Lessons on compromise from a basketball court

No Apple phones, No Madden 24 NFL, and there was not a Tick or a Tock to be found. It was just a fenced concrete slab and two slightly bent backboards with chain nets. There wasn’t a free-throw line or half court markings. It was strictly BYOB, bring your own basketball.

The ball sometimes flew over the fence and landed in Bear Crick. We took turns wading in or finding a big enough stick to retrieve the errant ball. Sometimes the lights blazed long after we’d been called to supper, but since we lived a block away, I’d be sent down to switch them off.

When it snowed, we shoveled hoping we’d scraped enough so our Converse shoes would grip the remaining ice. There weren’t referees, no coaches, no scoreboard, and if you cried or had a temper tantrum, you were not so politely directed to go home.

Fouls were self-called and often adjudicated when in dispute. No free throws, just a change of possession. We learned the rules of the game, how to compromise, and some words never dared uttered in Sunday school.

It was intergenerational basketball and often non-gender specific. Junior high kids mixed with high school varsity and junior varsity players. Girls were welcome. Some, like my sister, were chosen before the boys. She could play.

The varsity players were our heroes. It was one thing seeing them play on Tuesday and Friday from the bleachers. It was quite another to be playing with them and against them on our court.

It was rough democracy.

But it worked, and we governed it.

We were friends even if we didn’t have anything except basketball in common. We could fight for the ball, and maybe even get into a fight over the game, but at the end we walked away knowing we wanted to do it again the next day.

We learned if we had too many fights about fouls and rules, we’d never get to finish the game. If that happened, players would get fed up and walk away and nobody won.

That reminds me of what’s happening now in American politics. Often, legislators seem more interested in fighting about rules and fouls to gain team advantage than they are about winning for those they represent.

On the court, sometimes, we’d have to forget about the foul, even if it was flagrant, so we could continue to play. It seemed like we all had an instinct for a fight worth ending the game. It was rare.

Both parties seem to lack that instinct of when to fight and when to compromise. They refuse to understand there won’t be winners if there isn’t a game.

We all lose.

Many politicians are willing to sacrifice results so they can mug for cameras celebrating anger instead of searching for solutions. The worst fights on the court were fueled by onlookers cheering. The worst political fights now are when voters reward combatants.

There are plenty of things needing resolution by both sides. Without willingness to overlook some fouls to compromise no one wins, and there will be a government shutdown in January, Ukraine and Israel won’t get the aid they need, the U.S. boarder won’t be tightened, and all Americans will walk away in disgust from a game suspended by fighting.

I didn’t learn everything I needed to know on the basketball court. But I learned compromise and when to fight. Abraham Lincoln, quoting Mathew 12, was correct. “A house divided cannot stand.” Unless there’s compromise there’s chaos and no one wins.

Bruce Lear lives in Sioux City and has been connected to public schools for 38 years. He taught for 11 years and represented educators as an Iowa State Education Association Regional Director for 27 years until retiring. BruceLear2419@gmail.com