I am not a
sports fan by any stretch of the imagination, even though I play at being
interested in the local Philly sports clubs for the sake of my son who loves
them all. I do listen, I learn and I
cheer, but other than that my enthusiasm for sports is very limited at
best. However, there is one team that I
completely enjoy; The Harlem Globetrotters.
My son, the aforementioned sports fanatic, gave me and my husband
tickets to see them at the Wells Fargo Center recently. The team entered the court like they have for
the many years that they have been in existence; to the tune of “Sweet Georgia
Brown.” The game was also played much
like it had been for so many years, yet somehow it has not grown stale. They were fun and funny and one was female. That in and of itself is important; you’ve
come a long way baby, now you are playing with the big boys and holding your
own to boot. She was wonderful and the
icing on the cake was that she had once played, and incidentally graduated from
my Alma Mater, Temple University.
However, the advances of women and Temple grads are far from my
mind.
My dad was
also not a big sports fan though in his later years he would discuss the Philly’s
with Chris, and he would sit and watch the game on a Sunday afternoon or Monday
evening. Mostly, though, he was scouring
the stands for a glimpse of his sports fan grandson cheering for Howie’s
Homies, or raising the red for the Phils althogether. There were some Sundays when I was growing up
that Dad and I would watch basketball, the Globetrotters to be exact. It was in the years that Meadowlark Lemon was
the captain of the team, and this lanky African American man made magic with a
basketball. From their trademark dance
with the ball around the opposing team to the twirling and dribbling and
shooting the Trotters were a fascinating bunch of athletes and magicians melded
into one. We laughed, and commented at
how much fun they were to watch.
It was with
this fun in mind that Dad decided to take us to see them. I believe that we saw the Globetrotters in
the arena in Philadelphia sometime in the early part of the 1960’s. The place was jammed with people spanning age
and diversity but all united in anticipation for a good show. As the arena began to hush down from the cacophony
of talk, laughs, and hoots, the whistling tune of “Sweet Georgia Brown”
resonated from some hidden sound system and the tall men dressed in red white
and blue entered the house. As they moved on to the court and dribbled
balls in a circular motion a circus like announcer began his spiel. “ANNND now introduuuuucing the
HAAAAAARRRLLLLEEEEEMMMM Globetrotterrrrrrrrrrrssssssssssssssssss.” The show had begun. The opposing team, in those days, the
Nationals, were also introduced, but not with such fanfare or flair as the
Globetrotters. Each man was named and
each did his specialty with the basketball, then the game began.
The game
was played with precision but it was also a complete show of ability and
grace. There were times when a teammate
would appear on top of the basket, or dribble a ball while sliding on his side
under another player. The magic moved
quickly with breaks to bring unsuspecting audience members onto the court to “play”
a bit of ball with the Trotters.
Everyone chosen agreed with good humor and enough humility to allow the
showmen their tricks. Dad and I seemed
to enjoy it the most as we cheered and laughed and he pointed out the different
antics on the court. It was a wonderful
day, and the beginning of many more Sunday afternoons sitting on the couch and reminiscing
as the team played on the small screen. It was also the reason why, many years later
I took my own three small children to see the infamous Globetrotters.
As I sat
watching the new team perform, I couldn’t help but remember those days with Dad. Big Easy, the present captain, was agile and
fun with his deep hahahah laugh and the lady player exciting, but there in the
back of my mind I was a little girl again watching a sports game with my
dad. Dad has been gone almost three
years now and Meadowlark Lemon is in his eighties, my sons are grown and on
their own, yet somehow watching the Haaaaaarrrrrrrrleeeeeemmmmmmmmmmmm Globetrotters has made time stand still and
simply put, made me want to whistle “Sweet Georgia Brown,” with the biggest
smile and the tiniest tear.
