Basketball Week Part II: The Chinn Dome

Our basketball home away from home was my friend Michael’s house, "The Chinn Dome." He had a big outdoor light, so we could play there after dark. I had a spot about 18 feet out that I shot from so much it was called “Xmas’ fucking crater," I wouldn’t be surprised if my footprints were still there. Usually we’d play 2 on 2, I must’ve run the only 2-man zone defense in the history of basketball – “you got the left side, I got the right.” Cause like I said before, I ain’t wasting my breath chasing nobody round playing defense for chrissake. The closest I’ve ever come to crying during a game was one night my brother got pissed at me bout something and vowed to shut me down, and gotdam if I even fucking touched the ball for two hours. I’m running round and round like a smack addict needing some junk, in a panic cause I’m not getting my shots. Motherfucker. It was quite a setup, we’d bust our asses playing, then take a break in the grass, guzzling water from the hose while the smoking hot Dryden girls from next door would slide over to gab/flirt/watch the moon reflect off my sweaty, sinewed heaving 16 year-old chest, perhaps noticing a bead of my gilded sweat as it slowly ran down over one of my pecs, easing down to my chiseled stomach, achingly just barely moving as it made its way past each abdominal until it hit the top of my shorts which are just barely covering my hip bone, part of it getting soaked into the cloth material, but some of it making it past, finding itself working down my inner thigh, losing speed but not want, still on the thigh, still sliding down, still on the thigh, now twisting around my knee and finding the soft, lily-white pillow of flesh directly opposite of my knee cap before picking up speed on the smooth, rock-hard asphalt land that makes up my calf before settling once and for all in my sock, joining the dirt, the dust, the blood and other dude’s tears who had tried to guard me. Sweet girls.

Anyways, it was also the site of one of my most almost-embarrassing moments. In December of 1988 I was in the midst of courting the girl who was to become my first girlfriend, and my desperation and teenage lust had been driven to such ludicrous heights that I had made up my mind that if I was going to win her affection I would have to get her a Christmas present to show my never-ending love and devotion, thereby sending out the signal that I wanted to get up in them lady Umbros. A few days before Christmas we’re getting ready to go to the Chinn Dome, which I saw as the perfect opportunity as she lived about a 5-minute drive from Michaels house. Grab a gift, swing it by her joint after gunning the rock. Giving no thought, of course, to 1) what the hell I would get her 2) how I would wrap it 3) the plight of blacks in the country 4) how I would hide it from the rest of the guys. There were 2 things that would get you razzed: liking a girl, and liking a guy. One meant you would be ribbed by the fellas, the other meant you were probably Tommy Waters. Even at the age of 16 you didn’t want anyone finding out you “liked” a girl, you just didn’t need anything else for the guys to pile on about; the fear of getting caught masturbating or liking books was enough. Particularly if the chances of being rejected were still pretty good. So I make up a reason to pop into the drugstore on the way to the Chinn Dome so I can get a gift. That’s right, the drugstore. The Tiffany’s of Tappahannock. I quickly found the absolute perfect gift: a little piano that opened up and played “Memories.” Ding-ding, ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding ding! I remember it being $14.99. My first ever romantic gift, and I hit a home run!!!

I make it to Mike’s without my brother finding out what I had done, and we start playing. I’m ecstatic; boy I’m thinking, a piano that opens up and plays a song!! You, my man, are a romance GENIUS!! As I’m playing above the rim putting on a skywalking clinic for the fellas, I’m planning my bachelor party: playing ball at the Chinn Dome, some video-game wrestling at Roma’s and then “open bar” at Shoney’s buffet. Simpler times, I reckon. And then my day got even better: during a break, Katie Dryden came over. My exuberance was bubbling over, I knew I had to show somebody the present or I would burst, so I took her to the car and showed her and not only did she agree that I should probably make a living as a shopping consultant for lovelorn dudes, but she volunteered to sneak it over to her house and wrap it for me!! She snuck off with it, I went back to embarrassing the guys with out-of-my-head shooting and no look passes that would make Magic weep. Of course I’m lying about passing. A little while later we’re playing and I see Katie surreptitiously drop off my gift under my jacket on the deck off the porch. Nobody noticed, I was just about home free, except for using the word "surreptitiously."

By now it’s getting time to go, so we’re all sitting on the deck, getting ready to leave, kinda just sitting round bullshitting etc. I’m sittin on the railing, not paying attention to anything in particular, thinking only of mon couer. My legs are dangling aimlessly when I feel my heel bump into something, and then I hear it.

Ding-ding, ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding ding!

And then everyone ELSE hears it.

Ding-ding, ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding ding!

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCKKKKKKKK! Bad enough they’ll know I got a gift, but now they get to HEAR my show tunes? Kill me! I look around and everyone has a confused look, everyone’s looking around and I hear somebody’s voice.

“What the fuck is that noise?”
“aaah...what noise?” I’m so clever.
“Fucking a” someone else says “where’s that noise coming from? What the fuck?”

Before it was ruined by cheap beer and repeated viewings of “Saved by the Bell” and "Saved by The Bell: The College Years" and "Saved by the Bell: The New Class" and “Saved by the Bell” and "Saved by The Bell: The College Years" and "Saved by the Bell: The New Class" my brain was sharp, and I quickly came up with a brilliant plan.

“I think it’s in the woods!”

Which of course was followed by several “yeah, it’s coming from the woods!” and we all spent the next 5 minutes searching in the woods until the fucking song finally wound down.

End of humiliation? of course not. After the 5 minute drive over to her house I start walking up to her door. Slowly realizing of course that I was wearing thin gym shorts that covered my down-theres like the skin on a grape (pre-baggy shorts days, peeps) and a mesh football practice jersey that came down to oh, just below the ribcage; the only thing saving me from looking like I had just rolled out of “Lenny’s Man Fuck-Hut” being the football with the number 82 on the jersey. My only hope was she’d be distracted from the desperate Hail Mary act of my ever getting a gift for her at all by my being caked head to toe with dirt and sweat from gunning the rock for 3 hours. Brilliant. So I knock on the door and of course her mother answers, and she’s dressed to the nines in her Sunday impressing-other-rich folks best. Turns out they’re hosting a party. Greeeeeeaaaaaatt. The door is open, everyone is looking at me like I just cut one, and my girl is finally dragged to the door. I present the gift, I can’t remember how she reacted. I do remember her pulling out the piano and looking at it quizzically. “Oh,” I proudly say as if I had just invented the cool ranch nacho “it opens up and plays a tune!” She opens it up and...nothing. Of course it was still unwound from before. So I take it and start winding it, and voila!! now the fucking thing is covered in dirt. But I’m determined, I got a smile painted on and I’m winding, goddam it I ain’t leaving til she hears it. Finally Ding-ding, ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding ding! I quickly hand it back to her, don’t even try to wipe it clean, give a weak I’m-an-idiot wave to all the adults who had been standing watching speechless, took the loooooong walk back to my brother’s car and rode off. 

Always love the Chinn Dome, though. Ain’t played there in prolly 15 years, maybe we’ll have an Old-Timers Day Soon.