No Regard Field Trip: Bring the Rucker

It had taken me six years of living in New York City to attend a basketball game at Rucker Park. This is unforgivable, and the excuses I could come up with--school, work, forgetfulness--are all unquestionably weak. Luckily, last Wednesday night, along with Rhymer and Spangler, I finally made it to the hallowed ground at 155th Street and Frederick Douglass Boulevard.

We arrived at 5:30, ready for the 6:00 game between Jada's Team 914 and X-Men. As 6:15 rolled around, we became a little antsy, but we knew that things usually got off to a late start. 6:30. Okay, no worries. But why weren't any players warming up? 7:00. "Rhymer, pull up the schedule on your iPhone. There is a 6 pm game, right?" 7:15. Finally, the MC walks to half court and addresses the crowd, telling us that he's very sorry, but due to circumstances outside of his and the staff's control, the 6:00 game has been canceled. But, he assures us, the 8:00 game between the Sean Bell All-Stars and the DJ Clue All-Stars is on schedule, and he's got some entertainment for us before that.

The first pre-game time-passer began with the MC walking around the crowd and asking people who weren't from New York to tell him where they were from. A number of hands raised. Spain, Russia, Indiana. He looked at a white dad with several kids. Baltimore. He looked at us."How about y'all. Where y'all from?" "Brooklyn." "Haha, Brooklyn's everywhere!"

After a few more minutes of this, he selected two of the tourists--one teenager from Russia and another from Baltimore--and pitted them in a one-on-one battle on the historic Rucker court. The faces of these boys were a mix of excitement and trepidation. They had every reason to be more nervous than I can even imagine, and they played as such for a good five minutes. Finally, the stalemate was broken, and Russia quick-stepped his way to a three-two victory. The MC then chose a younger boy from Indiana and told him to choose his own opponent. He glanced around for someone his own size and finally stopped on a kid sitting in the very corner of the bleachers behind the basket. Like a staged, wonderful moment from the glory days of "Monday Night Raw", this chosen tween quickly climbed down the bleachers, emerged onto the court, and proceeded to decimate Indiana in just over a minute.


The MC, after a few minutes of mixing up the geographic locations of each tourist, introduces us to a group of young dancers who bust out some pretty decent moves to "Teach Me How to Dougie". More importantly, he tells us, Waka Flocka Flame is in attendance. Sure enough, a minute later, Flocka strolls across the court with a small entourage and takes his seat in the VIP courtside seats. Soon, all of the children around us are having an amazing time saying the words "Waka Flocka" and approaching Gucci Mane's main man for photos and meaningful nods. Honestly, Waka was pretty awesome with the kids--extremely patient, listening to the silly things they had to tell him and laughing, but in a kind way. Not my favorite MC in the world, but respect for his demeanor. It was a pretty cool sight.


At this point, it was about 8:15, and the Sean Bell team had about seven players warming up. The Clue team, on the other hand, had only had two players report to the court so far. We were getting pretty nervous about our prospects for seeing a basketball game that evening. Luckily, after what appeared to be a couple frantic phone calls from the Clue bench, four more players showed up, and we had a ballgame on our hands.


From the get-go (tip was at about 8:40), it was obvious that team Sean Bell was more warmed up. Although the first quarter was generally sloppy, one bright spot was former Providence big man Garnett Thompson just punishing people down low for Sean Bell. Although DJ Clue would make things close several times throughout the first half, late in the second quarter, a quick guard for Sean Bell, who went by P.T.G. (the Pony Tail Gangsta), began what would become a game-long takeover. He was driving and scoring at will, punishing defenders for taking their eyes of him for even a brief moment.

Overall, the quality of the game was good. Just good. I guess after years of hearing stories about the amazing goings-on at Rucker, watching YouTube clips of insane passes and disgusting dunks, and doing impossible things with NBA Street teams on that court, I was half-expecting to see magic in front of my eyes. Magic which, I'm sure, visits Rucker Park very often, just not every night. Which is fine. Because even though we didn't witness any sort of legendary streetball game, or see any NBA players suit up as a surprise, or even get to watch any awesome dunks, we could certainly feel the energy of that historic park and we got a taste of what made it so special. Even if, on that night, the things that made it special were some young, white tourists giving it their all, a young, rich rapper being cool toward some kids, and some questionable banter between the MC and a mentally-challenged regular who went by Master Slob (but with a tattoo that read "DJ Keith"), that was enough to make me sure there will never again be a six-year Rucker-less period in my New York life.