THE LEGEND OF OLD JOE

By Tricia Deininger

Originally published in the Albany Times Union Sports Section on Father’s Day, 2001

My father has done a very noble, yet practical thing. He prefers to forego the norm, as he always prefers. No expensive funeral, figuring he won’t be there to be with all the family far and wide who come to pay their respects and enjoy a family reunion—especially not on his dime. Instead, he has bequeathed his body, upon his death, to the Albany Medical College anatomical gift department for study purposes.

I must say I don’t like to think about it very deeply, but he’s quite a specimen, my Dad. He quit smoking cold turkey at age 45 because it impeded his athletic abilities.

Built like a bull at 72, he still works carpentry every day and plays full court basketball three or four nights a week in an “over 50″ league at the Albany YMCA. “O.J.,” was his moniker before the name fell into disrepute–short for Old Joe Pinto. Certainly he’s not built like the average player standing only five feet, nine inches–he lost an inch with age.

Nonetheless, Dad has built quite a reputation among fellow players as a “phenom.” As such, he thoroughly enjoys a bit of a con he’ll run on young hoop hotshots who don’t know of his reputation.

Downtown Washington Park always turns up someone looking for a pickup game where he’s bound to meet a new player, always taller and bigger. Thrown off by Dad’s thick white hair, Coke bottle eyeglass lenses, and possibly the temporary bridge, the uninitiated is easily lured.

“Wanna go a little one-on-one?” he asks the new prospect.

“Sure, Pops. It’s your funeral,” the presumptuous player fires back.

Now this is how the con goes down.

Dad first cleans his thick lenses, and then blows his nose once or twice before fussing with the laces on his Nikes. Slowly sauntering on bony knees to the foul line, he’ll take a few practice shots while slyly eyeing the competition.

By now the young player is totally ready to indulge the old man, and the game begins. Matching his opponent point for point, Dad (always the prankster) then borrows from the Harlem Globe Trotters, just to spice things up.

He stands at half court, back to the net, pulls his tee shirt over his head. On lookers’ mouths drop open at this point. Then, through the thin fabric, he takes sight on the opposing basket and tosses the ball backward to the net. In it goes with a clean and satisfying swish.

But here’s the clincher. Driving to the basket off the dribble he leaps and spins 360 degrees and lays up for another score!

In this way, he’ll win some and lose some. Most often, the defeated scurries off the court a broken man, shamed, dissed and forever in awe of the Legend of Old Joe.

The pathology students may never have a chance to examine this perfect specimen. God and Dad will be discussing their old basketball injuries looking down from on high while the shell of Old Joe, like the Energizer Bunny, keeps going and going for many more years swinging a hammer and swishing baskets on the urban courts of  Albany, New York.

Because legends never die, they just get new Nikes.

Tags: Albany Albany NY YMCA Basketball New York Nike Over 50 League Washington Park YMCA