Summer time… vacation time… that time of the year, when you have all the time in the world… And don’t know what to do with it.
I had read as many books as I could lay my hands on… and did not want to read anymore for a while.
There is very little else I do for fun. I was stuck.
In school, I spend my time listening to what the teachers say, instead of more productively, trying to get popular, and organise a huge ‘friend circle,’ as people call it. The irony is that after paying such a high price to listen to the teachers, I forget what they say as soon as the bell rings.
I decided to play basketball. I don’t know why… so don’t ask.
May be because I am pretty tall… and the game is supposed to favour people with height… or more believably… it is because I do not know any games that start with A, so naturally, basketball was the first game I thought of.
I went to the stadium. It was a huge, green oval, with stands on one side. The plot was rectangular, so the oval, left space for games other than cricket… After all, cricket is the only game in India
Despite having the largest area to it, cricket greedily had seized one corner, for its ‘nets.’ Two net less goal posts meant that the area had been intended to represent a foot ball pitch. Had it been used, the sight would have been even more pitiable. The D’s would end on the half line.
Across from the stands, were two tennis courts, and in a corner tucked behind them was the basketball court. It was in pretty good shape. Actually there were two courts and both had fibre back boards and both sets of rings had nets, though slightly damaged. The surface of the courts was the usual cement. The lines were bright and clear, hardly the dull outlines I expected.
I looked for the coach.
Naturally, he would be the most distant from the actual game. That disqualified anyone on the court, and most of the others loitering around it.
A man walked into the court. He was my height, and slightly heavier. He was talking to some one on the phone. He did not seem to be in a good mood.
I looked back at the courts.
Things had changed.
There were two lines, people were taking lay ups, or stretching, the lethargy had disappeared, and suddenly energy crackled in the air. Everyone had purpose, though you could not immediately figure out what it was.
There is only one force on earth that can cause such a complete change in a group of seemingly aimless sportsmen… THE COACH.
For some coaches it happens because they are respected, example: coach Carter;
For some coaches it happens because, lining up and taking lay ups, is better than 12 laps.
For some coaches it happens because, lining up and taking lay ups is better than getting snapped at, by a shark… I learnt this last one during my attempts to play basketball.
I looked behind me, there was no one there, just the man and his phone.
“Hold karo…” he barked into the phone… “inko lay up karate raho… I’m coming.”
And he turned and walked away… slowly it dawned on me… HIM! He was the coach. Don’t get me wrong… this guy was a great player… I learnt that by losing to him, he just was not a coach…. I am not saying he was not a good coach… I am saying he was not a coach… and in his defence made no pretensions of being one. But that is for later… at that moment I was still shocked…. So to repeat myself ; him!
The lay up lines disintegrated as soon as his back turned. I watched him walk away, speaking into the phone, I felt sorry for it… had it been flesh and blood, the poor thing would have succumbed to such treatment long ago… but being plastic and electromagnetic waves, it persisted.
I turned back to the courts. Feeling entirely out of place, I watched them shoot.
The coach returned… the lines reformed. He walked to a bench, sat down, put his phone down, and from his pocket took out a long menacing chain, on its end, on a ring, was a whistle.
He blew one shrill blast.
The lines grew still… the balls bounced into the grass surrounding the court. Everything was silent… all eyes were on the coach. I could hear the thwuck thwuck from the tennis courts… I half expected to see someone frozen in mid leap, craning his neck around to watch the coach.
Slowly he raised his right hand, with all the deliberation, of someone in supreme control; he looked at his watch, and returned it to his side, then nodded to a line in front of him.
I could feel the relief as it wafted across from them, like you feel the wind across your cheek.
They trooped across the cement and filed out.
Silently he pointed to players, and then to a side of the court. After ten players had been sent to one of the two sides, and teams, he sat down, and blew his whistle, the match started…
Hitler, would have been impressed by the performance, so would my mother.
The others sat down along the line. The phone rang… the coach went out. Just as he reached the gate, he spotted me.
“Who are you? He asked, “what are you doing here?”
“Sir, my name is Eduard, I want to play basket ball.”
“okay… do you know how to play, you have played before, show me,” he said, without waiting for me to reply yes. He indicated a ball, I picked it up, and performed a lay up, thankfully, it went in.
He was done. He shouted to some one on court… “keep him on change.”
So I was to be a substitute… I joined the group of them on the side lines.
I did not get to play, only two of us did, because some one had to go home early and study for a paper.
The match continued, until by consensus, the light was too bad. We went home. I had not spoken to anyone…
The next day, I arrived early, hoping to introduce myself to some one on court. I met some one.
He had a round face, was pretty soft spoken. His kit was a cross, the shorts belonged to LA Lakers, and the vest was from the Detroit Pistons( both teams play in the NBA), I was a little puzzled, and it showed on my face… as I approached him, he smiled.
“They are my two favourite teams, I could not decide which one to wear… so,” and he shrugged his shoulders in explanation.
As the guys trooped in, he introduced me to them.
The coach walked in with the same effect as yesterday… but unlike yesterday, he blew his whistle immediately, and called us all over.
Every one seemed awkward… I wondered why…
He looked us over once… and then began the weirdest monologue I have ever heard. The funniest part was that he was trying to make seem interactive… and interesting, and coherent… he failed at all three… I had to ask for a translation.
