The first time I played basketball I was nine years old, with a smooth, shiny Bob Cousy Beginner's ball. My father'd brought it home the night before, and I'd slept with it all night under the covers. How heavy the ball felt. How far away the basket. How difficult it was to reach the rim. First I heaved it one-handed from my shoulder, then tried it two-handed from my chest, jumping as high as I could. Finally, listening to my dad, I started shooting underhanded, two-handed underhand, and thrilled each time the ball sailed through the netless hoop.