I was immediately marked out as a spectator and not a player.
When my cousin Maura threw me into a game of pick-up basketball with her boyfriend John in Queens, New York.
Basketball had always been a novelty game for milk bottle white Scotsmen whose only connection with the game was The Harlem Globetrotters.
Until I got to America.
And saw the importance of the game on that visit to see my cousins in New York and then four years later in Boston.
Where I would pass by the statue of Boston Celtics’ legendary coach Red Auerbach.
Outside Quincy Market at Faneul Hall where I was a bus boy at GuadalaHarry’s and ice cream salesman at a parlour.
Anyhoos I had myself my basketball team.
And despite warming to all the teams in North American cities I’ve passed through in the years since.
I was a Celtics fan. Which wasn’t a huge jump from my young days following a football team, Celtic in Glasgow.
This was my year for my long-awaited return to Boston 33 years but COVID has stalled that on the plate.
When I would also fulfil an ambition I didn’t even know I had.
To walk the Fenway Park Green Monster perimeter where I’d seen the Red Sox hit their home runs that 1987 season.
The NBA play-offs are playing out in a DisneyWorld bubble in Orlando.
And you should catch it on whichever channels you pick up.
MEET YOU ON THE COURT