With every twisted of rolled ankle, it’s instinctual to just tighten your laces and keep playing. It’s not out of ignorance or even ego, for me it’s just how deep my love goes for the game. Before trying to get scouted on AAU or high school circuits, before the league and its almost mythical allure overtakes you… it’s only love. Passion. Harmony. I’m 26 now. The majority of my peers aren’t here anymore. People I’d confide in, learn from, lean on. Even my own mother. My only brother. One of my closest friends. The game was always our refuge, though sometimes our pots overflowed, and things got a little chippy, it was always our home away from home.
But maybe, WE were each other’s home away from home. I never thought about that side of the coin until now. Also, I’m approaching the realization that I’ll never be able to play that game the same way again. The twists and rolls, the sprains, the “stress fractures healed improperly” like I said in a song of mine called Just Breathe, are starting to overtake me, quite like the allure of the league did. But this is something realer. Something heavier. Something even slower of a burn.
I think about people who only know the game, whether it’s sports, the streets, or the corporate ladder. For a lot of us, well for me personally, I fear that’s all there is. And I gotta be tripping, but I know that’s NOT the case. Not in the least. In my case rather, one’s only connection to what is or what could be, are the pieces you’re left with from what was. With that, I can only write this letter with love AND loss, gratitude AND grief, and Harmony at it’s purest.
Letter to the Game. | October 31, 2023
