So tonight, sitting courtside at the season opener (aka Midnight Madness), I remembered, for the first time in a long time, just how much I love basketball.
I love it all, the squeak of the shoes on the hardwood floor, the intensity and passion, but mostly I love knowing how much hard work and dedication the players put forth. Though I know I can't consider myself a legitamate "player" anymore, I'll always be a fan. Basketball has captivated me like no other sport has. There's nothing quite like watching a competitive game full of up's and down's... nail-biters or tear-jerkers, I love 'em all. For me it has always been about the feeling. The satisfaction I got after two or three hour practices. Leaving the gym reeking to high heavens but feeling like a million bucks. The sprained ankle that you have to battle through. Ending a game, reguardless of whether I won or loss, and knowing that I gave all that I had. This is what basketball means to me. It's not about the overpaid and overpublicized players that you see in the commercials and it's not about winning (though I do LOVE to win)...it's about the feeling.
It's almost like a drug for me. Tonight I got a taste of what I've been missing these past few basketball-less months. I guess I'll just Count the Days until season starts...
5 comments:
While I don't share your love of sports (I like them, but I'm not crazy), I know what it feels like to love something deeply. I feel the same way about books or seeing live music. I guess I probably feel the same finishing a great book as you do after a practice (after basketball practices, I usually just felt like sleeping).
I'll never quite understand extreme sports fans, and most of you won't ever understand the way reading Robert Frost makes me feel, but I think there's a mutual understanding of that passion. And for that, I respect you.
Oh and that reminds me, remember that time I destroyed you in a foot race, even though you cheated?
I think you're referring to the time I was running barefoot on glass while you tripped me and continued on in perfectly good shoes.
Is that what you're referrencing?
First, nobody was running on grass.
Second, my "perfectly good shoes" were slip on Cherokees with holes in them. If not for the sake of keeping my feet clean, I would have gladly run barefoot. I was the disadvantaged one.
Third, I don't remember tripping you, but I do remember you not running all the way to the end of the first leg. I remember you stopping 3, 4, 5, 10 feet away from it (who can be sure) and calling out, "Eat this sucker!" as I finished the leg with integrity.
Fourth, in your arrogance, you proposed the foot race. If you didn't like the conditions, you should have said so. I didn't even want to race. I only did it to please you. Everything I do, I do for you.
Oh, Andrew. Absolutely Not.
Multiple things were wrong with your last comment...
1.It was asphalt so I'm pretty shoes of any kind would have been an advantage.
2.I've never said "Eat this sucker" in my entire life. Nor would I ever say that. Nice try though.
3.I stopped because my poor, delicate feet were being ripped to shreds.
4.I did propose the footrace, and you did win. Congratulations.
5.The part about how everything you do is for me was pretty priceless. I would normally discount this right away...but I think I'll keep this comment stowed away in case you do anything that displeases me.
However, for the sake of my pride, I will always have multiple reasons why the footrace didn't end in my favor :)
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