As I entered my teenage years and my hair grew longer, my boundaries widened and the summers seemed hotter, it was off to the Kutshers’ Country Club and Hotel in the Catskill Mountains for the Maurice Stokes Annual Charity Basketball Game. Basketball people know that Mo would have been one of the NBA all-time greatest players if not for a rare brain injury that damaged his motor control but never his heart and soul. It was all about hanging out with Wilt, Chet “The Jet” Walker, Ray Scott, Walt Bellamy, Billy “The Kangaroo Kid” Cunningham and the Van Arsdale brothers — and making believe we were part of their entourage.
The game of the week always seemed to have the Celtics and Lakers with the ’76ers also thrown into the mix. The Knickerbockers were hidden away but 50 cents and your GO Card from school could get you into the Garden to see Tom Hoover, Al Butler, Kenny Sears, Donnis Butcher, Willie Naulls and more.
Now the game is global, but street ball magic remains in any neighborhood on any kind of asphalt in any city or town.
I miss the evenings at the Campbell Junior High Night Center. The full-court and three-on-three games at P.S. 201 when all we needed were the street lights on Kissena Boulevard to keep the run going all night long. I miss sneaking into the Queens College gymnasium to play whenever it was open — or until we got kicked out. I remember taking the G train from Continental Avenue in Forest Hills to Lost Battalion Hall in Rego Park, where one defeat could force you to wait an hour before getting back on the main court.
I wish I could have had some guidance. I wish I could have had some coaching. I wish I could have perfected that outside jump shot. Maybe I could have been a backup small forward or defensive specialist and found a spot on the bench on the 1969 John Bowne High School varsity basketball team.
I still get the urge to lace up and put on my high-top Chuck Taylor Converse sneakers, usually purchased at Central Sporting Goods on Jamaica Avenue, only a bus ride away on the Q 25/34.
But there have been too many missed opportunities, the fear that my body and mind won’t think and react in the same way or at the same time. The thought that my hook shot would look ridiculous and the crowd will yell “air ball” too many times. I guess the time has come to watch my son play high school basketball. For him to take a spot on varsity and wear a uniform that never had my name on it, while I root his team on and watch him make shots I could never hit.
Basketball is still such a magical and mystical game. LeBron, D-Wade, AI, and Tim Duncan can play on my team anytime. There’s little like the thrill of choosing up sides and staying on the court until it’s time for life’s next adventure.
Alan Stark is a Beacon services coordinator for after-school programs at the Samuel Field Y in Bayside.
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