April 14
There is a new addition to the team. Major League’s Cuban slugger Pedro Cerrano had JoBu. Vassar baseball has Buddha Martin. Named after our head coach, Jon Martin, Buddha Martin is a miniature Buddha figurine that rocks shades and a prime spot in the dugout. Rub his stomach for good luck, talk to him when you’re in a slump or press the button on his back to hear a recording of freshman pitcher Race Bottini imitate the coach’s favorite phrase, “Act as if!” Buddha Martin is guaranteed to get your team wins or you’ll get your money back!
Buddha Martin came with us on our trip to St. Lawrence this past weekend for four games in two days. And although we came away with only one victory, we are playing good baseball! Had we limited one big inning here or there, each of those losses could have been victories. There is definitely a new team attitude. We run on to the field to start the game not thinking we are going to win, but rather, knowing we are going to win. We all know that Buddha Martin has no actual bearing on the outcome of the game but it acts as a symbol of all of us coming together to form a team and believing in one thing. This transformation won’t happen overnight. But as was apparent in our victory at SUNY Purchase and then our road trip up to St. Lawrence, and last night’s win over SUNY New Paltz, we are taking large steps in the right direction.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Staying Young: A Look at the Local Basketball Scene
Just a few miles off the campus of Vassar College, Gene sits half-asleep on the bleachers along the baseline of the basketball court at Casperkill Health and Fitness Center. His hood covers his head and he rests his hands in the front pocket of his sweatshirt as he watches his two-year-old son, Evan struggle to dribble a ball.
“Wake up!” an older, white male with gray hair says and pats Gene on the thigh. “You look tired.”
“It’s my birthday, Bob,” Gene mumbles.
“Oh, happy birthday! How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight,” says Gene, his smooth, brown skin contrasting with Bob’s wrinkled face.
“Yeah, well, I’m sure you feel like you’re 85.”
Just then, a short black man named Shane walks over – no, more like skips over – to the bleachers. He rolls up the sleeve of his green shirt that is tucked into his shorts and flexes his bicep.
“I’ve been workin’ out!” he exclaims between puffs of his asthma inhaler. “Can’t you tell? 30 years old and I look great, don’t I?”
Age is the theme of the 11-o’clock Friday basketball games. That’s when the most diverse group plays. In the morning, at 6:00 am, it is mostly older white males. On Sundays at 8:30 it is the cream of the crop, the younger, predominantly black players. But on Fridays at 11:00, age is no barrier. The courts at Casperkill are where the old come to feel young.
Although Shane is the smallest person the court, he has the largest mouth. “He’s a big mouth,” says Gene. “He’s the only one you’re going to hear on the court.”
With the score tied at 10 points apiece, Gene goes up against Shane one-on-one along the left side of the three-point arc. From the way his body moves with the ball, as if it were attached to his finger on a string, it’s clear Gene once had potential. He was offered a full scholarship to attend Canisius College in Buffalo, New York and play basketball. But when he was 18, he had a daughter, who is now six-years-old and had to stay close by to take care of her. He often wonders what would have happened if he hadn’t had his first child so young. “I might have went somewhere,” he says. He attended Dutchess Community College for two years but didn’t get along with the coach. Last year he played semi-pro basketball for the Connecticut Thunder Bolts in a league started just two years ago and got paid 150 dollars per game. (“It cost 100 dollars to try out,” he says). And now, he plays about twice a week at Casperkill whenever he has time off from his job in produce at Price Chopper.
Gene is one of the only players on the court as quick if not quicker than Shane. And with the score tied, Gene dribbles the ball between his legs, sneaks past Shane and is hit on the arm as he goes up for a layup. He calls, “Foul.”
Shane can’t believe it. He throws the ball in the air and shouts back. “How are you gonna call that a foul?” he asks. Before long, everybody on the court is arguing, shouting, and laughing at how they always argue and shout. This is why the games take so long. This is one of the reasons why you don’t want to lose. It’s winner-stays-on basketball and if you lose, it might be half-an-hour with all the pausing and yelling before you get back on the court.
Then, in walks Sunny. The 64-year old has on a bright yellow basketball jersey and it’s as though he literally wears his name on his sleeve.
“Sunny’s got on the oldest Lakers jersey there is,” someone jokes.
Sunny is like a general on the court. He stands at the top of the arc surveying his players and calling out orders. He rarely shoots and he rarely talks trash. But he doesn’t exactly keep his mouth shut either. “Go to work,” he says to one of his taller teammates, telling him post up on his defender. Sunny then feeds him the ball and when he turns around and sinks the short jump shot, Sunny takes credit. “You see, that’s ‘cuz you were right where I told you to be,” he says.
