Love & basketball: vignettes (Ricky Weekly #88)

This is where I share 3 things every week with my friends and anyone else interested.
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A picture from my life:

Wrote something more personal today. Here’s a picture to go with it.

A thing on my mind:

My love for basketball started with baseball. My mom loves watching sports, especially baseball. As an only child, I remember watching a lot of baseball by myself growing up, pretending to be the play-by-play announcer while swinging a small baseball bat. Although I didn’t get to see my mom very often, when I did, baseball is all we’d talk about. That’s our love language.

The only birthday party I remember was at McDonalds. Probably because there’s a picture of it. My dad had just visited the US and brought back a basketball for me. I immediately went to the high school across the street to shoot with it. I later would discover that it’s actually oversized and non-regulation. My dad didn’t know any better, he didn’t care for sports.

I was raised by my dad. My mom didn’t want to be with him, so she’d only visit me occasionally. My dad felt some kind of way about it, and was constantly pitting me against her, telling me over and over that my mom didn’t want me. One time, in one of the countless fights I had with my dad he said, “Why are there always two ‘countries’ in this house? You’re always on your mom’s side, and I’m on the other side.” “Two countries” makes sense in Mandarin. “Two teams,” ironically, would probably make more sense in English. He went on to say, “You and your mom never talk about anything meaningful. All you talk about is sports and which team won. Who cares!”

I moved to the US for 6th grade. I didn’t speak English and kids can be pretty mean. I was scared, but I saw that the mean kids all played basketball! I started joining their games and would always just camp in the corner for the occasional three. My strategy mirrored my personality at the time - be quiet, blend in and try not to get bullied. I also played kickball, which reminded me of baseball. I made friends playing sports, and that’s how I felt safe.

At this time in LA, the Lakers were beginning their dynastic run with Kobe and Shaq. I watched all of the home games on KCAL-9. The Lakers were everyone’s favorite team and it was easy to like them because they were winners. I pretended to be a Lakers fan, but never felt a strong connection to the team. The spark came when I discovered the AND1 Mixtape and the streetball movement, which peaked when Nike made the most iconic basketball commercial of my generation. Whenever that commercial came on air, I’d go outside and start practicing the moves. I showed off the moves in school, which got me more friends and made me feel even safer. Streetball spoke to me, probably because it was about people who couldn’t succeed in the “basketball establishment,” reinvented what it means to play ball, and got everyone’s attention.

Every time I’d fight with my dad, usually about my mom, or just whenever I’m sad, I’d go to Petit Park with a basketball. I’ll join a game if there’s one, or I’d just dribble. Sometimes when I’m really sad, I’d just lay there in the middle of an empty basketball court like in some sad movie and just cry. The lights didn’t go out until midnight, so I was always there, sometimes even after lights out. Petit Park is where I went to cry.

Albert told me that the basketball team was having summer workouts for kids interested in trying out for the freshman team, so I went. I showed up every day that summer in the scorching LA heat. You can see smoke rising from the cement because it was so hot. The workout was entirely conditioning. We didn’t touch the basketball until the very last day. It was brutal and I stuck with it. When school started, I tried out and didn’t make the team. Albert did. Since that was the only thing I was interested in at the time, so I was completely devastated.

I was on the easy track in high school because of ESL and my low PSAT scores. When my hoop dreams ended, I was lost. Around the same time, something traumatic happened in my life. The morning after the traumatic event, I decided to stop being a victim and start taking control of my own life. I started trying harder in school and got a job. I remember that day very clearly because I felt like my whole outlook on life changed in one day. I was 14.

After graduating college, I started living and hanging with a group of friends who seemed to love basketball as much as I did. We all worked on startups. We’d coordinate to leave work at the same time and meet at the gym to ball. We’d get food after and talk shit about the douchebags we met on the court. One of the friends is no longer with us, and I still have his basketball shorts that I borrowed. I miss him everyday. He loved basketball. I remember one time, there was a loose ball followed by a fast break, and our team made 3 perfect passes with no dribble that led to a layup. He ran up to me screaming, “THAT WAS BEAUTIFUL!” If you think a random possession from a pickup basketball game can be beautiful, you are my kind of person. I miss you George.

Basketball showed me that I can improve. The only thing I was good at was dribbling the ball. I couldn’t shoot. I had an ugly shot with my (non-dominant) left hand for whatever reason because that’s just how I was able to get the ball to the basket. I spent a lot of time trying to change my shot to a right-handed shot. No one showed me how to do it, but I’ve watched enough basketball to know what a standard (2-motion) shot should look like. So I just kept working on it. One time, I heard someone explain why you need “backspin” on the ball, and that gave me an idea of what the ball’s rotation should look like if you’re shooting correctly. I got mostly there, and I’m still working on it.

I used to play basketball with a huge chip on my shoulder that made me a selfish player. Partially this is due to really hating being the Asian kid that no one thinks can play, and I’m probably still bitter about not being picked in high school. I even remember losing a 1v1 game to this guy who played on my high school team, and the smug look he gave me afterwards. Eventually, I realized that’s a losing mentality, and tried to change my habits. Since I’m usually the guy bringing the ball up, I decided to only look for a shot every 3rd possession. So if you were smart, you’d pick up the pattern that I’d pass up the ball twice before I decide to attack. I thought I was being a better teammate, but then I started to hear people tell me to shoot the ball because I’m sometimes the best option. I started learning to read the situation to understand who I am and what my role should be in relation to the game and to the other players. I started making the game less about me and what I can do, and more about winning and having the most fun together.

In the last few years, I’ve lost a step on the court. Loving basketball now means focusing on my health. I want to play as much as I can for as long as I can, and that means I have to improve my flexibility, watch my diet, sleep better, etc. There’s a group of old guys that play Sunday mornings at USF, the oldest is 81. I asked him for his secret, and he said to “never stop playing.” “Even when you go on vacation, find a basketball court.” The idea is that your body will keep letting you do the things you regularly do, but as soon as you stop, your body stops, potentially forever.

I started re-connecting with my mom as an adult. Our conversation is now mostly about basketball instead of baseball because it’s the more interesting one to watch these days. I have a much richer life now with a career I deeply care about. Yet, I don’t seem to be able to talk to my mom about all the other wonderful things in my life. She didn’t go to college, she doesn’t know what startups are, and honestly she’s not that interested. That made me a little sad at one point because I wanted to share with her all the other wonderful things I got into and who I turned out to be. I remember thinking maybe my dad was right—talking about sports is meaningless. I told my therapist this, and she said, “If sports is how you connect, then connect over sports. As long as you are connected, there will be opportunities to share more of your life with my mom in the future.” Maybe. I think I’m okay though even if that day never comes. Because my dad is wrong. Loving basketball and sharing that with the people love is the most meaningful thing in the world. Like George said, it’s BEAUTIFUL!

A piece of content I recommend:

“Baseball is who I am.” The Unforgettable Story of Sarah Langs on ESPN Daily.

I was inspired to write about basketball after hearing this story about Sarah Langs and her love for baseball. It was relatable because like her, I’m also not an athlete. There are plenty of heart-warming stories out there about athletes, but not so much about fans and their connection to the game.

Bonus Rec #1: Secrets Of The Great Families - Scott Alexander

Bonus Rec #2: Entire Comedy Show of ONLY Crowd Work - Akaash Singh Comedy

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As always, you can find out what I’m thinking in more real-time on Twitter and my essays are on my website. My primary focus (and where I focus) is on Flow Club.