I stood on my tip-toes as tall as I could. My arms reached
high into the air curving over the top of my younger brother. Holding the
basketball in both hands he kept one foot firmly in place, pivoting to get a
clear angle for a shot at the hoop. He had gone straight to his favorite place
on the court to shoot but this time I beat him to the spot. When he realized it
he had already stopped his dribble and was stuck. I would either block his shot or it would be
so far off the mark that I would be in the best position for a rebound.
“Time-out,” he said making a “T” with both hands, holding the
ball against his chest with his forearms.
I deflated and took a step back. A time-out meant he could go
to the top of the imaginary half-circle in the driveway and begin his turn on
offense all over. I could complain about how unfair it was (and sometimes did) but
I had used the same tactic myself. In the world of one-on-one, driveway
basketball there was no limit on time-outs. You could call one whenever you
needed it; the slightest injury, an off-balance shot that left you reeling and
unable to get set on defense, a bee buzzing around the driveway, or just to
gain a slight advantage.
