Game On

I sat in Roosevelt Park on Sunday, just chomping away at a warm cha siu bao, sipping coffee (extremely rare to see me drinking coffee - but I had a headache) and watching with great interest the local Chinatown kids playing basketball on the cement courts. Most of them were pretty ... um ... let's just say they probably didn't get out to practice nearly as much as they wanted to over the cooler months. They certainly were dressed well though. Nice shiny track pants, clean t-shirts and smartly styled hats. Too bad most of them shot as if their air-filled basketballs were full of lead. Now I'm being vicious, I know. I myself can't play a lick so who am I to judge?

One youth in particular caught my eye. He was no more than twelve, a scrawny guy with gangly arms and legs. His unkempt hair had to be pushed from his eyes every five seconds and his shoelaces were untied. He seemed perfectly oblivious to all the hubbub around him as he sank shot after shot after shot. His companions had no opportunity at any time to steal the ball away from him if it was in his possession. He was amazingly agile and he appeared to float in the air as the ball lost contact with his slender fingertips.

After a while, a few of his older companions became increasingly frustrated with their own abilities and due to the fact that a much younger player was doing so well in comparision, they began to get a little rough and rowdy. They shouldered him with more tense spirit than they did the others. They taunted him with comments on his disheveled appearance and about the ... ah ... occupations of his mother and sister. He continued playing, giving little or no indication that he had even noticed them. I smiled, and secretly rooted him on.

The other boys became mildy violent with him. One scowling gentleman (can I even call him such?) gave him a slight open-handed shove backwards. The young man looked up at the bully and pushed his hair to one side to look his antagonist in the eye. He was expressionless. The bully took yet another opportunity to push the star player and spewed forth some choice words about the youngster's anatomy.

The bully continued to be defied by the player's unblinking and unyielding eyes. Others began to join in the bully's tauntings, but the young man refused to play victim. I wanted to leap forward and defend the youngster - to knock the bully flat on his spikey, smug head, but an amazing thing happened. During this whole confrontation, no one had noticed who was holding the basketball. The 12-year old owner of the ball, turned his back on the restless gang and dribbled away from the court, deliberately slowly. He did not turn around once.

The others, realizing the game was over, shrugged and moved to the next court of youngsters, looking for a new game to be had.

E.Lin
3/28/00

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