How It All Began

I first stepped on the court at The Village in Petersburg, PA at 10 years old. The rim, even at just 8 feet high, seemed like an unattainable goal. My friends and I would spend hours every day roleplaying the classic matchups between the Lakers and Celtics or imitating the top college players. I was Bird or Magic, then McHale or Kareem or the Chief. Some days we'd take turns tossing oops to each other. Sherman Douglas to DC. If you know, you know.

My love for basketball was forged at the Village, the local court in a town of 400 people in rural Pennsylvania. I developed grit playing up against my friends who were all 4 years older than me. I learned to take a beating and still muster the courage to call next.

There is no doubt that those early days at the Village galvanized a passion in me for what has become a lifelong love.

Today, my wife and I have front row seats to the same process unfolding for our boys. They lower the hoop in the driveway, kids from the neighborhood gather, and they chuck shots from the road like Curry and take turns trying to throw down Eastbays.

This game is special, it holds a certain sanctity for me. I owe this game a debt I will never be able to repay. I suspect you feel the same if you're reading this. I've spent most of my life chasing that energy you feel when you walk into a gym right before the tip. It started for me as a player, but now I'm a spectator, a supporter, and a fan of the game that's given me so much.