The year was 1999. School had just ended and immediately the summer fever had taken hold of us. He closes the books and orders the suitcases because the time had come. Yes, it was time once again for the Saudia City Basketball League. As kids growing up in Jeddah, the league was the only thing we would anticipate for the whole year. The SCBL had it all: basketball, friends, family, good food, pressure and excitement. The big circus was in town.

Days before the school year ended, my dad would get some of his friends together and hold meetings about how the league would go. They talked night after night discussing every detail, from registration fees to trophies and basketball uniforms. They would look for and ask for volunteers, people who were willing to coach teams and the game committee. As president, my dad received a large number of child registration forms from all over the campus. And according to their ages, he would segregate them into 3 groups: A, B, C. Group A would be made up of adolescents aged 15 and over. Group B would have ages 11-14, and kids 10 and under would be placed in Group C. From these groups, you would form teams and use the players’ test scores to balance the teams.

After a week’s notice, my dad would post the teams on the bulletin board outside the field. Of course, he had already sneaked me into my father’s files to see who would be teammates with whom. The next day I would call my friends to go to court and look at the publications. It was like a wrestling match with all the shoving and shoving as we rushed to see the lineups. Trashtalk was in play at the time when one guy taunted, “John, ang bulok niyo oh. Pati kulay ng team niyo pangit.” Curses here and there. Man, it was definitely on!

Finally, it was opening day. I remember being so excited for our first game that I slept late the night before to get tips from an NBA game I was watching while tying my shoelaces. As soon as my dad got home from work, he’d eat and change into his casual clothes and we’d head out to NW-4. The promised land. NW-4 was our Araneta Center. The place where you could showcase your talent in front of thousands of people, well maybe not thousands, but there were plenty. Every time I stepped on the court, a tingling sensation came over me, proof that I was in good spirits. It excited me and made me nervous at the same time. The court was a beautiful sight. Outside, two benches faced each other, with the scoreboard and committee table in the middle. The bold white lines that traced the inside of the court brought to life the red and yellow paint that made up the free throw area and center circle. The orange steel edge, dropping a blue-red-white net, accentuated the black dash. And then there were the crowd stands. This was NW-4. This was my happy place.

Everyone was ready and focused when the referees gathered the starting five from each team into the center circle. alert to The ball is thrown into the air and the clock is started. It was game time! Both teams went back and forth. A tray here, a block there. An assist here, a robbery there. Players elbowed each other as they positioned themselves to grab rebounds. Between plays, I would joke with friends on the other team about how someone, during a play, would look as confused as a babe in a topless bar. One team would run out and the other would go back in. For everyone sitting in the stands, this was entertainment. Then the doorbell came. The first half was over.

At half time, not only the players took a breather, but the crowd as well. It was nice that there were food stalls nearby to silence those growling tummies. My mom owned a stand that sold soft drinks, water, and coffee. She also sold chips, candy, and other drugs to children. My aunt’s stall catered mainly to adults. I remember how people loved her barbecue and devoured her “goto” for those cold and windy nights. Placed next to her table, was my aunt’s place. Served up tasty burgers and hot dog sandwiches, for those looking for a quick snack. Half time was the break. As people exchanged conversations, the coaches and players had no free time as they discussed the good and bad things that happened in the first 20 minutes. The kids laugh and scream with rock candy sizzling in their mouths as the referee blows the whistle to start the second half.

The battle continues, the crowd screaming with every possession. All of the game’s action was called by Mr. Astrodome. People loved the game announcer because he always entertained the crowd with his antics. Every time he was in the game, he felt the need to make a good play or make a couple of shots. I try to do everything right as soon as I notice my crush peeking in the stands, printing my way to win a “Good Game!” comment from her after the game. The third quarter was spent while things were heating up when someone received a technical for discussing a call with the zebras.

It was until the fourth quarter, where players thrive on pressure and inching towards the finish line. The defense of both teams would become more stringent than airport security. The intensity increased with each possession as sweat covered the players like flies on food. Every play was critical, every possession was crucial. In the end, my team would emerge victorious. Of course we would win, why would he choose to tell them otherwise? My teammates and I would high five each other, expressing our elation. You always want to come out on top in the first game for a chance to taunt the opposing team about how sucky they were.

As the players shake hands and exchange pleasantries, the people in the stands gather their things and head out. The committee files up the score sheets, pays off the referees, and goes home. What was once a loud and rowdy place a few moments ago now turns quiet, like a stop sign on the side of a road. My family always stays a little longer because my dad makes sure everything is in order before closing the place. He was tired as a monkey in the rain, but I drenched in victory. I would always take a couple of minutes before I left to go back on the court, shoot some hoops, and imagine how the game was going, replaying each shot I took in my mind. All this made me smile. Yes, this was my happy place. This was the SCBL.