The constant thumps from a player dribbling a basketball. The blunt swish of the net following a smooth jump shot. That one guy screaming for a foul when we all knew there wasn't any contact. The sounds of pickup basketball congeal and amalgamate into a symphony — a concert I've been attending for around two years.
Whether I'm on the indoor hardwood at the SDFC or the outdoor concrete at Vista del Sol, I find my second home on whatever 94-foot-long strip of court I'm at. The game doubles as an offshoot of therapy for me. If I need to blow off steam, I get ready, head to the court and shoot the ball enough to take my mind off of other things.
I've been blowing off a lot more steam as of late. I make an effort to read the news and stay informed, but I find the action more exhausting than educational at the moment.
Being at ASU during an incredibly unruly election cycle proved just how tenuous a swing state can be, and we're still seeing that polarization trickle through today.
In a time where government rhetoric feels divisively unproductive and we grow increasingly antisocial and distant from one another, I wonder if it's possible to find a way back. Ironically enough, pickup basketball — the very space I used to set myself aside from the noise of the world — offers an angle to what society ought to be like during these schismatic times.
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Stepping onto a court takes you into a different world. You put on your shoes, take some warmup shots, get on a team and call next. I'm rolling with a pair of pink Nikes at the moment — shoutout to my Book 1s.
On court, demeanor is almost as important as skill. We start sizing guys up the moment they walk on the court, right until we check ball. Oversimplifying is natural when playing five-on-five with nine strangers. I like to guard players that give off the same vibe as me — not really sure what they're doing on the court.
If we're talking 2K builds, I'm a 5-foot-10 asthmatic with a streaky 3-point shot and a serviceable baseline floater. I'm a willing passer, but I can't guard the paint to save my life. In layman's terms, I'm no LeBron.
I don't mind where I'm at. I'm studying political science, not 2-3 zone defense. For better or for worse, these nine strangers don't care about my background. In the first few minutes of the game, you subconsciously introduce yourself to others through neither name nor major but rather play style.
The more memorable players tend to stick in my mind. There's the balding guy with the broken jump shot who refuses to swing the rock. There's the guy with long hair who dishes out absurd no-look passes that always find the shooter in the corner or the backdoor cutter. There's the guy wearing pajamas and Kobe 8s who should probably be in the NBA the way he's giving me buckets.
When games (affectionately referred to as "runs") are going well, there's this court-wide sense of unity.
All we care about is scoring 15 points (you have to win by two) before the other team can do the same. This shared goal with my four teammates rises above the social stratification permeating all other areas of life. Society opts to emphasize differences over similarities.
A collaborative activity like pickup offers us the opportunity to connect with others and grow more empathetic — a necessary virtue for inspiring positive social change.
The beauty of pickup basketball truly reveals itself not in the action-packed instances of driving to the rim or shooting over a defender's outstretched hands, but rather in the interstitial moments of play. For how fast-paced and intense runs can get, the culture surrounding pickup is surprisingly, yet reassuringly, supportive.
Camaraderie runs about in the court's chaos. If your shot isn't falling, your teammates have you covered. You're bound to receive a "keep shooting!" followed by a pat on the shoulder while getting back on defense. Every basket made is followed by your teammates giving you a quick high-five.
There's always an element of respect on the court, too. I've been caught on a nasty crossover a time or two. I take those moments in stride and let them know they can play — there's no shame in giving the opposition their flowers. When someone goes up for a dunk, players (on both teams) and spectators alike scream that all-too-familiar "HEYYY!"
Just make sure you don't get caught on that poster. Pickup is a true meritocracy, dictated by those with the proverbial hot hand. If your team isn't passing to you, go crash the glass and grab some rebounds. It's an equal playing field on the court — everyone's free to jump and snatch the ball.
Disputes are adjudicated clearly and efficiently. Harsh words and various bouts of kvetching are common, but arguments seldom get physical. If a player is debating a foul call or an out-of-bounds, they're stipulated to make a jump shot to prove their point.
The maxim "ball don't lie" rings true for all students of the game. Nevertheless, it'd be more than naive to imply the institutions surrounding pickup can directly translate into modern society. It's obviously a positive that "shooting for it" doesn't comprise the backbone of our legal system.
The issues causing polarization run far deeper and hold far more weight than a 15-minute game of basketball. We're seeing human rights violations across the globe and watching bastions of democracy slowly descend into fascism — these lessons from pickup aren't a panacea for the world's woes.
But these large-scale conflicts emphasize why it's so important to start small. Those dap-ups at the end of every game mean more than you think. Offering support, providing communication and practicing equality of opportunity on the small stage reinforces how we act when it comes to larger issues.
And at the very least, you're getting good cardio.
Editor's note: The opinions presented in this column are the author's and do not imply any endorsement from The State Press or its editors.
Edited by Andrew Dirst, Abigail Beck and Natalia Jarrett.
Reach the reporter at stroeste@asu.edu and follow @samtroester on X.
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Sam is a sophomore studying political science with a minor in business. This is his first semester with The State Press.
