Who's In?

I recently finished reading Barak Obama’s memoir, Dreams of My Father, written in 1995. I’m prone to like the guy anyway, and the fact that he can string a few sentences together gracefully and tell a really good story endears him to me even more. As does knowing he’s a fellow hoops enthusiast, who says he played (like me) “with a consuming passion that would always exceed my limited talent.”

Here’s what he says about what he found in the game, besides friends, a self-defining attitude, and respect:

…A way of being together when the game was tight and the sweat broke and the best players stopped worrying about their points and the worst players got swept up in the moment and the score only mattered because that’s how you sustained the trance. In the middle of which you might make a move or a pass that surprised even you, so that even the guy guarding you had to smile, as if to say, “Damn…”

Every sport has its sublime moments, which share something in common, but all are shaped differently. There’s the fun of it.

(Obama only devotes two pages of his 442-page book to basketball; don’t want to give anyone the impression they should read it if they are looking for insights on the game. You should read it though, for a candid and compelling family history and surprisingly uncomfortable look at race today.)