What time is it????

GAME TIME!!!

Imagine this: a perfect Sunday- a beautiful 55-degree day, Spring's grand opening. I decide to go to the park and play basketball. The Koreans are embracing this much-needed reprieve from the harsh weather. The park has all the characteristics of a park back home (minus the grass, light-brown dirt instead). The air is lively, like the people. In every direction, I see parents sitting on benches, enjoying a sun-shower while watching their offspring run and play- tirelessly. There's a soccer game (football- only Americans would call a game played only with your feet soccer) in the far-east end of the park, badmitten to the north and two basketball hoops to the south. As I make my way down the steps, on the threshold of the park, I know this will be a spectacle and I prepare myself to be burned by the glare of countless eyes. I imagine I am Jordan- showing up to some neighborhood park to innocently shoot around. Sure enough, my entrance causes a great stir. The record screeches to a halt and everyone stops what they're doing just long enough to be sure....Yes, their eyes don't deceive- a foreigner is in the park. I keep my head down and walk towards the empty court. On the other hoop, five (10-12) boys are shooting around. I begin shooting on the open hoop and I start to hear cheering from the high schoolers sitting on the steps next to the court. What?? Yup, they are clapping when I make a shot and OO'ing and AH'ing when I do some fancy ball handling. The guys are more shy and pretend to hide their amazement but, within the first couple minutes the giggling girls are yelling "you are handsome, hello, hello." Then, this was the best, they begin retrieving the ball for me after every shot. No kidding- now this, I think, is the life. In America you have to make it to the NBA to get your own, personal ball boys. The game to the left of me stops and the boys join the girls; fighting over every rebound (mostly makes- I'm on display mind you.) So I have around 15 kids cheering and another 6 ballboys; yes, this must be the upside to being Michael Jordan. And none are confident enough in their English to try and disturb me with conversation- they just clap and cheer. Finally, two boys (around 14) work up the nerve to start shooting with me. I indicate (through hand gestures) that we should play a game: them against me. They agree and it's showtime!! I'm toying with these young bucks; just like they would do to me if I tried my foot at soccer. I'm crossing one over, letting him recover, then going through his legs, splitting the two with a behind the back dribble and finishing with my white-boy 360 layup. A spectacle indeed. After it's obvious they are no match, three of the highschool boys decide they want to join the show. 5 against 1 (so that's what Vedder was talking about)- let's do it. Normally, I might let them win, but there is too much riding on this game. Only on TV is this audience privy to the bball inventors showcasing the poetic possibilities of this grand game. No, I mop the court with them and have a great time of it. I felt as though, through the universal language of sport, I was communicating. I'd clap when they scored and they were happy just being in the picture as I faded away in my best Jordan impression. We played for about an hour (no score, but it was a landslide) until I began to tire from chasing five impeccably fit Koreans around. I told them thanks for the game, grabbed my ball and exited with the crowd. And that, to a child of Jordan, is the perfect Sunday.