That time I nearly died for a basketball

This is a relatively quick story pertaining to the small town I grew up in. I’ve mentioned my home town in several stories but I’ll provide a little background. I grew up in a small “wine town” which hosts a small downtown, quiet neighborhoods, and is surrounded by vineyards in every direction. We’re not a tourist stop, that would be the next town over, but we’re home to a lot of people who work in the wine industry. Partially because of this, and partially for other reasons, there were always a lot of Mexicans living in the town I grew up in. Windsor was primarily split by a freeway that ran through the center of town. Growing up there were several neighborhoods where the “white kids” would avoid going and unfortunately there was a level of racism and gang activity in our town. It wasn’t as bad as shootings or crazy stuff you hear about some cities, but there were times when things escalated. Anyhow, there was definitely some tension in the neighborhoods between everyone. 

This particular story is about me and my friend from elementary school. One of my best friends in elementary school was a boy named Chad. In kindergarten Chad had been the smallest kid but somehow he hit an early growth spurt around 3rd grade and became one of the tallest kids in the school, instantly making him an amazing basketball player. Chad and I actually played on the same “Youth Church” basketball team. We played in a league against other churches. Me, being one of the fastest kids in the league and Chad being one of the tallest and most athletic in the league, had an advantageous connection in which he would receive rebounds and just chuck the ball down court to me sprinting blindly for a long reception ending in an easy layup. Chad and I also played a lot of basketball at school during our recess and lunch. We didn’t hangout a ton on the weekends but we didn’t live too far apart either. On this particular weekend we had wanted to go over to the park and practice some basketball. Our plan was to just play some 1 on 1 and practice our shooting. My dad had agreed to pick Chad up from his house and he drove us to the park which had recently finished implementing a swank new basketball court. Unfortunately given the location of the park itself the courts had already been somewhat vandalized by punks from the neighborhood. We were probably about 9 or 10 years old at the time. After picking Chad up my dad dropped us off at the corner of the park and told us he had to go develop some photos, part of his job as an appraiser and usually a quick process. Chad and I were fine with that and had both brought a basketball so we could both shoot around to our heart’s content. We said our goodbyes to my dad and took to the court which was luckily unoccupied. Chad and I shot around for a little and eventually decided to do some 1 on 1, meaning we only needed my ball to play with and stored Chad’s ball on a nearby bench. 

While playing, two Mexican kids came over to the court. The duo was quite amusing as the leader seemed to be a shorter, loud and skinny kid while the other was a larger, quiet and “muscle” looking kid. The smaller kid, probably about my size to be honest, asked if they could use the extra basketball to shoot around on the other side of the court and we happily obliged. They took Chad’s ball and began shooting while we continued our own game. An hour or two went by and my dad still wasn’t back, but we didn’t mind much as at that age energy doesn’t deplete. Eventually the two other kids on the court decided that they were going to head home and began to leave with Chad’s ball! We quickly intervened and explained that the ball they had was our ball. The louder kid barked back about how they had found that ball and were going to take it home. Argument quickly broke out over the ball and Chad urged me to back down and let them have the ball, telling me it really didn’t matter that much. 

Now, I’m by no means the type to start or even find myself in any beef but I just can’t put up with others trying to take advantage or push people around. Where I usually lay low and convince myself it’s not worth the trouble, this was a situation I wasn’t going to let slide. I was gambling on the chance of a brawl breaking out over a simple basketball but that was beside the point. Chad suggested we leave and just wait for my dad back on the corner but I’d already pretty much put my chips all-in. I got in the kid’s face, while holding my own basketball, and tried to grab Chad’s ball. The kid had the confidence to actually try to keep the ball away without actually backing down from my confrontation. Eventually, I got my hands on the ball and immediately took off into a large grassy area also part of the park. The kid, probably instinctively, started chasing me. I was zigging and zagging all over the field while holding two large basketballs under either arm. My adrenaline was pumping as the kid was shouting while in tow about how he would “beat me up” and “kill me” and yada yada yada. As I mentioned earlier in the story, I was one quick little bugger in my youth. My soccer fitness paid off and after about 30 seconds (which felt like a lifetime) of being in a pure sprint, the kid got too tired to continue his chase. Ironically, it appeared that his friend wasn’t quite as motivated to steal our ball and definitely didn’t want to have anything to do with running around unnecessarily. The kid returned to his friend rather defeated and proceeded to spit a bunch of insults while heading towards the far side of the park with his friend. 

Looking back I’m not sure what Chad and the other kid had been doing while the two of us were running around like dogs chasing each other at the dog park. With my adrenaline still pulsing through my body, Chad began to comment on how crazy the whole experience was and began using “dude” almost every other word. We made our way to the corner of the park to wait for my dad, both basketballs in hand. We were a little nervous that the kids might return with some friends to fight but luckily it wasn’t long until my dad pulled up. 

As soon as his car stopped I broke out in an angry rant about how he’d promised he would only be gone for a little but had obviously done other things than just develop photos. Within the first few seconds of explaining what happened, and without my dad even understanding the full situation, he tore out the car and sprinted off in the direction the kids had left in. Returning soon and without the scalps of any victims, we called it a day and my dad drove us home.

I can proudly say I’ve never been in a real “fight fight” but I’ve had a few scuffles. My dad, having had a small boxing career used to always tell us, “neither party ever wins a fight, you’re both beating the shit out of each other”. Regardless, this day would go down in my own books as one of the bravest confrontations of my life.