Hoopin’ In The Summer of 65

New York City summers are short, but they can be brutal. Heat. humidity, congestion, concrete, steel, and pollution of various kinds crammed into less than 500 square miles of constant, unrehearsed chaos. In 2025, the summer months in NYC have been especially taxing, with several days of 100-plus degree temperatures and several more where the heat/humidity combination was unrelenting. So those of us who want no parts of the sweltering heat and opt to stay indoors on those days need to take advantage of those rare breezy, deep blue-skied, low-humidity days we’re occasionally gifted with and venture outdoors. Last weekend, a couple of young, middle-aged gentlemen, one retired, the other still working, found themselves on the basketball court on an unusually pleasant weekend afternoon in New York City. With both of us now 65 years old, we’re no longer looking to brave weather elements, seeking comfort instead. Cool breezes, shade, enclosed courts, shorter games, measured movements, and rule changes are all part of hoopin’ in the summer of 65.

“HAVE YOUR PEOPLE CALL MY PEOPLE.”

When you reach your sixties, it becomes increasingly challenging to find the time AND energy to make a journey to the basketball court. Responsibilities, health issues, general fatigue, and the aforementioned savage weather conditions render the decision to stay home much easier. And usually, the sharp-shooting Al and I carve out a few Saturday mornings during the year to get together to shoot some hoops, talk about life, reminisce, and poke fun at one another. But with schedules tight and outdoor basketball courts buckling from the heat all summer, the first real opportunity in several months for a comfortable get-together was on a Sunday afternoon.

As usual, it was Al’s idea. It was such a nice day, I was thinking about heading up to the courts by myself, if only to attempt to redeem myself from a horrendous shooting session a few weeks prior when, in front of my wife, instead of making shots I hit every possible corner of the rim and backboard, or simply air, then blamed it on being rusty. No one in the park was safe, even the folks on the adjacent handball courts were in danger. But in this case, the number of shots attempted (and retrieved) are more important than the number of shots made. I was just about to talk myself out of going back to the park, using general fatigue as an excuse, when I got the text from Al. So after fulfilling some morning responsibilities, we both decided to peel our Medicare-eligible heinies off our respective couches and head to the courts.

“WE’RE REALLY 65, AREN’T WE?”

Milestone birthdays are something else. Each one brings an additional level of disbelief. But there’s nothing we can do about it. All we can do is embrace it. For us basketball junkies in the 60-plus range, we can get inspiration from knowing there are folks older than us who are still playing. There are organized leagues for 60-plus, 70-plus, and even older. And like those guys and gals, we have to accept our physical limitations (no dunking!) as we begrudgingly accept the fact that we look and move differently than we did just five years ago.

As 65-year-olds go, we’re fortunate; no knee pain, no foot pain. I do have some lower back pain from some previous injuries, but in a twisted sort of way, it might be a blessing while playing basketball. It prevents me from trying to emulate the moves these 20- and 30-somethings make on television. It doesn’t matter how old you get, you still want to make those moves.

THE PATTERN CONTINUES

As we did at age 64 and earlier, we’ll communicate by phone before setting a mutually convenient time to get some shots up:

“Yeah, let’s get to the court. Nothing serious. Just shoot around and chat for a while. Not sure I’m in shape for a competitive game.”

“I agree. I don’t think I have much, but it will be good to stretch out a bit. Will be ready at 10 AM.”

Then we get to the court. After stretching, we’ll spend about 30 minutes shooting around and talking before one of us (95 percent of the time, it’s Al) says, “Got a quick game in ya?”

Then we’ll end up playing a competitive game. We used to play until the first guy scored 11, and we’d play three games. Last year, we “lowered the score at age 64” and played to eight. A couple of weeks ago, we played one game to five with dribbling back to the free throw line optional after rebounding a missed shot. This will not be the norm. Once the weather cools down and we make our late summer/early autumn trips to the court, we’ll bounce it back up to at least eight.

The “eights” might take a bit longer to finish, but we’re not quite ready to permanently drop it to five yet. (Of course, this is my ego talking, but the body gets the last word.)

HOOPIN’ IN THE SUMMER OF 65

With about five weeks of summer left (our only summer of 65), I am anticipating a few more trips to the court before Autumn kicks in, both individually and together, if we can just catch a break from this weather. The good news is that, depending on where you live, finding an open outdoor court isn’t as difficult as it used to be. In New York City, there was a time when it was nearly impossible to find an open basketball court, especially on the weekends. That seemed to change right around the time things like smartphones and realistic computer basketball games became popular.

We’re doing OK. Yesterday I went to a midday doctor’s appointment and was drenched in sweat after walking two blocks. The humidity was pretty evident; you could smell it. There was not the slightest thought of playing ball, even later in the day. As kids and young adults, we could play in the hot weather all day with proper hydration. The push to play doesn’t get any easier with age. You have more excuses to stay home, and it takes longer to get ready. Watching well-conditioned college and NBA athletes in their twenties and thirties suffer devastating knee injuries and Achilles’ tears gives pause to the 65-year-old as well.

We still have to get out there, but smartly. Anything higher than a 1.5 inch vertical leap, which probably isn’t realistic for either of us anyway, has real consequences later.

Those games of five don’t sound like such a bad idea after all.