February 23, 2020, published on BleacherReport.com
Something magical happens when a girl touches a basketball for the first time. Power is in her palms. She can do anything, be anything.
When she is on the court, she doesn’t have to shrink. She can call a play as loud as she wants. And she can count on the court. The court never changes. It is the same when she arrives on a Monday, a Friday.
To love basketball, as a young girl, is to love something in a way that only other young-girl hoopers can understand. It’s different from family love. Different from friend love. Different from relationship love. It’s a deep-down love that resists explanation.