The Basketball Diaries
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In and around 1973. I was schooled on basketball in Buddy’s driveway. His driveway was behind his house at 2403 Prairie Creek and the basketball goal was hung over the garage door. I liked playing there because the goal was lower than it was in the gym and we could cut loose and play to win because we were among friends. Good friends. Buddy, Bobby, Bill and myself played a lot of basketball there.

We stayed up late on the weekends (and some school nights) playing in the driveway. It was a good place to play because it was flat and an errant ball would not roll far off. When we played two on two we didn’t do much driving in under the basket. We mostly took outside shots with an occasional pass for a lay-up. There was no such thing as a three pointer in those days.

You have to realize that staying over at Buddy and Bobby’s house was an experience in itself. While Bill and I might speculate there was a bit of dysfunction in the family (they fought a lot), we both believed there was a great deal of love in that family. They did things as a family. And to their friends, you couldn’t find nicer people. When you went to their house, you were part of the family. When they sent out for burgers, you didn’t tell them you weren’t hungry. You were going to eat and that’s all there was to it. And not just one burger either. They got you two. They made sure their friends were taken care of.		 If there were only two or three of us, we played horse or around the world, or just shot free-throws while planning our victimless crimes. The best plans in U.S. history on how to water bomb cars were laid out right there in that driveway while shooting hoops. The world only thought they had seen houses rolled, that is until the boys between Sandstone and Riverway took it to a whole new level. We also made sure our neighborhood was adequately represented in the streaking craze and we wrote the book on sneaking into the movies. As far as motorcycles were concerned, we made sure that no hill was left unclimbed, and no neighbor left undisturbed. A full mooned Friday night of basketball was usually followed by a Saturday of police complaints.

That rim had plenty bounce to it after years of shooting jump shots from the porch. I’m going to speak for Bill on this one and say thank God for Buddy and Bobby and no-net basketball in their driveway.