Death by Basketball

Frank X. Walker

Before and after school

he stood

on a milk crate

eyeballed the mirror

and only saw wayne turner

at tournament time

a third grader

just off the bus

barely four feet

off the ground

he dropped his books

sank a j’

from the top of the key

and heard the crowd roar

beat his man off the dribble

with a break yaneck

crossover

and slammed himself

on the cover of a box

of wheaties

he was out there

every night

under a street light

fighting through double picks

talking trash

to imaginary body checks

‘you can’t hold me fool’

fake right

‘this is my planet’

drive left

‘is the camera on’

reverse lay-up

‘that’s butter baby’

finshing with a trey

from downtown, swish!

I’m inna zone t’night

whogotnext?

more than a little

light in the ass

hands so small

the ball almost dribbled him

he formed his own lay-up line

in the bluegrass

wildcat jersey

hanging like a summer dress

on a court made bald

from daily use

and instead of writing

his spelling words

he signed a contract

he could barely read

inked a commitment

in big block letters

to the NBA

and NIKE

and SPRITE

scribbled superstar in cursive

with a fat red pencil

and practiced his

million dollar smile

not his multiplication table

thinking of how many

chocolate milks

he could buy

with his signing bonus

or his all-star game

appearance fee

after recess

another shooting

another tragic death

another little genius

who will never test out

of a dream

that kills legitimate futures

every night

under street lights

wherever these products

are sold. . .

Death by Basketball was published in 2000, by Frank X. Walker. The poem is apart of the book Affrilachia. Basketball has been an integral part of my life since of my life since I was born. My father knew my sister and I would be basketball players before we were even born. I started playing competitive basketball when I was six. I started traveling out of the state to play when I was in fifth grade. Through travel basketball I have learned about the dynamic of playing sports to get out of bad situations in scary neighborhoods.

                  This poem tells the story of thousands of African American boys across the nation. Death by Basketball especially rings true for for a large city like Chicago. In class we discussed how African American kids can escape “the hood” three ways: sports, music, and education. Sport figures in the USA are treated like gods. Most children dream of someday being a professional athlete. For kids like the third grader in the poem above, the need to be a pro athlete becomes everything. Nobody was there to tell this child that a quality education is more likely to make him successful than basketball. “Instead of writing/ his spelling words/ he signed a contract/ he could barely read.” Walker is stressing that these children are losing sight of their education to pursue a sport like basketball.

 In reality only 32,000 athletes play basketball in college, this includes: D1, D2, D3, NAIA, NAIA 2, USCAA, NJCAA, and CCAA, out of 542,000 high school basketball players. This means 8,000 basketball athletes for each class freshman-senior. Most of those 8,000 athletes do not receive a scholarship. 48 college kids are drafted, many are not American, but only 8 may play in the NBA. Every kid who dreams of being a star in the NBA believes they are in the top .0015% of high school athletes. Society today only tells us success stories of athletes who started from the bottom like Lebron James.

Each division of college basketball requires a certain GPA and ACT score to be eligible for play the first year of college. What many high school athletes forget is that their grades are a huge part of getting a scholarship. Coaches want to see that you can stay eligible in college and that you will stay out of trouble. Many kids are good enough to play in college but they’re dreams are squandered when they realize a 2.5 is not a good enough GPA to impress coaches. Walker understands this and draws our attention to the fact that children stop practicing multiplication and spelling to pursue their dreams.

The court in Walker’s poem is, “made bald/ from daily use.” This suggests that the dream has been pursued by many more than just this particular third grader. Walker suggests the dreams and practice of young black boys in this situation are in vain, because the chances of getting out of “the hood” are slim. There is also an implication that the kids who do go to college do not value their degree, but think of contracts.

The last part of this poem struck me by surprise. Walker abruptly informs the reader that the child is shot. This brought up memories of a player from Chicago named Ben Wilson. The premier player from Chicago Simeon was shot twice on November 20, 1984. Everybody knew Benji Wilson was special. He had a very bright future, until it all ended with two bangs from a gun. The poem rings in my ears hours after reading it aloud “another tragic death…/every night/ under street lights.” The bleakness of the future for the people of this neighborhood seems so real as the reader finally grasps that, somebody just shot a third grader.