A Sunny Saturday at James Licknik

The sun shone! It's Saturday, and the sun shone! Three months of rain every single weekend, and today, finally, a clear Saturday morning. And sure enough, like last year's daffodils and tulips poking their heads up through the cracked asphalt playground, the cars started arriving, radios blaring. The Great Plotnik came first, on the Plotkicycle, followed by Sam and his son Shawn, then Sam's brother C.J., then Sherlock and Mike, then Adili and Ron, then Rico, then Bobby, then Alex and then Skip.

It was hard for Plot to contain his enthusiasm and joy as he heard his b-boys double parking their cars on the sidewalk, scaling the fence (maybe a few pounds heavier and taking a few more seconds to climb over?), laughing, talking the same old shit, Skip wearing the same #23 shirt, Rico the same black shorts, Plotnik the same green sweatshirt.

Once the game started, it was the same old arguments, the same old complaining, the same old whining, the same guys hurling the same garbage. Adili is still a hothead. Shawn is as tall as Sam now and much faster. Sherlock has still never found an argument he can't enjoy. Skip, shortest man on the court, still plays the tallest. Plotnik has new b-ball shoes, but it wasn't because of them that he was floating a foot above the court. He was in Heaven.

Because every winter, when the rains and cold weather take away the ball game on Saturday mornings, and Spring dawns slowly, The Great Plotnik wonders whether anyone will ever show up again to play. People move, change jobs, have kids, get busy, find games closer to their homes. Once, this game was made up of locals, but now more guys drive in from the East Bay then live in the city. Plot is always worried the game will collapse.

But then the rain stops. Birds sing. Trees flower. Love is in the air. Plotnik gets a rebound, tosses it out to Shawn who throws it ahead to Adili who lays it in the basket, 1-2-3.