Sports History

I understand whata jump shot is,certain mechanics

of the body, handpositions, elbowalignment, follow

through. Enoughplayer names tomention around

the imaginary watercoolerif I foundmyself there. A body

at rest still needsto hydrate. I criedwatching Bird

and Magic in thatdocumentary andown a small collection

of expensive high-topsneakers in variouscolorways—used

exclusively to walkmy pets or to thecoffee shop for

an almond croissant.Fresh to death. Onmy mantle, four second

place trophies fromintramural wrestlingall before fifth grade.

Pitter patter sprawl.I can’t rememberswimming. I mean,

I can’t swim. I can’tdrive. SometimesI miss a high five,

the pat on the ass.I swung and missedat tee-ball, golf. Traded

cards for the loveof the potential investment.George Brett, I’ll always

love your name.I appreciate highlights,trick plays as much as

the next: The Statueof Liberty, Flea Flickers,The Changing Light

at Sandover. I wasborn in the suburbsof the city of brotherly

bullies, poor sports,famous boo-ers andstadium court houses.

I was the only boycut from my seventhgrade soccer team.

It’s in my blood to loseat all games, even Uno,especially Monopoly,

and when I do, I spitinto my palm or refuseto shake hands.