I Shoot Some Hoops

It was a beautiful autumn afternoon: mellow, the sun maturing, the trees loaded with bright leaves, each one a flower - to mix my Camus and my Keats.  Even on the municipal basketball court, not known for its beauty, it was a beautiful afternoon.

My younger son and I were shooting some hoops.  I used to practise scoring goals in netball when I was his age, but Ball is an altogether cooler sport.  It has an immense vocabulary: a pass becomes an Assist when it leads directly to your team mate scoring.  A Swish is a ball which goes through the hoop without touching the rim. A Chucker is a player who makes frequent and imprudent shots.  A Granny shot is an  underhand shot taken with both hands.  A Toilet Bowl is a shot which circles round the rim - it can go in or out.

My son was on form, scoring repeatedly from way out.  His current aim is to jump high enough to perform a Slam Dunk.  He's not far off.  A few more centimetres of growth, some extra leg muscle and, well, there'll be no stopping him.

As for me, I achieved my own Ball nirvana this afternoon. For a laugh, I attempted a Prayer - a shot very unlikely to make it - from five metres out, facing away from the hoop.  I chucked the ball in a Granny shot back over my head.  I turned round to see the ball go through the hoop, and my son's broad grin, "Wow! Swish, Mum!"