“Poetry in Motion” by John Carenen

Gunpowder & Peonies

Poetry in Motion

My introduction to competitive sports began in 6th grade at Hawthorne Elementary School. Miss Cook was the coach for basketball, softball, and relay races. When basketball season approached, she offered up a few insights about how to enjoy the games and grow in skills.

One of her key points was that our team should score more points than the team we were playing. That could be done by making more baskets (two-point field goals and one-point free throws). She called this “offense.” She asked our assembled teammates if we all understood that. We did. The other key point was to keep the other team from scoring. This was done by intercepting passes, blocking shots, and rebounding their missed shots. She called this “defense.” Did we all understand? I did not but nodded my head anyway.

And so, we practiced a lot on the dirt basketball court provided by the school, and once a week we were allowed to practice on a real, indoor court with nets and everything. That practice facility was a gift from Horace Mann Elementary School, our arch enemies, and that was a luxury. After several sessions with various drills and games against each other, Coach Cook arranged for us to have a real practice game against another school in the National Guard Armory gym; a real game with referees and a scoreboard and everything.

We changed into our uniforms (white numbered jerseys and royal blue shorts with a gold stripe down the side) in the locker room and came out on the gleaming hardwood, warmed up with a layup drill and a few free throws and then the five starters for each team shook hands at the center jump circle. The ref tossed the ball up and the game began.

The ball was batted around, a loose ball bouncing from one player to another until it came to – ME!

Without hesitation I scooped it up and, dribbling fast, sped down the court, goal in mind, spurred on by the shouts from my teammates, their voices almost frantic. Oddly, our opponents seemed to have lost interest, I remember, almost as if there were no way to stop me from driving to the basket, which quickly arrived.

I rose up and up, fluid and soaring, elegant in air, laying the ball softly off the metal backboard and into the basket, dropping to my feet and looking back behind me as the ball fell through the white netting. I was exhilarated, euphoric, thrilled. Giddy with accomplishment. 

My grinning teammates surrounded me at the timeout Coach Cook called immediately after I scored. Yes, I had taken the ball down the court and scored two points with uncontested ease. No, I had not scored those two points for Hawthorne Elementary. Yes, I had scored those points at the opponents’ basket.

My crest fell. But I did learn a key lesson for my future basketball endeavors:  Know which basket is which.