Four summers ago, my father bought me a freestanding basketball hoop. The pole was black and the backboard was plexiglass blue and white. After a few hours it was fully built and ready to be played on. So I went into the garage and grabbed a basketball, the basketball was red and had stripes of blue going through it. The first shot to ever be taken on the court was a Bankshot mid-range. When I hit that shot, the net sounded so crispy, like someone had just took the first bite of an apple. After that I knew I would spend most of my time playing on this court. That whole day I stayed out playing basketball working on my shot and dribbling. When I finally decided to go in the house, it was 10 or 11 in the evening. I still