My brother can tell this story better than me, but since he doesn’t like to write, I’ll take this one.
What does the word “OAK” mean to you? It may mean a big tree, but at my house on Theresa Street, it meant a physical basketball game.
My brother and I played every sport Ewing had to offer — Ewing Little League baseball, Ewing Rec soccer, West End soccer and Ewing Rec basketball.
We went to the Incarnation School, so we played basketball under the guidance of the legendary Ralph Cray. If you couldn’t “set up the press” or “break the press,” you never played for Ralph.
Thank you, Ralph, for teaching us both life lessons that we still carry to this day.
The title of the story is “The Dirt Court,” so let me explain it. We lived on Theresa Street in a small three-bedroom house with not much land. The front yard was for my brother and me to kick the soccer ball and throw a baseball back and forth. This got boring for my brother because he was playing with a kid who was four years younger than him. He wanted to throw the ball harder and kick it harder, but if he did, the ball would have ended up three doors down.
One Christmas, he begged my dad to put up a basketball hoop on the side of our house. I’m thinking my brother was tired of playing with his little brother, so I hope he doesn’t get his wish. I hope he has to suffer and play with me for the rest of his life.
My dad obliged. But not only did he put up a basketball hoop — he and my grandfather cemented it into the ground.
The area in front of the hoop was nothing but grass, so of course my brother asked him to mow it down to mud. Pops did just that, and from there on, it became the dirt court.
Finally, something my brother could do without my help. I didn’t have to catch a baseball when he threw it super hard. He didn’t have to blast a soccer ball at me anymore. He could shoot hoops by himself.
Word got out that George had a basketball court at his house, and “our” dirt court was flooded with people. My brother would open up his bedroom window — which was right next to the court — and he would play the newest rap songs.
When I tell you the dirt court was the place to be, it really was. I remember one time we had like 13 people waiting to play, and my other brother, Jamel, had to start kicking people out.
Some of the guys who wanted to play would walk into the front door of our house just to talk to my mom for a minute. Mom would put on her therapist hat, give them advice and some of her famous iced tea, and send them back into the game. Mom was the Zen master before Phil Jackson.
You’re probably still wondering what OAK means. I’m not going to go into detail, but basically it’s a game of 21 with more rules. I knew all the rules, but didn’t really get to play. How was a 4-foot kid going to play his brother’s friends who were 5 feet and taller?
You bet your bottom dollar I tried to play — and I dominated nobody. My shots were blocked into our backyard swimming pool. My brother’s friends loved me, but they never took it easy on me.
My brother would tell me, “Sit this one out,” and I would sit there in the backyard and watch their games. I had a great idea — since I couldn’t play in the actual game, I would help my brother with the playlist that he would play during those games.
My brother could write a better story about the actual games that were played. What I can say is that I was a really good playlist maker.
My brother is not a writer, but he sent me this quote about our dirt court: “The dirt court was always way more than just a basketball court. Life lessons were learned every day on that court. Many a people got humbled on that court. Mostly it was a place that was ours and essentially defined our childhood. It was our Madison Square Garden.”
Don’t you worry. I got to play on the court after hours — and I scored all the points!
Donnie Black was born and grew up in Ewing Township. He currently works at radio station XTU in Philadelphia as a producer, on air personality and promotions director.
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