Street Hoops

I don't care how tiresome the NBA becomes. The players can choke themselves and their coaches. They may consume drugs and cars gratuitously while averaging 5.8 points a game. Maybe they'll even kick a photographer or two in the groin. I still like basketball, at least the way I was taught to play it.

The beautiful irony here is that I play the same style of hoops as many of the aforementioned spoiled multi-millionaires. Well, they can jump. And they're quick. And they hardly ever fall over unless someone knocks them over. What I mean about the similarity in styles is that most players entering the NBA today learned to play basketball the same place I did -- on the street. I never played in a basketball league. I've never been formally coached on dribbling or passing, and certainly not on superfluous nuances like picks or screens. But I've played a heck of a lot of pickup games. And quite a bit of one-on-one, half-court, Horse, Twenty-one, Knockout, even Around-the-World (I know, its a kids' game).

We all know basketball was created in a collegiate gym by a guy with peach baskets who wanted to encourage physical fitness and teamwork. But the secret urban life of basketball, not found in any rule book, is where it transcends sport and becomes a cultural ritual and communal art form.

Horse, the most famous street basketball variation, isolates the most glamorous skill of the sport, shooting, and rewards players based on their consistency, grace under pressure, even their creativity. The game is flexible enough for an infinite number of players, and can be played with the most makeshift of rims, in almost any space. The first player takes a shot, and if they make it, the next player must duplicate it, including any special features (no backboard, left-handed, no look, etc.) the shooter called ahead of time. If they make it, the shot passes on to the next player. If they miss, they receive an "H", their first mark of shame on the way to the impossible-to-live-down "Horse". The word horse is arbitrary of course, but any variation of this game requires nerves of steel (you try a reverse lay-up with your left hand in front of the whole schoolyard) or just dumb luck.

Twenty-one was the king of basketballs during recesses at my school. The object of the game was to score enough baskets (two points a piece) and free throws (one a piece) to reach twenty-one before the other players. Twenty-one proponents are quick to point out that this is the toughest game around, since every other player on the court is playing defense against you on each shot. Twenty-one requires the player to develop explosive moves to the basket, a quick release from the perimeter (before someone's elbow ended up in your eye), and great timing on rebounds. When games were especially heated, you might also need a decent right uppercut. In theory, fouls were called. But it just meant you got to take the ball out again. So why not hack that sucker every time he shoots? Once a player scores, they move to the free-throw line for some relatively peaceful shooting (though some of the taunts hurled at this stage of the game would bring tears to your eyes). I learned how to snake a rebound away from a kid who had out jumped me, and how to crossover dribble, from Twenty-one. It was frustrating to find that few of these skills were prized when I tried out for the high school basketball team.

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