Sunny has lived in Poughkeepsie, NY since he moved there when he was 10 in 1955. He is a semi-retired patrol officer. (“I’m retired but I haven’t given them my memo yet,” he jokes. “So they’re still paying me.”) So he comes to play basketball at Casperkill every other day. He has been playing there since he was 21 and has been a member since the age of 40.
On the court, a player goes down. “Time out! Time out!” the other players shout as the injured player hops off the court and lies down. “It’s the Starberries he’s got on,” someone laughs, referencing the 15 dollar shoes put out by ex-NBA player Stephon Marbury, who wanted to make a pair of decent basketball sneakers that were also affordable.
After about ten minutes the injured player moves to the bleachers to ice his knee and sits by Sunny. His name is Spike and he too has been coming to Casperkill since he was 10 years old and used to watch his father play on the same court. “I should get a free pass,” he says.
Sunny and Spike begin to remember the days when these courts were where “anybody who could play” would come. People from all over upstate New York would come to these courts in the 1980s and 1990s. Even guys who were playing in college would come to Casperkill during the summer to play against some of the best local competition and keep in shape.
But that was when IBM owned the gym. Then the Marriot bought it. And now a company called Bright Horizons owns it. “And they’ve let it go to waste,” says Sunny. “Look, they got a hoop over there that isn’t but eight feet. They got one right here that’s about 9 feet.”
“The floor is slippery, I’m surprised I was able to catch myself when I did,” says Spike.
“You know why that is though?” asks Sunny. “It’s because they don’t wipe the floors until after we play. That doesn’t make any sense. Why do they wipe it after we play and not before? It aint the bus, it’s us.”
Indeed, this used to be one of the best places to play in New York, according to Sunny and Spike. And it was free as long as you knew somebody who worked at IBM. But now, “When you’re good here,” says Sunny, “You aint good anywhere else.”
He calls it the Poughkeepsie Syndrome: Being the best player in Poughkeepsie but not being able to hold your own against players who have been coached. “Here it’s all about shaking and baking,” Sunny says and moves his body like he’s dancing to salsa music. “There it’s all about getting the ball to the big man.”
Spike agrees. He’s played all over Upstate New York, the city and all the way down the coast to Washington, DC. “Everybody’s jumping out the gym. Everybody’s got handles,” he says, “You have to find a way to stand out.”
Suddenly and without saying a word, Gene who had been guarding Shane, runs off the court during one of the games. He sprints into the hallway where the water fountain is located and looks around frantically. “Gene!” someone shouts. “Gene, he’s right here! He’s right here.” The player points to the bleachers where Evan is curled up asleep in a pile of jackets. “He’s camouflaged.”
Even at a gym filled with 20-year-olds, Sunny, at age 64, seems like the youngest person there. “How old are you?” he asks, to which Spike replies that he is 38. Sunny laughs. And in his laugh are 64 years of life and no sign of stopping. It’s a laugh that could brighten the entire gym. It’s a laugh that could make you feel young.
“Wake up!” an older, white male with gray hair says and pats Gene on the thigh. “You look tired.”
“It’s my birthday, Bob,” Gene mumbles.
“Oh, happy birthday! How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight,” says Gene, his smooth, brown skin contrasting with Bob’s wrinkled face.
“Yeah, well, I’m sure you feel like you’re 85.”
Just then, a short black man named Shane walks over – no, more like skips over – to the bleachers. He rolls up the sleeve of his green shirt that is tucked into his shorts and flexes his bicep.
“I’ve been workin’ out!” he exclaims between puffs of his asthma inhaler. “Can’t you tell? 30 years old and I look great, don’t I?”
Age is the theme of the 11-o’clock Friday basketball games. That’s when the most diverse group plays. In the morning, at 6:00 am, it is mostly older white males. On Sundays at 8:30 it is the cream of the crop, the younger, predominantly black players. But on Fridays at 11:00, age is no barrier. The courts at Casperkill are where the old come to feel young.
Although Shane is the smallest person the court, he has the largest mouth. “He’s a big mouth,” says Gene. “He’s the only one you’re going to hear on the court.”
With the score tied at 10 points apiece, Gene goes up against Shane one-on-one along the left side of the three-point arc. From the way his body moves with the ball, as if it were attached to his finger on a string, it’s clear Gene once had potential. He was offered a full scholarship to attend Canisius College in Buffalo, New York and play basketball. But when he was 18, he had a daughter, who is now six-years-old and had to stay close by to take care of her. He often wonders what would have happened if he hadn’t had his first child so young. “I might have went somewhere,” he says. He attended Dutchess Community College for two years but didn’t get along with the coach. Last year he played semi-pro basketball for the Connecticut Thunder Bolts in a league started just two years ago and got paid 150 dollars per game. (“It cost 100 dollars to try out,” he says). And now, he plays about twice a week at Casperkill whenever he has time off from his job in produce at Price Chopper.
