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~ By Steve Finamore

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Category Archives: Basketball Old Timers Of America

DO IT FOR LOVE

22 Wednesday Aug 2018

Posted by Steve in Advice, Affordable, Athletes, Basketball, Basketball Old Timers Of America, Blog, Boys Schoolyard, Camp, Container Diaries, Dad, Holy Name, Holy Name of Jesus, Howard Place, New York Basketball, Voit Basketball

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

Advice, Books, Health, Life, Play the Right Way, Society, Sports, Writing

I was six years-old when I fell in love with basketball.

Matter of fact, it was right around the time my father left our family.

The year was 1970, Christmas morning.  The boys schoolyard at Holy Name of Jesus elementary school was the spot.

voit-basketball

When I look back at my childhood, I realize that basketball took the place of my father.

Little did I know at the time basketball would save my life.  No, it didn’t make me millions of dollars.  It helped shape the man I am today.

Basketball taught me valuable lessons along the way, lessons I should have learned from my absent father.

The game, the players, the coaches and fans.  All taught me lessons on how to do things the right way.

My father would come around from time to time but it was never real; he never had my best interest at heart.  I think he spent time with me just to keep my mother off his back.  My father never told me he loved me.  Come to think of it, even when I was with him, he wouldn’t say very much.   My basketball showed me love.  It always stayed with me, never left me.  The round ball was always there for me.   My basketball talked to me. It never left me for someone else.

Basketball loved me and I loved it back.  Bottom line, when my father left us, he let me down, the rock was there to cushion my fall.

At times during my life I abused Mr. Basketball.   I threw it away.   I kicked it,  kicked it when it was down.  When it was begging for me to pick it up off the floor, I ignored it.

When my ball desperately needed air, I allowed it to suffer.  Walking past it every day.  Paying it no mind. You have to show a basketball much love.  Every day.

When I played the game I passed the basketball to teammates, shot it from all over the court and dribbled it up the court.   The feeling of holding a basketball was the best feeling in the world.  Like a parent holding their newborn.  Picking a basketball up off the floor is like no other feeling in the world.  When I would hop on my bike to go play ball I would hold my basketball under my left arm and hold the handlebars with my right hand.

On that Christmas morning in the boys schoolyard I took my first shot.  I recall that day like it was yesterday.   My mother bought my first basketball.  No one forgets their first basketball and their first shot.  The ball was a Voit, I don’t even think Voit is around anymore?

Washing my basketball every night in our bathtub became a daily ritual.  My mother and brother would get mad at me when I would use the hair dryer on it.

“That’s for my hair, stupid,” my mother once said to me.

I slept with my basketball.  If my sister could sleep with dolls and stuffed animals, why couldn’t I snuggle up with my basketball?

Walking to the schoolyard on that cold Christmas morning I was dribbling the ball across 9th avenue, down Windsor Place and up Howard Place to the entrance of the yard. Families were walking together to church.  I was headed to my church, the schoolyard.  It was there that I worshiped the game of basketball.   The schoolyard was my safe-haven.

The first time I was on a team, I was eight years-old;  I was taught to always keep my head up when dribbling. See the floor.  “Hit the open man” is what New York Knicks head coach Red Holzman used to say to the Knickerbockers.

From my apartment on the corner of Windsor and Ninth, it was 212 steps to the schoolyard.   Don’t laugh, I once counted the steps while I worked on my cross-over dribble. If someone was walking towards me, I got low and crossed them up.

On December 25, the yard was empty.  Why wouldn’t it be? It was Christmas morning.  But on most days, the yard was packed with kids from the neighborhood. On Saturday mornings I always wanted to be the first one there.  Last to leave too.

Just me and my Voit basketball.   Lucky me, six baskets to choose from.  The boys schoolyard at Holy Name became my paved paradise.

I worked on my dribbling, shooting and even used the concrete walls of the church and school to practice my passing.  Throw the ball against the wall, naturally it comes back to you. There was a big white sign on the church wall which had the hours the schoolyard was open.  While I dribbled towards it I recited the hours.  Keep your head up!

One of my favorite things to do when I was alone in the schoolyard was to dribble to every basket and make a lay-up.  After dribbling to my right side for six right-handed layups I would do it all over again but this time I would reverse my direction and go left, and of course shoot it with my left-hand.   We were taught in the third grade to use your opposite hand. I should mention that from grades 3-8 at Holy Name we had outstanding coaches.

