Street ball showdown!

East End Style.

It’s the sports equivalent of a gang fight. Two factions face off like the Bloods and the Crips—but instead of using automatic weapons they settle their differences on the basketball court. Sure it’s a little more civilized way of settling differences—but only a little. It’s still brutal, raw and puts everything on the line in a no-holds-barred free-for-all, where only one side emerges as a winner. Sometimes it’s in teams; sometimes a single player is selected by his “gang” to “represent” the entire gang in a game of one-on-one. It was the latter game that I found myself in the crosshairs of as my gang’s point person on a chilly, overcast morning back in the fall of 1971.
Some people say that high stakes gangland throw downs like this only happen in the inner-city, in the proverbial “West End.” Most the time that’s true. But not this time. The setting was the extreme East End at St Francis in the Fields elementary school, where I had just transferred for third grade and today was the first day of school. It was good to see my peeps again. I had been gone for a year—on hiatus. I had spent second grade at Sunnyland. No, that’s not what they called Juvee back then. It was a small private elementary school in Ft Lauderdale, FL where my family had moved the year before on business and I went with them. But my compadres at St Francis weren’t sure what had happened to me. Only that I had gone away for a while. And now I was back. And that’s all they needed to know.

The tension between third and fourth graders at St Francis in the Fields was palpable that first day of school—spilling over from last year’s unresolved tension between second and third graders, stemming mostly from tether ball disagreements.

Like the Hatfield’s and McCoy’s famous feud, no one could remember the details. Only that a rivalry had developed that wasn’t going away until it was settled. And today was the day. And this was the place. The third grade boys were feeling especially emboldened this day with me back. I was known in second and third grade circles in those parts as a fairly accomplished basketball player.

It soon became apparent to me that I was their ringer—and would represent my entire gang, or grade, as we settled our differences Old School. On the basketball court at recess after second period. The fourth grader’s choice of leader was not a choice at all. It was a forgone conclusion that no one dare question. His name was Allen Lavin. Allen was tall, athletic and handsome—and already good with the ladies (not afraid of cooties. In fact, fearless around the threat of cootie exposure.) I remembered him from a year earlier. I could easily picture him in my 8 year old East End mind one day playing in the NBA. I could imagine him dominating both on the court and then off the court wearing a full length mink coat while holding forth at the after party. He just had that charisma and cockiness of a natural leader who couldn’t fathom ever losing.

Allen Lavin was from a well-heeled horse breeding family in Oldham County. But don’t be fooled by his pedigree. Lavin was all about street ball—first and last—and everyone in the lower school knew he alone owned the basketball court when it was time for recess.

And then there was me. I was a bit of an enigma. A quiet but determined scrappy kid. Short but fast and with a bit of a chip on my shoulder that made me feel I had to prove something. I was the guy that could surprise you. And others felt it. I wasn’t like the Lavins. My family wasn’t part of the Establishment. We were more nouveau riche. Sure we could afford the private school tuition, but as they say on the East End streets, “We hadn’t gotten in country club yet.” And there were external signs of class differences too. I didn’t wear a belt. It wasn’t that we couldn’t afford belts…but rather I didn’t wear them because I had a mild sensory disorder that made some clothing articles, like belts, feel very uncomfortable to me. And then there was the other reason I kept to myself. I felt not wearing a belt gave me an advantage at sports. I wasn’t limited in my range or movement by a belt. There were aerodynamic reasons I chose not to wear a belt. And it made me lighter. And I knew I would need every advantage going up against Allen Lavin. 

Read the rest of…
John Y’s Musings from the Middle: Street Ball Showdown!