Saturday Mornings at Hamilton High School
Swen Nater

It was a sunny, summer, Saturday morning in Cypress, California and I was between my freshman and sophomore years at Cypress College. Almost every Saturday, Tom Lubin, assistant coach, took me somewhere to play pick-up ball. That day, he picked me up at 9:00 am. “Where are we going, Lube?” I asked. He hesitated and then told me he was taking me to Hamilton High School in the LA ghetto. Up to that point, I had only played around my area, mostly against white kids.  

We walked into the gym and I immediately knew, I was the only white kid there. I didn’t fit in, not so much due to my color, but because I was a slow tall kid, playing in a game that was so fast, I found myself caught running between the freethrow lines. In order to convince someone to pick me on their team, I had to have the skill of a salesman that sold ice to Eskimos, especially after I lost a game. Sometimes, I had to almost beg to get a guy to take a chance on me. 

It took several more Saturday trips to Hamilton for me to adjust. In time, I learned to call fouls, argue, talk trash, demand the ball, go one-on-one, and make the winning play with the best of them. In time, I had no problem getting picked. When we lost a game, the kid who had next, would immediately come over and say, “Wanna run with me next?” I would, in false reluctance, say, “Yeah, I guess so.”

We came from different neighborhoods, different parents, and different backgrounds. We spoke in different ways but, for two hours on Saturday morning, we were friends, had respect for each other, and we all “belonged.” We communicated all of that through one common language: Basketball. And basketball at Hamilton High School was fun.

Sport Should Be Fun
I’m not taking anything away from my coaches, but I never had more fun playing basketball than in unorganized games, when no coaches and parents were present. It’s because I had to fend for myself and figure things out on my own. I could make mistakes and learn without someone telling me what I did wrong. I had the opportunity to bring myself out of depression and come up with a big play. Between Saturdays at Hamilton High School, nobody could practice for me. The cool thing about pick-up basketball was, when I learned, competed, and succeeded, I knew I had done that by myself. Nothing’s more fun than that. 

Today, we see coaches and parents taking the fun out of youth sports. Parents yell at coaches and officials and at each other. Coaches take winning too seriously and cease to remember, children are adults in the making and the purpose of sport is enjoyment and a means of, through discipline, hard work, and working with others toward a common goal,  practicing some things that will help them grow up right. They forget, the best way to build a winning team is to build skilled, confident, and engaged team players. 

A Word to Coaches, Parents, and Officials
Unorganized pick-up ball (any sport) is fun. It’s when we put our children in organized sport that often takes the enjoyment out of it. It doesn’t have to be that way. Here are some suggestions, to parents, coaches, and officials, to keep the “pick-up ball” fun in sports for our young people.

Parents: As much as possible, let your children fight their own battles and allow them to learn things on their own. Don’t be fooled into the allusion your child needs your advice to have more fun.  And, yelling at the refs when your child received the “wrong” end of a call, doesn’t help them one bit. In the stands and bleachers, take off the critic’s hat and swallow your fun-quenching tongue. The best thing you can do for your child before and after a game is to be a listener. The best thing you can do during a game is to be a somewhat-reserved cheerleader. 

Coaches: Make a commitment to help each player learn, compete, and succeed, and be a role model they can follow toward a clear image of what a civil adult should be like. Don’t allow your players to play year-round organized ball. Open the gym and invite all kids, including the ones from across town, to come and play. Then, ask the custodian or a parent to close up and get out of the way.

Officials: Be an example by showing players you enjoy the game, respect players as adults in the making, and when the opportunity is right, say something to a discouraged player that will pick him or her up. 

Conclusion
On the way back from Hamilton High School, Lubin and I had some interesting conversations. “Did you see the look on Jamaal’s face when I blocked his dunk?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Lubin replied. “But he took it to you the time before, remember?”

“Of course I remember.” I said. “That’s why I had to block his next one.”

Saturdays at Hamilton High School were fun. Let’s do what we can to keep fun in the game. OK?