Block · one region of the page, as the scanner read it. It may hold a whole story, part of one, several, or an advertisement; stitching blocks into articles is the next step. Text is supplied OCR.
Page 4 · column 4 of 6 · from the scan, no model involved
It was great. A ciothsline pinned to the ground was the out-of-bounds marker — the one sideline was extrapolated over the cesspool where the 60-foot court was marked by a 50-foot cord. The fence was out of bounds in the backcourt, the tree marked the baseline.
For some reason I painted the backboard the same green as the house, and the rim, which was worn with age and abuse, was painted red, probably because those colors were available in the basement.
We took it from there.
Surprisingly, as bad as we were, we went through an awful lot of nets. And a lot of basketballs. The best w as the red, white and blue facsimile of that ball used in the old ABA. It bounced real high even on dirt and was easy to palm. And when it was washed in the upstairs sink it looked brand new and was even easier to grab.
But what comes to mind first are the different games, the chronicles of boys growing up. Dad’s got some home movies, 8mm films of the different eras when pimples and long hair was the rage of the reunion games.
But what Dad did not film w as the night we snuck out after the game, deep into the back yard to drink a beer, those eight-ounce numbers that teenagers like to try to chug. We must have been all of 16 years old and just so cool. Actually, we were freezing. It was about 14 degrees and windy and it was all we could do to keep from shivering and chattering our teeth, bragging the whole time about how much fun we were having.
He also has no footage on the one night we thought our playing partners had been killed in an automobile crash at the
87.6%