It happened while we were choosing defensive assignments just before a pick-up game in the same basketball gym I’d been playing in for the last 15 years.
“I’ll take the old guy,” someone said.
I looked around. Who was he talking about? I got nervous. Oh no, I thought. It’s me. He’s talking about me. I was the old guy.
Now that I’m officially An Older Gentleman, basketball is some of the most valuable exercise I get. Credit:iStock
I am in my early-late-mid forties and I don’t think of myself as old – except on my children’s birthdays and on the basketball court.
The pandemic has thinned out the ranks of the similarly-aged people I used to play with and replaced them with teenagers. Children. As far as I can tell, most of them are in high school. Many appear to be of average height, many are below. Some are worryingly small and slight, about the
size of my 12-year-old son.
But they’re fast. Real fast. I can’t keep up with them going up and down the court. I can’t stay in front of them on defence. It’s like playing with a bunch of tiny superheroes. Before my legs have a chance to react, they’re gone. Ghosts.
I’m not making excuses, but after 30 years of playing basketball, my body is revolting. Ankle surgery, wrist sprains, finger sprains, hamstring tears, back spasms, plantar fasciitis, shin splints, hyperextended knees, shoulder and Achilles tendinitis, throat fracture, scratched cornea, broken ribs, tragic hair loss, tragic hair gain and general upper butt discomfort… they’ve all taken their toll and the wear and tear means I’m constantly sore and injured.
So to watch me play basketball is to watch a water aerobics class for seniors or a deep sea diver trudging on the ocean floor. It is not pretty, especially on occasions when I think I’m still 25, capable of stepping back and hitting a shot over anyone without tumbling to the ground and screaming for an ambulance. Nevertheless, I go into my bag of old man moves and play on.
In my salad days, I’d get annoyed playing with older players unbearably focussed on “the right way to play”. Didn’t they realise that I was an eagle that needed to soar? Who did these old guys think they were? Well, they were me.
When I play with these kids, I have in my head a better brand of basketball that we all can aspire to and I will not shut up about it. I tell them to look for the open man and get back on defence. To stop standing around and set some picks, for God’s sake. To PASS THE BALL ONE TIME…
Listening to myself operate in this mode is extremely painful, but, as the lockdowns taught me, I need to play basketball. Now that I’m officially An Older Gentleman, it is some of the most valuable exercise I get.
You see, as we get older, we become less aerobically fit. Muscles deteriorate. Bones lose their density somehow. Recovery from injury takes longer and recovery from shame is almost impossible. So cardiovascular and strength training are more important than ever.
One day, of course, I will need to replace my entire lower body with robot parts. Will I be able to keep up with these kids once I’m 75 per cent cyborg? Who can say.
In the meantime, I’ll spend Father’s Day like I do every year: on the court with my 12-year-old. He’ll be a year quicker and I’ll be a year slower. But if he tries to go for a layup, I will swat the ball into the next suburb.
Because, as the poet said, this is Daddy’s house. And you need to get that weak stuff out of here.
Nick Bhasin is a writer in Sydney. His debut novel I Look Forward to Hearing from You will be published by Penguin Random House Australia in June 2023. Follow him on Twitter.
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