The Hoop

I can see the basketball hoop now, through my window, on this warm Wednesday evening in June. I walk underneath it almost every day. It belongs to someone on my block, and is installed on their property. But it faces the sidewalk, away from their house, and as a result it has become infrastructure of real import.

I see kids from all over the block, and sometimes from other blocks, shooting on it, their practice interrupted by every passing pedestrian. Today I saw a six-year-old, who lives down the block, standing almost directly underneath the hoop. He heaved his ball within ten degrees of the zenith; it caught nothing but net. I walked under the hoop a moment later, and offered him a low, sly pound as I passed. He raised his tiny hand and slapped my fist mechanically, focusing his attention on the two older, and much taller kids who were also playing on the hoop.

I turned into my gate still chuckling. As I went to open the door, I heard a call from across the street and saw a group of uniformed kids, presumably walking home from school. One of them was asking for the ball, wanted to shoot on the hoop from across the street, something that would be honored as a long three for sure. The ball was tossed over, across our lightly-trafficked one-way street, and the uniformed kid clamored between parked cars to take his shot. I didn’t see whether it caught any net, but I’m goddamn sure that everyone there won.