FILE PHOTO: basketball hoop. Photo by Taylor Smith on Unsplash
Our backyard contained a fairly common structure. It is often seen nailed to a barn or above a garage door. A basketball hoop, with a court, dimensions of approximately 20 x 20 feet. Complete with a flood light mounted high on a pole to illuminate nighttime play. A wooden square blackboard with a red, white and blue net that I thought was cool and patriotic at the same time. The regulation distance free throw line was painted on the concrete thanks to a can of John Deere green spray paint.
The rim was the regulation height of ten feet, but a couple feet underneath it, Dad had attached a second hoop designed to make it easier for me to practice with success, until I became strong enough to shoot for the regular, full height hoop. I knew I had reached “the big time” when he finally took down the lower hoop…a milestone.
Sets of 10 were the prescribed practice drill to accurately gauge your progress and acuity. Our pickup truck could be seen parked nearby to listen to the radio until the battery went dead. If I was practicing alone, I would often be the play-by-play announcer as well. Narrating the action with me as the star of an imaginary game complete with the names of my friends or famous NBA players of the time. Larry Bird or Kareem Abdual Jabbar and I were often teammates in these games. Our team always won, with me hitting the winning layup or jump shot.
But back to the free throws. It was an important part of the game that Dad heavily emphasized. He used to dismiss my excuses for a game loss by saying, “If you hadn’t missed those two free throws in the beginning of the 4th quarter, then you wouldn’t have been in the position to lose, don’t blame it on the ref!”
A good practice session would be upwards of 100 tosses. I don’t remember my high score but I was better than average. Dad would sometimes join me for a friendly competition. In other stories, I have described his throwing method with footballs or baseballs. He always tossed a ball with the whirlwind underhand method he perfected as a fastpitch softball pitcher. Basketball was no different for him. Underhand free throws just like Rick Barry of the 60’s and early 70’s NBA fame. Talk about accuracy! I do not think I ever beat him no matter how I tried. Even if I shot underhanded, I could not match his score. Two hands on the ball, swinging from between his legs, and extending full follow-through motion. High arc to bring the ball on an almost straight down trajectory to the 18-inch diameter hoop. Backspin was produced on the wrist action release because, “that’ll keep the ball inside the hoop and help it go through the net,” he would coach.
Ever the consummate coach and parent, linking sports activity to life lessons. When a disappointment enters your life, “don’t blame the ref.” First, examine your own actions and words as possible negatively-contributing factors to the outcome. Whether it be a game, a grade from a class, or an election contest…it applies equally to all situations.
So, here I sit, looking and reflecting at that same mildly cracked concrete court. Same wooden pole support but now with a more modern plexiglass square backboard attached. I have a basketball somewhere around here, but it probably needs a needle and pump. I should really take a minute to inflate it and shoot a few. And in my mind’s eye, there is Dad, at the John Deere green paint free throw line, underhand swish after underhand swish. The quintessential free throw shooter he was. Hits them all, cause “they call ’em free for a reason ya know!” Thanks Dad…JOB WELL DONE!!