They taught us to play the game the right way.  Share the ball.  Be a good teammate.

Growing up in Brooklyn, New York I had hundreds of friends but basketball became my best friend.  My older brother once said, “You’re going to marry a basketball.”  He was close,  after these years I have been having an affair with it.

At times in my life I ran away from basketball.  Turned my back on it.  Gave up on it. Thought there was nothing in it for me. I abused it. I was selfish.  But today, I realized the ball is everything to me.   It dawned on me this past summer while coaching groups of youngsters at a summer camp just how much I love basketball.

This summer I was able to rekindle the flame for hoops.

Over the years I played in many basketball games all over New York City.  We played full-court and half-court.  I have taken many shots on many different rims.  My experience in basketball is probably no interest to anyone but it means the world to me.

I never played college or professional basketball. I was lucky enough to play a few games in high school.  It was a time where I let basketball down.   But I got to do the next best thing, coach it.  I have been able to coach at the collegiate level and now currently at the high school level.  I love being around the players.  I love helping them improve.  I will pass for them and rebound their shots.

Mr. Basketball, thanks for always being there for me.  Thanks for waiting for me. Most important, thanks for putting up with me.  I haven’t been the greatest partner, but here I am, at 54, learning to love you once again.

One lesson I learned is if you love and respect the game, it tends to reward you back.

Basketball, I will never let you down again.

-Red

Hoops135@hotmail.com

THE CITY GAME

20 Tuesday May 2014

Posted by Steve in Basketball, Basketball Old Timers Of America, Bensonhurst, Bishop Ford, Blog, Coach, Sirico's

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

Basketball Old-Timers of America, Dick Bavetta

Steve Schrippa

Friday night, May 2

After getting off the crowded D- train on New Utrecht Avenue alone,  I am walking down 79th street in Bensonhurst, right across the street from New Utrecht High School. It’s a gorgeous night weather-wise.

On my side of the street there are residents sitting out on their stoops.

Some are people watching, an old lady is reading the newspaper paper and of course, there’s one person on their cell phone.  One guy who looks to be in his forties is hard at work on his sweet looking car parked in his driveway. His head is buried in the engine.  I pass a couple of men standing on the sidewalk talking New York Yankees baseball.

Their subject? Derek Jeter’s age.

“JETER’S TOO OLD!” one guy says.

I live in Michigan now so I feel like sticking up for Jeter; he’s from Kalamazoo, Michigan.

In one driveway there’s a hoop but no one is shooting.

Across the street to my left is the outdoor field at New Utrecht; it  looks mint. Kudos to the groundskeeper.

Flashbacks galore I tell ya!

But Red, I thought you only write about the hood?

Well, I do but back when I was twelve I played for Ty Cobbs basketball team; Danny Piselli was our coach.  We had a house crew. This was way before AAU.

The team was made up of a lot of kids from Holy Name. We played our games here at Utrecht on the weekends and would also practice here during the week.

Whatever happened to Buff?

Me and John Godfrey were the only sixth graders on the team.  “Johnny G” was from 12th street. We were pretty good friends while attending Holy Name. “G” was a great teammate. We ran the pick and roll as well as Stockton and Malone.

At the time we were playing “up” with the seventh graders. Our Ty Cobbs roster had Ricky Ferro, Jimmy Cullen, Jimmy Corrar, Michael Campbell and Sean Reilly… all were great teammates.

Now, let me inform you we had a few kids from outside the parish too. Tyrone Williams and Keith Burroughs were from Visitation and Garnett Grissom was from ninth street.

All good dudes.

All good ball players too that had a role and filled it.

As I walked past the entrance to the gym, I had thoughts of going up the concrete steps to see the two gyms we played in.

We had cheerleaders too. I had a crush on one girl named Gina. During warm-ups I would look at her. As the game went on, I usually was seated at the end of the bench, always keeping an eye on Gina while she did her thing on the baseline.

But I was running late. Drinks at six, dinner at seven; it was now coming up on dinner time. Story of my life. Always tardy. Going to be late to my own funeral type shit.

These streets are long as I began to jog with my black dress shoes and the only suit I own. It doesn’t help that I have my black NorthFace backpack on my back.  Actually, check that, I have a second suit back home but it doesn’t fit.

