Homeless Man Hoops

Elmer the husky and I rounded a corner in the park on our daily walk at first light. We passed the ever-changing homeless encampment that on this morning consisted of five passenger vehicles, a former moving van, and one tent. The weather was dry. Geese were grazing on the fields. A jogger in old school Rocky sweats jogged down the street.

The basketball court came into view. I noticed one tall man shooting hoops in very erratic fashion. He also often punctuated his play with bursts of screaming.

The trail would lead us past the courts. I'm always intrigued when I see someone shooting hoops alone, especially at 5:30 in the morning and in very atypical fashion, but typical if under the influence of meth.

Elmer and slowed our pace and I continued my observation. The man was in 40s or 50s, lean, crew cut, jeans and t-shirt. His backpack and a bag of cans rested on a bench. He exuded the unmistakable vibe of being homeless and addled, and yes, homeless men and women do stop and shoot hoops alone on a basketball court at all hours if they are passing through, on meth or not, and someone has left a ball behind, which happens all the time. I've seen this scene a dozen times on this court the past four years. I once even saw four homeless men play half court two-on-two and they played hard and with considerable skill. You wouldn't think a homeless man would know how to set a proper screen, block out on a rebound, dribble well with his left hand, or assume excellent defensive position, but when they do, you realize they'd been coached in their youth and probably played on a school team.

The man shot with excellent form. All his shots were taken from mid-range, never a wild, low-percentage three-point attempt. His layups were old school, solid off the backboard, no fancy finger rolls. Sometimes he would toss the ball into the field, scream, go retrieve it, carry it back to the court, and resume shooting.

He hit about half his outside shots and never missed a layup.

We passed the court and I turned around and took one final look at the man. He hurled the ball over a backboard with and exaggerated overhand throw. The ball came to stop under a towering Doug fir. He walked to retrieve it.

A few seconds later, I heard the sound of a missed jumper clanging off the rim.