My ball of balls
Tonight I bought a basketball. It’s a Spalding. I’ve never owned a Spalding.
Back in the day, when I was a little baller on the south side of Iowa City, I used balls with Rawlings and Wilson stitched on the rubber. They’re the cheap alternatives to the “ball of balls.” I saved my allowance money and bought them at the K-Mart in Pepperwood Place. I don’t remember if K-Mart stocked Spalding’s, but I knew the basketballs I bought weren’t the best. I didn’t care. I just wanted to ball.
Basketball was my first love. It’s still my favorite sport. Football’s great, and I’m glad the two seasons don’t conflict with each other. They do a little, but most of the basketball games are meaningless, pre-conference match-ups — at least they are for the Hawkeyes (let’s all say it together, now: “Marathon Oil”). I used to watch the NBA, but now I’ll only watch college hoops. My dad’s like that. I’m becoming more and more like him every day, and that’s not a bad thing.
I’ve gone through a lot of balls throughout my basketball career. The first I remember was a miniature ball from the Hardees on Lower Muscatine. Who knows what company made it, but painted on the rubber was the logo for the 1990 Final Four in Denver (won by a UNLV squad featuring Larry Johnson and Stacey “The Plastic Man” Augmon). I used it when I lowered my hoop to seven feet and had dunk contests. My first, normal sized rock was another ball from Hardees. This one had the outline of a basketball player charging to the basket painted on it, and also the logo of the 1993 Final Four in New Orleans (North Carolina won that tournament). The last ball I remember from Hardees had the insignia of the Big Ten and all the teams painted in one of the panels. When we waited for our food in the drive-thru my dad pointed out the “11” hidden in the conference emblem.
Since I played on the concrete of our driveway, the rubber wore thin and could no longer trap air as affectively. The black, Dominique Wilkins ball I used throughout high school lost all its grip. By the time I retired it, the fabric holding the rubber together was showing at the edges of each panel.
Back at my parents house is the last basketball I owned in Iowa City. It’s wearing like all the others I’ve had. Last winter I brought it inside so it didn’t have to endure the cold. When I was home for the holiday’s I brought it in again. I’m sure it’s still there, sitting next to my desk.
Near my aunt’s house is an elementary school with a couple asphalt courts. When I drive by after work I can see the hoops standing high above the pavement, lonely. I haven’t seen one person use them the entire time I’ve been in Huntington Beach. I’ve gotten the urge to shoot some hoops when I get home, and now I can.
Tonight I went to Big 5 Sporting Goods on Golden West and Bolsa in Westminster. I scanned their section of basketballs, checking the price stickers. The Spalding’s I saw were all around $35. That’s a lot of money to pay for a ball. The Rawlings and Wilson’s were only ten bucks cheaper, so I thought it was time to splurge a little. Like the dork I am I took one of the Spalding’s from the stack on the wall and walked around the store with it in my hand, tossing it in the air as if it was already out of the box. On my way to the registers I saw a sales rack. Spalding’s for sale — twenty bucks. Hoping no one had noticed me walking around playing with my packaged basketball, I snuck to the back of the store and replaced the ball I’d gotten, then took one from the sales rack.
It feels like a real leather ball. I’ve never had a leather ball before, either. I’ve always had the shitty rubber basketballs. This ball is made of high quality leather composite. As I hold onto the ball, it feels like the dimples are holding onto my palm. And it has that basketball smell — the synthetic aroma that filled the athletic storage rooms of every school I went to. I love that smell. I love my new Spalding.
It’s time to hoop.
Back in the day, when I was a little baller on the south side of Iowa City, I used balls with Rawlings and Wilson stitched on the rubber. They’re the cheap alternatives to the “ball of balls.” I saved my allowance money and bought them at the K-Mart in Pepperwood Place. I don’t remember if K-Mart stocked Spalding’s, but I knew the basketballs I bought weren’t the best. I didn’t care. I just wanted to ball.
Basketball was my first love. It’s still my favorite sport. Football’s great, and I’m glad the two seasons don’t conflict with each other. They do a little, but most of the basketball games are meaningless, pre-conference match-ups — at least they are for the Hawkeyes (let’s all say it together, now: “Marathon Oil”). I used to watch the NBA, but now I’ll only watch college hoops. My dad’s like that. I’m becoming more and more like him every day, and that’s not a bad thing.
I’ve gone through a lot of balls throughout my basketball career. The first I remember was a miniature ball from the Hardees on Lower Muscatine. Who knows what company made it, but painted on the rubber was the logo for the 1990 Final Four in Denver (won by a UNLV squad featuring Larry Johnson and Stacey “The Plastic Man” Augmon). I used it when I lowered my hoop to seven feet and had dunk contests. My first, normal sized rock was another ball from Hardees. This one had the outline of a basketball player charging to the basket painted on it, and also the logo of the 1993 Final Four in New Orleans (North Carolina won that tournament). The last ball I remember from Hardees had the insignia of the Big Ten and all the teams painted in one of the panels. When we waited for our food in the drive-thru my dad pointed out the “11” hidden in the conference emblem.
Since I played on the concrete of our driveway, the rubber wore thin and could no longer trap air as affectively. The black, Dominique Wilkins ball I used throughout high school lost all its grip. By the time I retired it, the fabric holding the rubber together was showing at the edges of each panel.
Back at my parents house is the last basketball I owned in Iowa City. It’s wearing like all the others I’ve had. Last winter I brought it inside so it didn’t have to endure the cold. When I was home for the holiday’s I brought it in again. I’m sure it’s still there, sitting next to my desk.
Near my aunt’s house is an elementary school with a couple asphalt courts. When I drive by after work I can see the hoops standing high above the pavement, lonely. I haven’t seen one person use them the entire time I’ve been in Huntington Beach. I’ve gotten the urge to shoot some hoops when I get home, and now I can.
Tonight I went to Big 5 Sporting Goods on Golden West and Bolsa in Westminster. I scanned their section of basketballs, checking the price stickers. The Spalding’s I saw were all around $35. That’s a lot of money to pay for a ball. The Rawlings and Wilson’s were only ten bucks cheaper, so I thought it was time to splurge a little. Like the dork I am I took one of the Spalding’s from the stack on the wall and walked around the store with it in my hand, tossing it in the air as if it was already out of the box. On my way to the registers I saw a sales rack. Spalding’s for sale — twenty bucks. Hoping no one had noticed me walking around playing with my packaged basketball, I snuck to the back of the store and replaced the ball I’d gotten, then took one from the sales rack.
It feels like a real leather ball. I’ve never had a leather ball before, either. I’ve always had the shitty rubber basketballs. This ball is made of high quality leather composite. As I hold onto the ball, it feels like the dimples are holding onto my palm. And it has that basketball smell — the synthetic aroma that filled the athletic storage rooms of every school I went to. I love that smell. I love my new Spalding.
It’s time to hoop.
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