To show you what it was like:
“There is going to be a tournament, soon, aur ham log, yahe se team utarne ja rahe hai. The team’s name is hawks… malum, hai tumhe hawk kya hota hai…? To, aaj se camp shuru
“I think you have the best chance, you can ask the seniors, I am the best coach here… no one else is a national level player… and I don’t think, you can make it, so you better listen to me, if you want to…”
“okay, now you want to play in the league?” he waited for a response. “good, then lets start working.” He finished without bothering.
He formed the teams, just as I was trooping to the side lines to watch the game, he called me over.
“yes sir.”
“you want to play here?”
“Yes sir.”
“bring a photograph, and fill in the form, I’ll give it to you tomorrow, and get two hundred rupees for your kit... and come regularly… if you come you can make it to the nationals, I have trained many players who have played for India, you can also, if you work hard.”
“yes sir.” That seemed to satisfy him, he returned to his phone… I noticed his handset had changed.
That was the last I saw of him… it’s been four weeks since then. School has reopened, I still go to the stadium, I like basket ball, though it does not compare to reading…
The court is getting less popular, the summer hols had brought a lot of people to the court, that didn’t have anything better to do. They left. For some reason I stayed on. It’s not the people there, I can barely stand them, between their much bigger, stronger selves and rules of conduct, that made little or no sense to someone who’d never played before, and their crotch scratching on the side of the courts while they make us run drills, I should be disgusted enough to leave.
The operation is, now, directed by two ‘bhaiyas’ both of them apparently students of the coach, and the only regulars the court has. Why they are still here, is a question I’d rather not ask, but for people who actually have the time to spend 4hours a day on a court, not necessarily with the purpose of practicing, there’s really not much to do anyway. They’ve changed the whole modus operandi, we come, we sit around, shoot a few hoops, and when enough people have arrived, we divide us into teams. As and when people felt like leaving, others, basically the subs got their fifteen seconds of fame, until the court is too dark to play anymore. If you are lucky, and not enough people come, you could even play the whole game.
Of course there is no question of learning to play the game. If you are lucky, you figure out how to get more shots to fall through the hoop, and the chances of you’re being selected increase, until you’re amongst the select few who could, with the bhaiyas dictate play. Very capitalist.
The tournament has been postponed, for all practical purposes, abandoned. I get to play often now; at least ten-twelve minutes everyday… it feels good.
He came back once, in the middle, out of the blue, almost as though he was curious to know if the place still existed. He wasn’t on his phone either, well at least not for the first 10 minutes.
He walked wearing the same T-shirt and track pant he’d worn on my first day.
“to, kya chal raha hai? Are practicing for the tournament? Do you know what to do even? Jab hum log aate the, kisi camp me, hamlog din din bhar practice karte the, din me hazar shots phekte the, that’s the kind of practice you are needing. Kya hai, tum aate ho, bina warm up ke, aur match shuru, kuch karte ho otherwise? Line UP!”
We did. He noticed me
“I’m telling you, I’m the best coach you can get in Lko. And if you don’t take me seriously, mai tumhara jeena haram kardunga. I have the power. Abhi meir SAI ke director ke saath meeting thi. Now look you have no stamina, you need to do training, roz 10 12 kilometre bhaga karo, ek do sprints lagaya karo, thoda sa gym jao, body ko strong karo, basketball ek aisa game hai jisko khelne ke liye dum chaiye.”
We nodded in mute agreement. I did too, I’d been filled in on how to deal with him, and am learning how to deal with the bhaiyas too, not to forget their crotch scratching, but those are other stories.
“okay now, do lay ups… I want everyone to do at least 50 lay ups.”
They trooped off. He waved; I had to speak to him.
“So you are still here, are you serious? You should be, I told you I’ll make you play nationals,” Because I’m fair, everyone has this impression I am firang, and so therefore they try to speak to me in English, so that I unduh!stand. I try to, but usually when people like him speak English, it makes it that much harder, “so if you want to become official member of our club you should fill up the form. I have with me, I’ll give you. He reached into his bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper that looked pretty old. “I came to see if you are still here, so that I can give you this form. In the summer too many people come, not all are serious, so I didn’t give you then. Keep it in your bag.”
I did.
“So how do you like the game? It is fun no, and this is a very good club. I’ve played nationals, so I can only train for the camp. My camp is just like the national camp. Just now the tournament has been postponed, once they give a fixed date, I’ll start training you properly, by that time build up a stamina so that I can train you properly, if you don’t have stamina what a coach can do? nothing!”
I had been nodding in agreement, judiciously, at points I thought deserved it. He seemed to approve of my timing.
The phone rang, he checked the number, and waved me off.
He answered the phone, but too loudly for me to catch what he was saying. I joined one of the lines to lay up.
The form duly filled, lies at the bottom of my kit bag, with two hundred rupees for the club kit and subscription, with a photograph, that I think has lost its colour… and a lot of sweat, and other stinky things, no one seems to mind.
hmm…
May be its time to give the guys a treat, or at least those I like. If there are any I like…
It was a pleasure reading this article..reminded of my own school days..evn we used to practice a lot fr basket ball matches.:)
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