BRADLEY - THE WINNER

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.