I sure hope there’s basketball in heaven. I hope I’m running fives with all the savvy of an old man and the youthful athleticism of a young buck. Honestly, I hope I have more hops in the afterlife than I ever did hooping it up here on Earth. I really hope I get the chance to express my joy on the court if I am lucky enough to find myself in life after death.
Have you ever, as a full-grown bill-paying adult, thought about what you’d hope to find? Not that regular business about how well the streets are taken care of and which dead loved ones you’d hope to find. Important details but not the point of the exercise. How would you want to be able to spend your time if you had more than all the time in the world?
Man, I’d like to be running the break, pushing the ball up and surveying the defense. I’d love to be making cuts, reversing the ball, making smart passes. Some of those passes would be throwing lobs to Bill Russell and Wilt Chamberlain. Some of them would be a little more special, finding my buddy Dave on the move with a pocket pass, letting out a yell as he finishes through contact. I’d also be making chest passes to my dad, who would be firing off jumpers from the elbow. Go ahead and try to wipe the smile off of my face after that kind of assist. Man, I’d be making spin moves on every play. I wouldn’t be spending every day thinking that my joints stop me from not only being physically but emotionally the same person. I wouldn’t be held back by thinking about whether or not I had the juice to move in the way I want to move. I would melt into the joy and poetry found in the beautiful freedom of movement that mesmerized me about the game in the first place. I would find joy in the expression of joy itself. Man, I sure hope there’s basketball in heaven.
Junction Point 