Round Ball

I have mentioned in this spot several instances of just how awful I was at Physical Education when I was in elementary school. My size, shape and enthusiasm worked against me in just about everything, with the possible exception of square dancing (I was especially fond of the Virginia Reel). Not that I didn't harbor a secret desire to be successful. Somewhere deep down inside, I wanted to make that catch, or score the goal. I just didn't have all the components that would have put me in a position to compete.
In gym class I was told to play guard along with the other sports-challenged kid Ken (I am not making this up) Butts. I reasoned that my job must be to stand there and guard the basket. Imagine my surprise when Mister Schemp (again, not making this up) hollered at us to get down to the other end of the court and help our team score baskets. Being eternally vigilant wasn't enough for him. We were going to have to run up and down the court, mindless of our lack of involvement in the game, but we were all about the appearances.
The kid down the street had an all-star jock for an older brother, and we would spend hours on his driveway playing one-on-one basketball. Why he never tired of pounding my sorry excuse for competition I do not understand, but I do know that after some time I gained two survival skills. I learned to be tenacious at defense, never leaving an open lane to the basket. This turned out to be less an issue for my nemesis, since he possessed a rather flawless jump shot and was intimate with just about every spot on the driveway. What did keep me in a few of the games was my own variation on Kareem Abdul Jabbar's Sky Hook. Mine was somewhat less elegant, and christened by those who witnessed it "The Flying Buttress". The shot relied on my inability to use depth perception, but rather a rough sense of my distance from the basket. I would back in to my spot, then loop the ball in a great arc over my head, and with any luck at all, straight through to the bottom of the net. I didn't win, but I didn't get blown out as awfully without it.
By this time I had moved on to junior high, and the gulf between those with aptitude in athletics and those without began to widen. I still played on the driveway, but I wasn't going to challenge a guy who was on the team at school, so our games became less frequent. I played a few games with my buddies in high school, but beating my fellow bandies in any sort of physical contest didn't seem like much of a victory.
My son loves to bounce his ball. He's getting a little big for his Fisher-Price hoop. These days I look out at my driveway and imagine what it would take to get a nice, smooth concrete slab poured out in front of our garage. I just don't want to lose my touch.