Gene is one of the only players on the court as quick if not quicker than Shane. And with the score tied, Gene dribbles the ball between his legs, sneaks past Shane and is hit on the arm as he goes up for a layup. He calls, “Foul.”
Shane can’t believe it. He throws the ball in the air and shouts back. “How are you gonna call that a foul?” he asks. Before long, everybody on the court is arguing, shouting, and laughing at how they always argue and shout. This is why the games take so long. This is one of the reasons why you don’t want to lose. It’s winner-stays-on basketball and if you lose, it might be half-an-hour with all the pausing and yelling before you get back on the court.
Then, in walks Sunny. The 64-year old has on a bright yellow basketball jersey and it’s as though he literally wears his name on his sleeve.
“Sunny’s got on the oldest Lakers jersey there is,” someone jokes.
Sunny is like a general on the court. He stands at the top of the arc surveying his players and calling out orders. He rarely shoots and he rarely talks trash. But he doesn’t exactly keep his mouth shut either. “Go to work,” he says to one of his taller teammates, telling him post up on his defender. Sunny then feeds him the ball and when he turns around and sinks the short jump shot, Sunny takes credit. “You see, that’s ‘cuz you were right where I told you to be,” he says.
Sunny has lived in Poughkeepsie, NY since he moved there when he was 10 in 1955. He is a semi-retired patrol officer. (“I’m retired but I haven’t given them my memo yet,” he jokes. “So they’re still paying me.”) So he comes to play basketball at Casperkill every other day. He has been playing there since he was 21 and has been a member since the age of 40.
On the court, a player goes down. “Time out! Time out!” the other players shout as the injured player hops off the court and lies down. “It’s the Starberries he’s got on,” someone laughs, referencing the 15 dollar shoes put out by ex-NBA player Stephon Marbury, who wanted to make a pair of decent basketball sneakers that were also affordable.
After about ten minutes the injured player moves to the bleachers to ice his knee and sits by Sunny. His name is Spike and he too has been coming to Casperkill since he was 10 years old and used to watch his father play on the same court. “I should get a free pass,” he says.
Sunny and Spike begin to remember the days when these courts were where “anybody who could play” would come. People from all over upstate New York would come to these courts in the 1980s and 1990s. Even guys who were playing in college would come to Casperkill during the summer to play against some of the best local competition and keep in shape.
But that was when IBM owned the gym. Then the Marriot bought it. And now a company called Bright Horizons owns it. “And they’ve let it go to waste,” says Sunny. “Look, they got a hoop over there that isn’t but eight feet. They got one right here that’s about 9 feet.”
“The floor is slippery, I’m surprised I was able to catch myself when I did,” says Spike.
“You know why that is though?” asks Sunny. “It’s because they don’t wipe the floors until after we play. That doesn’t make any sense. Why do they wipe it after we play and not before? It aint the bus, it’s us.”
Indeed, this used to be one of the best places to play in New York, according to Sunny and Spike. And it was free as long as you knew somebody who worked at IBM. But now, “When you’re good here,” says Sunny, “You aint good anywhere else.”
He calls it the Poughkeepsie Syndrome: Being the best player in Poughkeepsie but not being able to hold your own against players who have been coached. “Here it’s all about shaking and baking,” Sunny says and moves his body like he’s dancing to salsa music. “There it’s all about getting the ball to the big man.”
Spike agrees. He’s played all over Upstate New York, the city and all the way down the coast to Washington, DC. “Everybody’s jumping out the gym. Everybody’s got handles,” he says, “You have to find a way to stand out.”
Suddenly and without saying a word, Gene who had been guarding Shane, runs off the court during one of the games. He sprints into the hallway where the water fountain is located and looks around frantically. “Gene!” someone shouts. “Gene, he’s right here! He’s right here.” The player points to the bleachers where Evan is curled up asleep in a pile of jackets. “He’s camouflaged.”
Even at a gym filled with 20-year-olds, Sunny, at age 64, seems like the youngest person there. “How old are you?” he asks, to which Spike replies that he is 38. Sunny laughs. And in his laugh are 64 years of life and no sign of stopping. It’s a laugh that could brighten the entire gym. It’s a laugh that could make you feel young.
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