The last time I was in a gym watching a high school basketball game, I didn’t even own a cell phone. I’ve nearly forgotten how much I love high school basketball: the excitement, the daring three-pointers, the hard-won rebounds, the turnovers, the exhaustion. Walking towards this afternoon’s game, I wonder why it’s been so long since I’ve done this. (I know the answers: work, children, chores, appointments, commute, fatigue.) Today, I arrive partway through the second quarter. I can hear the noise of the game long before I open the door: the squeal of shoes skidding to sudden stops; the pounding of feet in counterpoint to the relentless beating of the ball against the floor; the staccato whistle punctuating the game.
As I enter the gym, I’m overwhelmed by the powerful sweaty musk of teenage boys’ concentrated effort. The bright lights and echoing space make me feel simultaneously terribly visible and ridiculously small. This is their place, not mine, I realize. I perch uncomfortably on the bleachers and am immediately engrossed by the game.
I want to tell you about the players, many of them young men who have shared and currently share my classroom. I want to tell you about their intensity, their focus, their grace. I want you to hear their voices raised loudly, unselfconsciously, in unison as they chant: “De-fense! De-fense!” I want you to see how easily they communicate, how confidently they move, how intensely they focus. But I don’t really need to. I know that what is particular to my experience of these boys in this game at this moment is also universal: if you have ever seen a high school game, if you have ever cared for a child playing in that game, then you know what I am seeing as I sit in this bright, echoing gym.
Still, it has been years since I’ve actually watched a game. Five minutes ago, I could have told you that many of my students are at their best when they are playing their sport, but here, now, I am experiencing this truth all over again. The basketball court is 200 steps and 2 million miles from the English classroom down the hall. I need to come here more often, but now I need to go home. Children, chores, appointments, commute, fatigue… I miss the end of the game as I drive home in the rain.
I kept thinking about the boys after the game, and as I rearranged the voice notes I’d created as I’d watched, I realized how engaged my senses had been. So, I started a poem about the game. Here it is – unfinished, but you’ll get the idea.
Their restless feet fly across the floor
then propel their bodies upwards.
Released from their desks, their bodies
stretching towards the orange circle above them.
from the orange prisms of their pencils,
their fingers flex around the sphere
that is their body’s
Only as I wrote the poem did the parallels between my experience in their space and their experience in “my” space (though I do try to make the classroom “ours”) come into focus for me – unfamiliar smells, uncomfortable seating, unappealing lighting, watching apparent experts do something I can’t do and which I have no urgent desire to practice or perfect. This realization, this deepening of my thinking about a situation, is why I write – and maybe why they play. For me, writing takes a tangle of my thoughts and straightens them out. Basketball, though I enjoy it, provides me no solace, no direction. I suspect many of my students might feel that something close to the opposite is true for them. Maybe this is why I need to make sure to see more games.
Perhaps tomorrow I’ll share this and see what they say. Maybe we’ll all write a slice of life; maybe they won’t all be written.
7 thoughts on “Watching the Game”
The power of your writing is here and you have to show your students! Let them into your world to bridge the distance between the court and your classroom. I love this piece!
You must show your students your writing. I think — even if they don’t say it aloud — they’ll adore it.
This really resonates. Think it will with your young athletes. Pls share w them & challenge them to write some ‘slice of life’s’ about their sport, if just for themselves. Might help them elucidate their thoughts, and certainly be fascinating to read in 20 or 40 yrs! (happens quicker than we think).
This feels big. I think it’s great that these ideas were born from observing and then writing.
What a stunning post. Your thoughts. Your poem. What amazing words you have to share today!
Compelling correlations between writing and basketball! First let me say that your sensory images are so vivid that for a moment I felt I had materialized in the gym alongside you. That squeak of shoes on the floor … I think that’s what did it most. Such a distinctive sound. The poem so captures the boys’ energy. And I love the truth of this line, as I can so relate to it: “For me, writing takes a tangle of my thoughts and straightens them out.”
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High school basketball creates a wonderful atmosphere. In many ways that is what we need when we create. I can see how your energy and your imagination flew. It’s a dangerous combination, isn’t it. Happy to see you had fun. It’s been a long time since I went too. Now I need to go.