Dear Basketball,

It’s been eight years since I first picked you up, but I still remember it like yesterday. The sky was a vibrant gradient of pink and orange, and a cool summer breeze wafted the smell of playground wood chips all over my local elementary school campus. I stood there on the asphalt, looking at the crooked rim with ripped rope nets. I took two dribbles, and with every ounce of my nine-year-old strength, I flung you towards the hoop. I watched as you soared through the air and gracefully fell through the net with a satisfying swoosh. 

“That was pretty cool,” I thought to myself. And so I shot again, and again, and again, and before I knew it, I was being dragged back home by my mom, scolding me for staying out so long. 

Basketball, I’ve spent eight whole years chasing the joy that coursed through my body when I first scored. As a kid, I spent every second of my free time shooting on the cheap hoop we bought for Christmas. I didn’t care if it was freezing cold or pouring rain; I was always practicing outside. I gave you my all. 

I remember feeling so proud putting on my Pinewood uniform for the first time in sixth grade, and every year that school pride remained with me. Whether it was playing for junior high’s A team, starting on junior varsity, or coming off the bench my first year on the varsity squad, I always played my heart out; I didn’t want to cheat you.

But, it pains me to realize that our time together is quickly running out. Senior night is on the horizon, and before I know it, I will have taken my last shot, made my last basket, and dribbled you for the very last time as a Panther. I don’t think anything can ever compare to playing your game in front of all my friends and family in the cozy Pinewood gym. 

Basketball, thank you for all the joyous moments we’ve shared together. When life’s troubles weighed me down, you were always there to lift me up; you were my escape from reality. Whether it’s funny Panther Pit chants or exhilarating double overtime wins, spending time with you brings me back to that elementary school playground, that smell of wood chips, that beautiful sunset, that place where I first fell in love with you and never looked back. To this day, lacing up and hitting the hardwood with you by my side makes me feel like that happy little kid, dribbling on the asphalt, shooting on crooked rims and ripped nets.       

Ironically, the things I’ll miss most are the ones that I hated in the moment. From running liners until I felt like throwing up to waking up because of calf cramps and my whole body being sore, the pain you caused me seemed unbearable at first. But whenever I felt like giving up, I looked at myself in the mirror, and realized that I wasn’t just chasing my own basketball dreams; I was helping that nine-year-old kid live his fantasies too. And so I kept pushing, knowing that every challenge you sent my way would only make me stronger. 

Basketball, thank you for being with me through the highest of the highs and the lowest of the lows. Thank you for the memories and the relationships you helped me build. Thank you for making me stronger, making me happier, making me better. 

Thank you for everything.

Love you always,

Brandon