Preface: Pickup basketball should be understood as an
event among participants who are not playing with high school/college
teammates. When I was a sophomore in high school, I accepted that a senior—by
virtue of his advanced position on both the social strata and team—could
verbally abuse me with impunity during a pickup game. In the absence of these
power hierarchies, pickup basketball consists of friends or even complete
strangers engaging in games that, by definition, do not count for anything.
Today, I stumbled upon this video, which aptly
characterizes the various pickup basketball archetypes. Only one of these stereotypical (and
very real) participants has the power to reduce the joy I can experience while
playing pickup basketball, and inspires me to seek another group of amateur
players more aware that they are amateurs. This basketball zealot is known as
the Pickup Player/Coach, or PPC for short.
The PPC…
- Displays the most enthusiasm, outward determination, and emotional investment on the outcome of each contest
- Is the only person on the court ever doing these things simultaneously: 1) pointing his finger, 2) speaking, and 3) dribbling the ball.
- Thinks he knows more about basketball than you do
- Either a) suffers from a lack of self-awareness or b) believes that the unwritten auspices of Competition and Masculinity somehow sanction—demand, even—his behavior
- Is rarely, if ever, the best player on the court. This may strike those unfamiliar with pickup basketball as an apparent irony, but is unsurprising for the reasons I’ll attempt to articulate later.
It’s important to note that not
all verbal utterances make one a player/coach. Even strangers at the rec.
center encourage one another after an ill-fated crossover dribble or compliment
a nifty assist. Critical remarks, many of which begin with “You gotta,” and all
of which are spoken from the mindset that a) the outcome of the game matters[1]
and b) people profit from the advice given to them, are those that distinguish
the PPC from his socially adjusted teammates.
“You gotta make him go left, man.”
“You gotta cut to the basket there! You woulda had a layup!”
"You gotta spike those, Focker!"
The Pickup Player/Coach is
essentially a thirty-three-year-old Aaron Craft, without all of the media
adulation heaped so lavishly and often undeservedly upon all semi-skilled white
college basketball players. If forced to describe his game, the words
“fundamentally sound” would spill from your mouth as thoughtlessly and
automatically as you’d describe a fresh cup of joe as “hot.”
If you’re a PPC, your friends may
not hate you as a person, but I can virtually guarantee that they hate you
within the context of pickup basketball and hope to God that they don’t have to
play on your team. I would rather play alongside Volume Shooter Who Far Overestimates His Scoring Ability than a PPC—even if that means my only scoring
opportunities avail themselves through put-backs and fast breaks. If you chide
a teammate for poor help defense, you are a PPC, and everyone hates you more
than the black hole with a Kobe complex. If you so much as utter the words “box
out” during a pickup game, everyone should hate
you, and they likely do.
“But Brandon, you should cut this
guy some slack. He is just trying to do his best, goshdarnit. Don’t hate on his
passion!”
Here’s my response: Imagine, if
you will, another hobby you practice in which someone attempts to instruct you
on how to properly enjoy yourself. If you produce an activity that does not
involve a personal trainer, I’m impressed.
Now, that thought exercise may not
be entirely fair because basketball—unlike other pastimes you could mention—is
both competitive in nature and a team sport. Perhaps surprisingly, the
player/coach may not necessarily be the same person to criticize an opponent’s
river call in Texas Hold ’Em[2]
or tell his spouse that she sucks as a Taboo partner. His competitive streak on
the basketball court, blessedly, does not always find expression in every other type of game he plays. However, the
player/coach is—in most, if not all cases—a former high school point guard
whose career met its ceiling when his floor-slapping, screen-setting acumen,
and ability to win sprints in practice did not translate to scholarship offers
from John Calipari, Roy Williams, and Bill Self.
As such, pickup basketball
triggers a largely lost, though desperately nurtured, desire to be viewed as a
hoops success and, perhaps even more importantly, as a leader. And
after high school—sometimes college, though most PPCs weren’t talented or
genetically blessed enough for this level[3]—there
are basically only two avenues affording the PPC to masquerade as the leader he
so clearly and desperately desires to be. One of them is pickup basketball. The
other is church league.
The PPC wreaks a corrosive effect
on the game and group dynamic. He fails to register that his teammates approach
the game with varying levels of motivation and competitive fire. Many of them
sought the gym to avoid nagging, not to
unwittingly encounter a surrogate spouse holding a mouthpiece while barking
orders. Consider, if you would, the range of reactions at the disposal of the
PPC’s unfortunate teammates. In my experience, people either suffer in silence,
allowing the litany of unsolicited instructions to proceed unabated through the
conclusion—and sometimes even after the
contest— OR bade him to STFU—“I didn’t come to the Y for some kid to lecture me
on ball reversal”—opening the door for a full-on public spectacle. My own
default is the former, but every man has his limits.
So, please, hoopers, be anyone but Player/Coach.
Be the tall guy, channeling his inner Antoine Walker, who only shoots threes
and is a general waste of six feet, seven inches. Be the “my bad” guy, consumed
in self-deprecation and treating each errant pass as one would if he dropped a
baby. Be Accessory Guy, donning a headband and Allen Iverson sleeve, if you
absolutely must.
But please, on behalf of pickup
basketball players everywhere, we beseech you: deny your inner Aaron Craft. The
world will be better for it.
[1] I’m not
condoning a competition-devoid session of rainbows and smiles, but you can
attempt to win a pickup basketball game without vocally conveying just how much
you do care.
[2] Guilty, in
case you were wondering.
[3] And their
fathers, having the power to award their progeny with walk-on positions, didn’t
happen to coach a college team.
