|
It has been a long time since I have held a basketball. I used to keep a basketball and an air pump and my basketball shoes in the trunk of my car just in case I got the urge to go shoot some hoops. There was usually a pick-up game at some local park somewhere and, if not, I'd just shoot around until some people showed up and then we would get one started.
When I moved to Tucson, Tom Wodrich was one of the first people I met. He loved basketball, too. And even better, he worked for the gas company and had turned on the gas for a guy who had a half court basketball hoop in the backyard. Tom had been invited to play and I got to join the group of neighbors and friends who would play three on three or occasionally four on four games at Dan's house. Winners played, losers sat. When you sat, you talked. When you played, you sweated and trash talked. I mostly set picks to free up shooters like Tom. I would get rebounds and indulge my secret vice of shooting three point shots. I once made seven three pointers in a row to win the game (first team to 21). The game winning shot was launched with a guy holding my arms and screaming at me to miss. It banked off the backboard and went in. I got to do a lot of trash talking that day. I loved shooting hoops and talking about stuff that mattered with guys who needed and need Jesus.
Jesse Brunson borrowed my basketball one night at church. It disappeared and he ended up having to buy me another one. He manned up and did it and I let him keep it because my arm was useless and the pain was intense and my basketball playing days were over. I had always been proud that I could go to my left and use my left hand. But the problems in my neck had rendered my left arm useless and the doctor was freaked out that a blow to the head could paralyze me. So I put my basketball shoes away and gave the basketball back to Jesse. I also wanted to reward a really good kid who chooses to do the right thing.
Surgery has given me my arm back. Thanks for that, God. At my last follow up appointment with the surgeon yesterday morning, he told me I was completely healed up and could do whatever I wanted to do physically, though I might still experience weakness and difficulties doing things that were formerly easy. When I got home, I put on my basketball shorts and shoes and Tom picked me up and took me out to the gym. Tom plays pick-up games there every week. I was nervous. I haven't touched the ball in a really long time. Several years. We walked out on the floor and Tom flipped me a ball. I held it. It was sweet. I measured the distance to the rim. A nice little ten footer from the free throw line extended. I have shot a million shots from there. I went into my shooting motion and missed everything by six feet. It was embarrassing. Tom threw me the ball and told me to get closer. I ignored him because that just added to the shame. I launched again from the same spot. I missed again. Badly. And again. And again. All of the shots were short. I moved in a step or two with the same result. I tried a lay-up. I missed that badly, too. And then I finally made one. And then another. They were clanky and clunky and didn't feel right.
And then my body remembered the motion and the ball arched high in the air and ripped through the net without ever touching the rim and the net snapped with that sweet sound and the ball bounced back to me and I was already in the shooting motion and it ripped through the net again and life was good.
I watched Tom and his buddies play. I shot around a bit. I got to talk to some guys who really need to find Jesus. I got to look forward to the day when I run the court with them. I finished the time by making seven out of ten from the free throw line. It was a very good day.
The nice thing about losing the hearing in one ear is that you can't hear the trash talk. :) | 
