Basketball Intro

Home is where the heart is. For some, that may be your stereotypical brick facade with a white picket fence that blocks off the rest of suburbia, but for me, it's different. It's the hardwood, the nylon nets. For as long as I can remember, I've been at home between the stands of the field house, acting roommate to a ball, and a dream. It may be taht I have no other real home, no other abode that gives back the feelings I put in. For now at least, my heart is here.

Lonely winter nights to summer days, you'll find me here. Jump shot after jump shot, my blood sweat and tears have anointed this palace. The janitors leave early, but I still stay. They've learned better then to try to kick me out, as many times I have become acquainted with the lockless back window. Now I just have some spare keys, and I stay as long as I like. Some say too long, but to be honest, I enjoy every countless hour of solitude. My teammates and coach join me for two hours every day, and on friday nights, the real fun begins.

I couldn't live without the games. The noise, the lights, every French Lick Indiana resident in the stands, I close my eyes each night dreaming of it. But if I'm going to keep getting hand fed these moments twice a week, I'm going to thrive. Thats when I'm relaxed. Three seconds on the clock, down by 2, give me the ball. Twelve minutes left, up by 20, give me the ball. The situation is insignificant, as long as I'm in control. They chant my name, but I can't even hear it. I'm alone, not playing, but living. That is where I belong.

And maybe that's what's wrong with me.