We
were called the “South Millville Boys” and south Millville was literally on the
other side of the tracks from the wealthier part of town where the “bosses” of
the glass factories live. South Millville
was where the workers, the packers and sorters and makers of the millions of
glassware that flowed out of our town lived.
And
Brad was the alpha boy. The best in all
things boy. Brad was competitive.
We
played everything on the sandlot fields of the Bacon Elementary schools across
the streets from Brad’s house whose porch in summer was the meeting place for
us. And he was obsessed with winning ever
game we played together after school. Brad
was a natural winner - the tallest of us all and his prowess dominated our baseball,
touch football, half court basketball games each night until the street lights
blinked on to tell it was time for supper.
But he was also very shy and would never have attempted to perform on a
high school varsity team – of which he would have been a start there too.
In
the short dark days of winter after “real” high school football ended (games in
my day were seasonal; football in the fall; basketball in winter; tennis
spring, and baseball summer…except, of course, bowling which was year-round. Today,
I wait for the day when the Phillies, Eagles and Sixers are all on TV at once –
so I can gripe once again that this just
isn’t right.) we played half court basketball until the sound of bat
hitting ball was heard in the land.
The
buzzer in our classroom clock buzzed! And I rushed home on my Schwinn to change
from my school clothes into my play clothes which were usually last
year’s heavy corduroys that were now three inches above my ankles and a plaid flannel
shirt which didn’t reach my wrists. And
I would be back to the school basketball court in under 5 minutes as our half-court
basketball game would start once the teams were chosen.
Choosing
sides was always one of the most embarrassing aspects of kid life - for at
least one of the guys each night – the one who would get picked last. Brad and brother Bobby always made the
picks. They were always the captains of
the school yard which they considered an extension of their own yard. Those who got on Brad’s team were assured of
a win. The choosing began with a flip of
the coin. Brad even won most times at
this. He chose Green a really good
player. Bobby chose Magoo, whose name
was Charlie. But he was Magoo because of
his very thick glasses – he was a good shot when he could find the basket. Next Billy, the foul-master, went to
Brad. Billy was a ruthless defender who
rarely got the ball. He just hacked at
everyone under the basket. And of course,
to my chagrin, I was picked last again by Bobby – I was not built for b-ball;
too big; too slow - it was not my game of choice – but the winter months would be
very lonely if I didn’t play.
The
teams were set and once again the lost for Bobby was already inevitable and we
knew that in an hour he would go home mad again and not speak to his brother
for the rest of the night.
Now
where we played was called a court, but it was just a corner of hard packed
dirt school yard with just one rusting backboard and a net less net. This setup to my great relief made our games
half court contest – I hated running.
But playing on dirt had its downside.
The ball took crazy bounces and stones turned an ankle from time to
time. Then there was the ball. Now I use the term “ball” but what we played
with only relationship to a basketball was that it was round. And it had certainly been around for
generations in Brad’s collection for years – scared and scratched from many
battles. (Matter of fact it was leather. No rubber basketballs were in my day – Brad
was the provider of most of our equipment for the many games we played as
riding a bike holding a basketball was not easy.
We
began our game – Brad’s Warriors against Bobby’s Knicks, the brother’s always
used team’s names and we pretended we were pros. Brad was not only key player, he was also referee
and arbiter for our own custom set of rules most of which have been eliminated
from the game.
He
dominated the game with looping hook shots and great arching set shots, long
before the 3-point play was even imagined.
Matter of fact, during our 3 on 3 games he was known to actual pass the
ball to himself and then execute an impossible spinning lay-up as we watch in
awe.
All
of us wondered why he never “went out” for a sport in high school – but never
asked him why.
The
dusk came early on this gray day. Brad’s
team as usual was ahead by 20 points as brother Bobby tried his best to catch
up with his best trick shots – he always got a bit maniac as his team neared
another loss to his big brother. But once
again Bradley was the winner and as ref of the contest declared, “Whatever team
scores two in a row will end this game.”
With a strong drive to the basket, followed by a steal from me as I
tried my best to raise my shooting average, Brad capped the game with a
twirling layup that a Globetrotter would be proud to execute. Game over.
It
was time to go home and Brad with a broad smile walked away following Bobby
once again muttering that his brother was a cheater…passing to yourself is not
fair. And so, another day of play ended
as I pedaled as fast as I could home – my mom always hated it when I was late
for the supper.
