Damn
Damn. That's the basketball home at my mother's house. It's a hoop that we hammered with shots. I was lethal from about 18' away on the right side, of course. I had no left hand whatsoever. Damn. All those games of two-on-two. And one-on-one. The shooting contests, made more interesting when we involved beer. How many shots could we hit in a row? My brother was on one mower on Saturday. I was on the other. We whipped around the yard and as I looked up I watched John scream on by. It could have been a scene from 30 years ago. Except I looked back at the worn hoop. Damn. We'd shot hoops one Saturday afternoon, drinking beer all the way. There were four of us there that day and we were splitting a case of beer. We had to get another case fairly quickly. That afternoon delayed my friend Chris' wedding by a year. "I'd do it again," Chris told me recently. "That was a great day." I'm old enough to know that ...