Endless Summer

Two weeks ago on a Saturday morning my alarm clock went off at 8:30. I got up half an hour later, but still, it was early. For some people that’s late, but to me, after five days of working, I like to sleep ‘til at least 11. And more often I get up even later. During the weekend I just need to catch up on my z’s, but not on this specific morning. Something else had to happen. There are only a few good reasons to break up R.E.M., and I’m not talking about Mr. Stipe and his posse (note: the following is in completely random order):
1) Food (breakfast, or in my case lunch maybe)
2) Sex
3) Basketball
Basketball? Yes. Besides the fact that I have to get up in the middle of the night to watch a NBA game, on this Saturday I was actually going to play some ball myself. But me playing basketball is like watching Mark Madsen (or Mark Cuban) dance. It ain’t pretty.

One of my best friends, Niels, arrived at my place at 9:30. The sun was shining, and it was one of the few and final good days of the summer. Laced up the black adidas sneakers, grabbed the worn-out Spalding, and walked to the (rather small) court. We started to shoot a little bit, maybe going for a lay-up, maybe not. The thing is: we’ve been doing this for years, and a lot of times we would always go 1-on-1 on Saturday morning. Because of the circumstances, we hardly play anymore since 2006, but we both do miss it. After the game you actually feel like for the first time in the whole week, you did something useful. It’s almost therapeutic. Before we start the actual game, we talk like we’re some old hags at a tea party. Everything has to be discussed, from goals in life (or lack there-of) to women (or lack there-of).
And then, ladies and gentlemen, then the game starts. Two guys in their late twenties, no stamina, no athleticism to be found, 20% shooting percentage at the most, battle it out until someone scores the winning basket and is king for a day. I think when you count back all the games Niels and I played against each other, it’s 50-50 when it comes to wining and losing. Niels is definitely quicker than I am, a better ball-handler by far, and a better defender, but I’m taller, weigh a bit more than he does (which can be helpful) and have a slight rebounding edge. Overall, we match pretty well. We’ve been playing since the mid-nineties, and there were times I experienced some difficulty in trying to beat him, maybe he won several games in a row and I would be wondering if he really was the better player, and if I would never win a game against him anymore for the rest of my life. But whoever had a so-called winning streak; it never was a long one.

The summer of 2007 was awful in The Netherlands, and when you’re waiting for the NBA season to start again, the summer sometimes seems endless. Usually I love the summer, but when it’s that fucking bad like it was this year, you just want the new season to start already, focus on something else. The weather on that morning however was great. No wind, warm but not too warm, perfect basketball conditions. I can’t even remember the last time we played a 1-on-1 game, but it was months ago. We decide who starts the game by shooting free throws. The first one who misses loses the ball. I missed, so he started the game. We always play “losers out”. When he scores, I get possession, and the other way around (needless to point that out, I suppose, but just to be sure). In the end the only thing I possessed was an imaginary crown, because I was king for a day. I beat him 11-5 (yes, we only go to 11, we’re sad, old geezers), and I felt pretty good about myself. Happiness is not a constant state of mind; it’s the small victories in life that provide happiness. Scoring the eleventh point did it for me.