The Unplanned Poetry of... Basketball?
Growing up in North Carolina, it was understood that as soon as the Super Bowl was over, we began the countdown to March Madness (which was more important than football anyway). If you are not a follower of college basketball, you might not be aware that North Carolina is a hotbed of college rivalries, most notably between the Duke Blue Devils, the UNC-Chapel Hill Tarheels, and the NC State University Wolfpack.
My family is mixed--my dad's sister attended Chapel Hill, my mom's brother went to NC State, and we even have a few Duke fans mixed in (though
My family is mixed--my dad's sister attended Chapel Hill, my mom's brother went to NC State, and we even have a few Duke fans mixed in (though
most don't admit to it)-- and the NCAA tournament was a sacred cow in my home growing up. There was to be no changing of the channel from Sweet Sixteen to Final Four!
Fast forward to 2017. I hadn't cared about or watched basketball in years, but early in January some friends invited my husband and me to go to Chapel Hill and watch the Tarheels take on the Wolfpack, and it only took one game to tumble us both right down the rabbit hole. We haven't missed a UNC game since, and our household is now firmly in the "touch the remote during the game and you die" camp. In North Carolina, the rhythm might not get you, but basketball eventually will.
One plausible reason we were so quickly drawn in is that the Heels are great this year. They have a stellar starting line-up, and their second-string is strong as well. Lots of great, all-purpose players like Luke Maye and Theo Pinson, and strong defenders who are also excellent at rebounding and points in the paint like Kennedy Meeks and Isaiah Hicks.
I'm guessing you might be wondering what this has to do with teaching.
As we spent games watching and cheering on our team, I noticed that my eyes were invariably drawn to two players all the time, no matter the camera angles or what else was happening on the court. I could identify both players without seeing jersey names or numbers. I finally figured out as we were watching Carolina play Virginia on Saturday night what it was that drew my attention. I was constantly watching Justin Jackson and Joel Berry because they are poetry in motion.
Hear me out, because I'm sure some might be skeptical. I was too when I picked up Kwame Alexander's The Crossover for the first time. "How in the world can this guy find poetry in basketball?" I thought. I loved The Crossover, but the reasoning behind Alexander's choosing to write the book in verse eluded me. That is, until my brain processed why I was paying such close attention to these players.
In poetry, a well-placed word is everything. The form is so much more compressed that every word, every craft move matters intensely. Concision is so important when you need images without length, details without sentences, and rhythm without rhyming. I realized that watching these two players was creating poetry in my head.
Justin Jackson's movement with the ball is exquisite. When he takes a shot, it's like a freeze frame. Amidst the chaos of defense and a court swirling with other players, he effortlessly rises above, finds the shot, and takes it, looking for all the world like he is alone on the court. It's only after the swish that the spell is broken, and the rest of the game snaps back into focus. It is pure magic, and the poetry he inspires is fluid:
Joel Berry, on the other hand, is relentlessly physical. He is aggressive on offense and defense, and where Jackson freezes time, Berry speeds it up. He's everywhere on the court; it's almost impossible to keep your eye on him. He cuts, he darts, and before you know it he's scored a three-point shot, stolen the ball on defense, and assisted a team member to a slam dunk on the transition. UNC is fast, and their speed is partly owed to Berry's pace. His poetry is taut, frenetic, full of sound and motion:
Fast forward to 2017. I hadn't cared about or watched basketball in years, but early in January some friends invited my husband and me to go to Chapel Hill and watch the Tarheels take on the Wolfpack, and it only took one game to tumble us both right down the rabbit hole. We haven't missed a UNC game since, and our household is now firmly in the "touch the remote during the game and you die" camp. In North Carolina, the rhythm might not get you, but basketball eventually will.
One plausible reason we were so quickly drawn in is that the Heels are great this year. They have a stellar starting line-up, and their second-string is strong as well. Lots of great, all-purpose players like Luke Maye and Theo Pinson, and strong defenders who are also excellent at rebounding and points in the paint like Kennedy Meeks and Isaiah Hicks.
I'm guessing you might be wondering what this has to do with teaching.
As we spent games watching and cheering on our team, I noticed that my eyes were invariably drawn to two players all the time, no matter the camera angles or what else was happening on the court. I could identify both players without seeing jersey names or numbers. I finally figured out as we were watching Carolina play Virginia on Saturday night what it was that drew my attention. I was constantly watching Justin Jackson and Joel Berry because they are poetry in motion.
Hear me out, because I'm sure some might be skeptical. I was too when I picked up Kwame Alexander's The Crossover for the first time. "How in the world can this guy find poetry in basketball?" I thought. I loved The Crossover, but the reasoning behind Alexander's choosing to write the book in verse eluded me. That is, until my brain processed why I was paying such close attention to these players.
In poetry, a well-placed word is everything. The form is so much more compressed that every word, every craft move matters intensely. Concision is so important when you need images without length, details without sentences, and rhythm without rhyming. I realized that watching these two players was creating poetry in my head.
Justin Jackson's movement with the ball is exquisite. When he takes a shot, it's like a freeze frame. Amidst the chaos of defense and a court swirling with other players, he effortlessly rises above, finds the shot, and takes it, looking for all the world like he is alone on the court. It's only after the swish that the spell is broken, and the rest of the game snaps back into focus. It is pure magic, and the poetry he inspires is fluid:
In a swirling sea of blue and white,
Feet planted on line--time stops.
One...two...three...and the arc.
He is frozen in a moment.
Face calm, eyes forward,
Arm extends in an arc descending dreamlike,
Feet above the line, he floats.
Joel Berry, on the other hand, is relentlessly physical. He is aggressive on offense and defense, and where Jackson freezes time, Berry speeds it up. He's everywhere on the court; it's almost impossible to keep your eye on him. He cuts, he darts, and before you know it he's scored a three-point shot, stolen the ball on defense, and assisted a team member to a slam dunk on the transition. UNC is fast, and their speed is partly owed to Berry's pace. His poetry is taut, frenetic, full of sound and motion:
Shuffle-step-bounce-pass-break!
Shoes squeak on the acceleration.
Duck-grab-dribble-pass-block!
Eyes dark, mouth set, shoulders forward,
Drive.
Shoulder-press-hip check-spin-set...
The shot smacks net. Turn and run.
Not. Done.
Now, I'm inspired to have my students search for the poetry in unexpected places, starting with sports. I'm looking to show them the poetry in the world by starting with things they love. For some, it will be basketball. I'm thinking that this type of writing lends itself well to a brief, precise, form, and in keeping with tech integration, Twitter seems like a natural fit. So I'm launching the idea of "Unexpected Poetry." Sticking with Twitter's strict 140 characters or less, I'm going to ask my students to try and capture the movement of a player in words.
I'm asking for your help, readers! If you find yourself so inclined, or so inspired by those among us who create poetry without words, tweet at me (@Mrs_J_of_EAMS)! Please use the hashtag #unexpectedpoetry. I'd love to show my students this idea in action, especially from someone other than myself, so please consider throwing some verse my way! Thanks in advance, and... GO HEELS!
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