Retired

The co-worker over the cubicle wall from me is leaving for the next couple of days to go hunting. Hunting, people. Yes, hunting. He is doing this, you know, over the course of a couple of days that coincide with the first rounds of the NCAA tournament. Coincide is the wrong word.  They don't occur at the same time. The NCAA tournament occurs. Everything else is a nuisance. An afterthought. A waste of time.

So imagine how much this co-worker of mine have in common. He's very in to guns and motorcycles and chit-chatty small talk. A true candidate for my new best friend.

The NCAA tournament. Yes, I will be taking the afternoons off, or just ditching work (and if that bothers you, figure out who my boss is and go tell him) to watch as many early round games as I can. I get less and less satisfaction out of filling out a bracket and following my success (or lack thereof) in calling upsets, but I still love the games. And I love basketball. Watching it now. Not playing it.

Because I am retired.

I don't play basketball any longer. It is a difficult thing to write, but it has been true for a couple years now.

[Picture about ten blank pages of space here with no writing, since that might come the closest to conveying the first part of my feelings on this matter.]

Yeah, I don't play. And I used to. Used to seek out any and every opportunity to play this game I loved. I still love it. But not playing it.

I was a pretty good player at my best. Not great, but pretty good for a skinny white kid with coke-bottle glasses and sore knees from Caldwell, Idaho, who never saw the floor as a member of the varsity team, which he only made as a senior. I got better in college and perhaps a little more finesse came to my game in my twenties. And I could still bring it in my thirties.

I mean check this out. As a twenty-one year old, I could do the following: Be standing still with the ball in my hands about six or eight feet from the basket. One strong dribble as I moved closer to the basket, and a leap off of both feet (harder that running and jumping off of one foot for most people) and I could rise, cock the ball back behind my head, and then bring it forward and dunk it forcefully with both hands. Pretty neat stuff if I say so, myself. I didn't know (I know there are plenty of people who can, I am just saying I didn't personally know them) a lot of people who looked like me who could do that.

I was a decent shot, from both inside and outside the three point line (although not as good as my son by the time he was 17, dad burn it), and I was quick, could get around people, drive to the basket. I could score. But I never played defense. Never. I got some blocked shots and steals, but it was never a priority. You can't score on defense, you know.

But all I have now are memories of good games I had, times I dominated the gym, gave referees attitude (a lot of that, actually), and the fun it was to play basketball. I don't do it anymore.

I am retired.