I admire how basketball players fall. Splat on the belly and then slide across the floor, slick as a sled down a snowy hill. Or they thud onto their butts and pop up like it was part of a tumbling run. They leap right back into the game.
My husband and I checked into the Y for our usual cardio. When we turned the corner from the welcome desk, athletes in wheelchairs swirled around us and spilled out from the gymnasium doors. Guys and girls, men and women, from peewee league to NBA hopefuls, they were in town for a regional basketball tournament.
We climbed into the bleachers, along with other fans.
As in all endeavors, a star emerged, the kid with genius moves. He was fast, graceful, smart, and accurate. Both legs were missing from the hip down, his right arm amputated at the elbow. A seat belt strapped him into the chair. As he executed a series of intricate fakes, dribbling into position for a three-pointer, his chair rolled over. It pinned him underneath, wheels in the air, spinning. I couldn’t tell how it got worked out––I’m often six moves behind while watching a game––but he was upright and sinking a free throw before I could gasp. Before my respect finished its artless free fall into pity.
I admire how basketball players fall.
My husband and I checked into the Y for our usual cardio. When we turned the corner from the welcome desk, athletes in wheelchairs swirled around us and spilled out from the gymnasium doors. Guys and girls, men and women, from peewee league to NBA hopefuls, they were in town for a regional basketball tournament.
We climbed into the bleachers, along with other fans.
As in all endeavors, a star emerged, the kid with genius moves. He was fast, graceful, smart, and accurate. Both legs were missing from the hip down, his right arm amputated at the elbow. A seat belt strapped him into the chair. As he executed a series of intricate fakes, dribbling into position for a three-pointer, his chair rolled over. It pinned him underneath, wheels in the air, spinning. I couldn’t tell how it got worked out––I’m often six moves behind while watching a game––but he was upright and sinking a free throw before I could gasp. Before my respect finished its artless free fall into pity.
I admire how basketball players fall.
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