More Than Just a Game
by Jeremy Ginsburg
For some, like me, basketball is a sport played for pure fun and exercise. For others, it is a way to escape from life’s troubles. But either way, basketball is an activity that brings people together, and for the time spent on the court, everyone is on the same level. Nothing else matters. It is just pure fun and competition.
Basketball introduced me to many different people with extremely different lives, though off the court our lives were light years apart. This has made it easy for me to accept people for who they are and not prejudge anyone. But it goes far beyond initial judgments. It has helped me realize how fortunate I am, too.
When I started playing basketball at the high school level, I realized I was going to be one of the few white, upper-middle-class students competing. Over half of the team came from inner-city families; a few were very poor. Other than a passion for basketball, I had little in common with them, but I ultimately became good friends with many of them.
One teammate in particular, Arsenio, and I became really good friends and got to explore each others' worlds. One day after practice, he was waiting by the door with his head drooped, seeming a bit jaded. I asked him if he needed a ride home, and he accepted. I drove him home and we chatted about the usual: school, sports and girls.
It turned out most evenings he needed a ride home, so it became a reoccurring event. Even though he lived 10 minutes in the direction opposite of my house, I enjoyed taking him home and getting to know him. Plus, I knew the 10 minutes it cost me to drive him home saved him hours of waiting for a ride, or the inconvenience of walking to the bus station. During the rides home, we would listen to rap music or introduce each other to different music that we liked. Through music, we realized basketball wasn’t the only thing we had in common.
After several car rides home, I learned how tough Arsenio’s life really was. He never had rides home because he didn’t live with his parents. His mom lived in Chicago and his dad was out of the picture. He lived with his dad’s ex-wife, who rarely had time for him. The more I found out about his life, the more I felt bad for him, and the more I realized how lucky I was. Neither of his parents ever came to his games. No one supported him through basketball, school or even life.
On some game days, he would come over after school and eat dinner with my family before our game. I did all I could to get inside of his mind. What was he thinking, while going to a suburban home for a nice pre-game meal? Did he feel out of place? Was he happy?
As soon as our games started, I was shocked at Arsenio’s ability to escape from life and just play the game he loved. He wasn’t worried about anything other than the game. Since we had become friends, on the court we were more than just teammates. We’d encourage each other, slap high fives and cheer for each other during games. During those moments, our family situations didn’t matter. How we were getting home had no importance. Our minds were simply focused on basketball and just having a good time while playing. On the court, we were teammates and friends, and anything outside of basketball had no significance.
Through basketball, Arsenio and I were able to become friends despite the different worlds we each lived in. We both have taught each other myriads of things whether school-related, street-related or basketball-related. Most importantly, Aresenio has taught me never to judge anyone, and to be friends with the people who I get along with, not just the people who seem similar to me.
Published 27 March 2009. All Rights Reserved.