Anderson Parker - The Run - Entry #1: "The Perfect Run" lyrics

As with most aspects of life, pickup basketball is filled with imperfection, with numerous variables causing wild mood swings from elation to frustration to apathy. We have experienced disappointment many times over, but there are days when, unpredictably, a perfect run will reveal itself, confirming that there are “Basketball Gods”. These are truly memorable days and are rare indeed, causing us to forever chase this perfect run. If there is a warm, tingling feeling arising from your chest area as you read this memory, do not be alarmed. It is likely due to some kinship between this story and yours because we have all experienced this run: One summer, I was home from college, and was likely in the prime of what I hesitatingly call my basketball “career.” I was able to run and jump freely in those days, before ankle injuries and the burdens and responsibilities of adult life had sapped my sk**s. As was customary, several of my friends (actually not even friends but more accurately, a group of dudes that I balled with) wanted to play ball on a Sunday afternoon, so we set out to find the best run we could find. In the West Los Angeles area, this was surprisingly difficult to achieve. Now this was before the days when we worked and could afford memberships to the gym or day pa**es to the neighboring University and had to play at the local park…or at a school by jumping a fence…or finding a weakness in that fence and crawling under it…or borrowing 4 student ID's from your younger cousin's dorm mates, never mind that they looked and actually were six years younger and of different racial descent…or having knowledge of that loose window at the Men's gym at UCLA where you could get a boost and climb through after 8 pm until security kicked you out. On this particular day, the rains had decided to come, and thus our options were further limited. We tried a local high school as sometimes the gym was open for public use. At that very moment, the coach of the basketball team walked out the side door, saw our eager eyes, and said, “Fellas, you can use the gym for a couple hours, just close the door on the way out.” We could not believe our good fortune. Furthermore, I had not yet eaten my typical lunch: a Baja Fresh Burrito or the Jack in the Box combo #5 with 2 tacos for 99 cents, so I was feeling good. We did a couple half-a** stretches and put up some warm up shots, thinking we had a good half court 4 on 4 game with a crew of 8. Just at the moment when we were going to divvy up the teams, as if previously scripted, exactly 2 more players walked in. One was clearly a point guard, the other a prototypical 6'4'' baller – this guy looked strong and solid (something about his build and the way he carried himself, or likely the well placed tattoos to accentuate his tris and delts). A quick visual a**essment told me that I was the 4th or 5th best player on the court, not too good, but good enough as it were. Of course, being the second tallest player on the court, I was matched up with the 6'4'' newcomer, and there were some obvious nerves about how we would guard him. This all happened without me and my teammates saying one word to each other – simply a few knowing glances and pointed fingers and nods as if we had a conversation: “You got big man?” “Yeah I got him, but I might need help…definitely need help, he looks swole” “Ok, let's see how it goes, I will double off my guy if he starts abusing you.” “We got your help, send him middle.” There was already adrenaline being pumped through my body at that point. Who knew what would happen next, was I going to get embarra**ed, would I be able to hold my own? The game began slowly with the strangers feeling their way into a rhythm with their teammates. My opponent was intentionally a bit sluggish on defense, no doubt due to my desperate need for a haircut, shorts that fell above the knees (I air dried them b**hes and everything and they still shrunk), and thick a** prescription eyegla**es (before I had the courage and confidence to trust contacts, I mean, you're putting a piece of plastic on your eyeball, that can't be right). He left me open for an elbow jumper – no problem for me to make that. And, as often happens, that first shot set the tone for the rest of the game. I made some post moves that I didn't know I had, eventually giving me the confidence to take, and make, a couple 3's. And finally, a jump hook that my defender actually blocked, trickled in; the block was so slight that no one else but me and my defender even knew it was a blocked shot, so everyone just thought I made a good shot, when really it was lucky as hell. Nevertheless, it was another reason to feel good about myself. We won, I scored half of our points, felt energized, and possibly gained respect from my opponent – who can ever really ask for more than that in life, much less a pickup basketball game? I missed several shots but that was OK, because even perfection needs dull moments mixed in to balance everything out. After the first game, 3 of the players had to leave – to meet up with their lady friends or some other nonsense. Just when we were about to have a downturn in our emotional state, exactly 3 dudes walked in, definitely ballers. Everything was working out and the run would carry on. I was again matched up against the big man, he was now playing harder, but somehow, I was able to find a higher gear as well, fighting for rebounds, getting a hand in his face, even blocking one of his put-back attempts (I got it from behind, but still). The point is, I held my own, and contributed to another victory for my team. In the third game, matched up again with the same guy, I was fatigued, which meant I drifted more to the outside, shooting more jumpers, but I made enough of them for us to win yet again. During this third game, on a 3-on-2 fast break, my teammate, who once engaged in a high school wager with Baron Davis about who would be able to dunk first (and lost), threw me a perfect “alley oop” (a perfect alley oop pa** to me is about 8 feet high so I can catch the ball while going up, gather, and lay it up off the backboard all in one motion) and I converted! After leading my team to our 3rd straight “w”, we all walked over to the drinking fountain to hydrate. And at that moment, it didn't bother me that the water was warm or that the fountain was rusty (the standard petri dish of a thing, but after pickup ball, one is willing to get liquids from almost any source possible, no matter how much old gum is stuck to it, how nasty the yellow loogies are near the drain, or how limited the flow is, forcing you to almost touch your lips to the bubbler and wonder what diseases you had just contracted). I took in every drop and as I walked away from the fountain, all of my teammates and opponents said to me, “good run, man.” They had recognized. Whereas most of the time, my opponent would likely have destroyed me, on that day, for whatever reason, things were different. On that day, there was teamwork, laughter, minimal arguing about calls, and mutual respect…90 minutes of perfect pickup basketball, so rare for all the reasons we will lay out in this blog, and something to celebrate and reflect upon when it happens. This is why we all love pickup, would do almost anything to get a good run, and repeatedly expose ourselves to disappointment, all for the hope that someday the Basketball Gods will once again bless us with that perfect run…