Filed under: Basketball, Bread City, Poetry | Tags: Basketball Photography, Basketball Poetry, Lowell, Tom Meschery
Our red brick square gymnasium was an anachronism
Among the steel-ribbed, concrete muscled ellipses
And angles of the day; it was full of shadows –
The floor corduroy, the backboards wood
And the rims were bent with age
(the relentless ricochet of basketballs),
It had none of the embellishments
Found in more modern gyms.
It was simply a no-nonsense structure
Built to house players not spectators.
Surrounded by its gray walls and wrinkled floor
We practiced two-to-six, six days a week.
And throughout that time – four years –
Our coach, who was as old as the building,
Taunted and inspired us, swore and cajoled us,
He taught us to play without frills.
We became red brick and corduroy
And learned to see through shadows.
by Tom Meschery
Filed under: Basketball, Bread City, Poetry | Tags: Basketball Culture, Basketball Photography, Basketball Poetry, Native American Basketball, Sherman Alexie
It is just a game
we are told by those
who cannot play it
unless it is play.
For us, it is war,
and without reason.
We throw our body
body. We learn to
hate each other, hate
the ball, hate the hoop,
hate the fallen snow,
hate our clumsy hands,
hate our thirsty mouths
when we drink from
the fountain. We hate
our fathers. We hate
our mothers. We hate
the face in our mirror.
We play basketball
because we want to
separate love from
hate, and because we
know how to keep score.
– Excerpted from Sherman Alexie’s five-part poem, Why We Play Basketball
Filed under: Basketball, Bread City, Photography | Tags: Basketball Photography, Tom Bland