I should be packing right now. I'm moving tomorrow, relocating to the Santa Clara office. Just so we're clear, not leaving Sun. Love Sun. But my personal life leads me to norCal.
So why do you care that I'm moving? You don't; why would you? (Go ahead and say it out loud... you don't care... totally helps your career growth when coworkers hear you talking to yourself...) But seeing as how I've linked a time or two to articles that reinforce my belief in the basic goodness of humanity, I am compelled to acknowledge and thank the gentlemen at Sonrise Hoops. To fully express my gratitude, I must subject you to a little history. When I was a senior in high school ('93), a friend took me to a small gym in Burbank, CA, owned by local Emmanual Church (I'd link, but their website not be working...), that ran an open hoops night on Mondays. Much friendlier than your typical park game, I was quickly a regular. A few months in, I learned that another group ran Tuesday and Thursday mornings... at 6am. Uh huh... 6. As in 0600. They called it Sonrise Hoops.
Well, in spite of having the hops of a parapelegic turtle, I love me some hoops. And at the time, I was young enough to run Monday night and again the next morning. Thus began a 15 year span of waking up at 5:15am twice a week to go ball. It's not an overstatement to say it has been as much of a basketball "career" as I'll ever have. When I started, I was the rookie surrounded by veterans: Mark, Ron, Pete, Jim, MJ, and so many others. And I grew, as a player and as a person. Run by Emmanual's faithful, specifically the man after whom I hope to model the rest of my hoops shelf life, Mark, Sonrise Hoops differentiates itself by emphasizing fellowship equally with the sport. Typically an introvert, this became not only a great place to play but also a chance to make friends with some quality people.
As the years passed, some moved while others retired. New players would trickle in to make sure we had at least 3-on-3 (most of the time). Always Mark, like clockwork sweeping the floors and putting English on his layups that made them impossible to block. I distinctly remember improving my game over the years just to get to the point where I could guard him, definitely a milestone in my so-called career. There are so many to mention, but some merit explicit mention: Dave T. Would that I could have in some small measure the joi de vivre that emanates from that man. One of my saddest days, not just in the scope of Sonrise but in my life, was when he moved to Florida. Wasn't the same for months without him shrieking an apology after ruining yet anohter one of my assists. To be clear, I say that with absolute affection and, literally this morning, we were discussing how far Dave's game evolved (at 6'5", he was a center... by the time he left, he was making the occasional three). I wasn't the only one who became a better player at Sonrise Hoops...
More years went by, I became the cagey veteran: slowly losing a half-step at a time but loving the game enough to know (usually) where I needed to be to play effectively. A new crowd of regulars developed: "Big" Dave, who took over for Mark, as immovable as an oak with unstoppable post moves. Daniel... I've never played with a better scorer; his hot streaks from 4-pt range would put guys like Eddie House to shame. "Shooter" Dave, with perfect form on a flawless shot and always in the right place. Ed and his three-point runners, Rick with 16-footers from the high elbow, Dan with his ankle-rending double pumps... great guys with whom to play but more importantly great guys to know.
Which brings me to today, specifically this morning, my Sonrise Hoops "retirement". (See? Me moving IS relevant. And you didn't care...) First, Mark stopped by. He retired well over a year ago, but he made a point to stop in and say goodbye. Right there, my day is made. My career starts and ends with Mark. Totally good with that. But then I got a card. Signed by everyone: check. Hallmark, not a chance. "Shooter Dave" is an amazing artist and so I got not one but two fantastic drawings capturing just how lame I look with a headband. (When I find a scanner, I'll post them.) So many little moments, made more poignant as they were the last with this group (for a while, until I visit), made this morning one of the finest of my life. There's no exaggeration there and I lack sufficient eloquence to properly express what this morning meant to me.
Farewell, gentlemen, and thank you. For 15 years of quality balling, thank you. For 15 years of welcoming the token heathen and tolerating his temper and (hopefully) sporadic vulgarity, thank you. For 15 years of having a reason to wake up at the crack of dawn, thank you. (Ok, maybe not so much that part... Sonset Hoops? Anyone?) For 15 years of making me a better player and a better person, thank you. I might have shown up for the hoops, but I looked forward to coming for the fellowship.
(P.S. - Highlight between the dashes for invaluable hints on how to guard the guys I mentioned... because I'm a giver.)
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- "Big" Dave - don't let him get the ball
- "Shooter" Dave - don't let him get the ball
- Ed - don't let him get the ball
- Dan - don't let him get the ball
- Rick - don't let him get the ball
- Daniel - slash his tires so he can't get to the gym... he MAY be out of range from his driveway...
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