The idea of 10 dudes running around a small court and shooting balls into cylindrical hoops simply does not interest me. Just like how I didn’t like wading around in a 25 meter swimming pool filled with who knows what, pitted against 7 other dudes wading in the same pool filled with who knows what. Or making sounds from a wooden thing called a cello, carved by some Italian craftsman 50 years ago with metallic chords I can activate by applying friction with some hair taken from some overworked horse in Mongolia. So no, no I don’t play basketball. I have butter fingers. I don’t have bounce. I know my limits. I don’t like doing things that aren’t fun to me. If I found basketball interesting, I would have played it even if I was 2’1 tall. I lived in the Philippines, where relatively short guys would casually dunk like they were 7 feet tall. I had all the opportunities to get into the sport. Wouldn’t it mean something if it didn’t stick? I gave it a good amount of attempts too. There was that one time when I played pickup with my friends at the park and jammed my finger. Then there was that second time when I played pickup with my friends at the park and jammed my finger. Then the third, the fourth, and the next, and the next. Maybe, just maybe, it’s a sign that a sport isn’t for you when your finger ends up being 4x the size it was before you step on the court, more so when it happens every time you step on the court. Sure, it was good cardio. I felt like an amazing placeholder who could only run around and swat toward the ball as a pathetic attempt at defense. 

So years went by after a few attempts at playing basketball in middle school, and I never really tried again. I knew my limits. I focused my athletic efforts on rugby, which I was genuinely interested in, and had some skill in. Years went by, and friends and relatives, as well as random strangers in the Philippines, asked me if I played basketball. I eventually came up with 2 memorized answers to the question: “No, I keep jamming my finger” and “no, I’m an airball master unfortunately…” And that was usually the end of the discussion. My dad stands at 191cm tall, which is around 6’3 in ‘freedom units’. He used to tell me that he would dominate in the pickup games at his university, but the few times we played together showed me exactly where I inherited the tendency to airball. 

Some people might say (and some do still say) that I wasted my height, which, in the grand scheme of things, isn’t even NBA level anyway. The way I see it, it was anything but a waste. With the time I saved from any potential time I could have otherwise spent on practicing basketball, I had time to, well, actually enjoy my life… I improved my skill sets in rugby, spent time with my friends and family, and studied maybe a bit less than I would like to admit. At the end of the day, what mattered most was that I didn’t spend any more time than I needed to on a sport I simply had no interest in. I feel this translates pretty well to my life in general. If I don’t have an interest in an activity, I probably won’t reach any high level of performance or enjoyment no matter how much ‘natural talent’ I may have. Another example of this is the cello. I played a bit across elementary school and middle school, and I would say I was pretty good at it. The only reason I initially got into it, though, is because my mom wanted me to. I didn’t protest, it’s not like I was completely against giving it a shot. But when I did try it out, the passion just wasn’t there. The important thing is that I tried. I tried, and I didn’t like it, so it was time to quit. I quit, and I don’t think there was anything wrong with that. I just felt that I was playing the cello not for myself, but for this invisible force called guilt that was telling me it was too late to quit. My definition of quitting doesn’t have a negative connotation to it, but one of hopefully better alternatives to be found from redirection. So no, I didn’t play basketball, don’t play basketball currently, and never will. I gave it a shot, and it wasn’t for me. Onto the next. I won’t be dunking any time soon, or playing tennis (something I tried) at a high level. Quitting takes me one step closer to a better alternative.