When was the last time you played a good old-fashioned game of HORSE?
Two players. One basketball. One hoop. That was it. No $200 basketball shoes. No week-long summer camp. No personal trainer. No referee. No smartphone app tracking your shooting percentage. Just a ball, a hoop and enough daylight left before your mother called you home. Anyone could play. Trust me, I was living proof.
If you have never heard of HORSE, today is your lucky day. The rules are simple. One player makes a shot, and the other players have to duplicate it. Miss the shot, and you earn a letter. Keep missing, and eventually you spell H-O-R-S-E. On the final letter, most of us got two chances to avoid elimination. Some particularly ruthless competitors would make you “prove it” by sinking the shot twice.
If time was short or curfew was looming, we switched to PIG. Same concept. Fewer letters. Faster heartbreak.
We played in our driveway on a plywood backboard bolted to the front of the garage. The rim was slightly bent, and the net's existence depended entirely on the season and how many winters it had survived.
The driveway had its challenges. We had to shoot over a power line, avoid breaking windows and be prepared to sprint after the ball when it rolled into the street.
As for basketballs, we had exactly one. It was a hand-me-down from my oldest brother — a red, white and blue model that fit perfectly with America's bicentennial spirit in 1976.
Even as a kid, it was obvious I was destined to spend more time on a wrestling mat than a basketball court. My jump shot looked less like Michael Jordan and more like a shot put competition. That meant I relied heavily on trick shots for HORSE. There was the underhand granny shot. The bounce shot off the pavement. Left-handed layups. And my personal specialty: the 25-foot hook shot.
Many of you remember Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and his famous skyhook. I borrowed the concept and launched it from well beyond any reasonable distance. Somehow, it worked. The shot looked more like something from Meadowlark Lemon than an actual basketball game, but style points were never part of the scorecard.
One day in high school gym class, our P.E. teacher, Howie Stephenson, watched me sink one of those ridiculous hook shots.
“Goodman, you could never do that again in a million years,” he said.
My friend Ian tossed me the ball. I launched another hook. Swish. Mr. Stephenson stared at the hoop, shook his head and walked away.
I never became a basketball star. Not even close. But, for one glorious moment, I had a shot nobody could explain — including me. And that may be the real beauty of games like HORSE. They remind us that sometimes the most memorable victories are not the planned ones. They are the impossible shots, the lucky bounces and the stories that still make us smile long after the final letter is earned.
Have a memorable Monday, and thanks for reading. | 
