even the clang of my ball crashing into chain-link fence after a misbegotten long trey.

As readers of BASKETBALL DIGEST, we're all players. Even if age has forced you from the floor as an active player, or injury has kept you away but on the comeback trail, by virtue of reading the ultimate hoops junkie mag, you're a player. And as such, I'd love to learn about your game rituals, favorite moments, and strengths and weaknesses. Not of the game we all watch and follow religiously at the prep, college, and pro levels. But the ins and out of your game, the player you are, were, or hope to be. Share your stories with me directly at bballantini@centurysports.net.

I'll end with my ritual as I leave the court. My dad taught me never to finish playing without making my last shot. I take that to a more advanced level by staying on the court, even fired and sweaty, until I nail a long jumper, a free throw, and a layup. And though it sounds easy, well, you've read enough about my game to know the wait can be tedious before all three shots are sunk.

This weekend I did the same, and said goodbye to the outdoor season with a fourth shot, a Mr. K special. For old times' sake.