“Hey, I’m late for dinner…” We all have been there, right?

You see, I was attending the 55th Annual Basketball Old-Timers of America Hall of Fame Inductions at Sirico’s. This place was awesome. Something out of the Sopranos, Goodfella’s and a Bronx Tale.

Like the program says, “The venue may have changed but the character and characters surely haven’t.” 

As I walked up to the front door I bumped into Pete Goyco. We exchanged pleasantries as he introduced me to an assistant basketball coach at Rutgers, Van Macon.  I walked into the hall.  The place was packed with basketball people.

Special thanks to the sweet lady in the front for checking my bag.

All around the room guys like Edgar De-La-Rosa, Frank “Gigs” Giglioli, Danny Leary, Dennis Nolan, Chris Logan, Bob Leckie and Donnie Kent are all engaged in conversations. Coach Leckie gave me a huge break in the coaching business; he hired me as an assistant at Saint Peter’s College over in Jersey City.

As for Edgar, Gigs, Danny and Chris? Four of my favorite Bishop Ford Falcons of all-time. Great dudes too.

My guy Gerard Trapp is in the house too. Howard Place, All Hallows and St. Francis College representing.

The joint has a “neighborhood” feel to it.

So many familiar faces.

Basketball is a small world; but the humans in that world have huge hearts. If we were choosing up sides for a game of five-on-five, it would be hard picking teams. And next year maybe I will add up all the wins by the coaches in the room.

Being inducted tonight was NBA official Dick Bavetta. Dick is from 8th street.

Also on hand to be honored was Ron Naclerio, Bob Wolff and Al Skinner.

Others who have been celebrated in the past are Lou Carnesecca, Chris Mullin, Red Holzman and Willis Reed.

Ray Nash, the President did a fine job running the show.  Dennis McDermott did a tremendous job on the microphone.

Thanks coach Nash, you are responsible for my coaching journey. Loved the “Dr. Jack Ramsey” jacket you sported.  McDermott, the former St. Francis College Terrier was the 140th player chosen in the 1974 NBA Draft. Bill Walton was taken first that year by the Portland Trailblazers.

Bavetta’s story about Alan Iverson was legendary. Wish I could repeat it. When you see Dick, you will have to ask him.

Skinner was short and sweet. I recall when he played with the Nets; I was hoping for a Super John Williamson story.

Wolff was awesome and Ron Naclerio gave us a great insight into being a coach in the PSAL. His Martin Luther King story at the end was amazing. Love Ron’s stories. I once recruited one of his players while I was at St. Peter’s.

“Yo Dennis, this thing is four hours, right?”

Others in the house were Pete Gillen (former teacher at Holy Name), Mickey McNally, Bob McKillop, Glen Braica., Timmy Leary, Richie Micallef,  George Bruns, Billy McNally, Tom Murray, Joe Collins, Bobby Marcotte, John Carey, Sammy Albano, Curly, and Steve Schirripa, better known as “Bobby Bacala” from the HBO series The Sopranos.

I have heard Steve played some college ball back in the day. I hear John Jay and Brooklyn College. Hopefully someone can straighten this out. Where did he play?

“Yo Billy Mac, no one believes me about the car rolling down the street by Columbia University.”

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the guy  at the dinner who got up every few seconds to clap.

As for the food, it  was great. I mean this is Bensonhurst.  The desert they put out on the tables, it wasn’t L&J but boy I wanted so bad to take some with me. There were plenty of  rainbow cookies and cannoli’s and they were on-point.

“Leave the gun, take the cannoli’s.” Sssshhhhh…this is Benshonhurst.

The night before I showed up in New York tipping the scales at 205; probably going to leave on Sunday somewhere around 225.

We can all agree that New York City is the “Mecca of Basketball.”  Being in the house tonight with some of the best players and coaches made my trip to Brooklyn special.  I bet you every person in the room tonight played basketball in a schoolyard at one time or another.

My only regret of the night was not taking more pictures. I always get a bit wigged out when I take or ask people to take a picture. Next year, I plan on taking more.

I walked a few blocks to 86th street where I caught the bus to fourth avenue and switched for the R-train back to the hood.

But before getting on the train I stopped in a cool cafe on 86th street and 4th avenue. This place was the joint!

-Red

Hoops135@hotmail.com

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