UBC, President Santa, hear my plea.
UBC’s Infrastructure Development department recently applied to bulldoze the basketball court near the skate park and install a fueling station. I want to voice my outright displeasure at such an act.
On site.
That court is practically a heritage site.
The number of jumpers I’ve missed, ankles I’ve lost and ‘Kobe!’s I’ve airballed ensures that that court is ingrained in both my DNA and my therapist’s file on my extreme disregard of failure.
While I never joined varsity, I did come close to thinking about how one would apply. While I was there to train, most others on the court were there for health or pleasure, and we coexisted — most never knew they shared the court with a guy who Bronny James once glanced at. Moreover, thanks to that court, I can confidently say I woulda posterized Steph Curry in the early ’90s.
But this ain’t just about me, because that court is a part of this community’s DNA, too. Before the big virus, the court was a site for camaraderie.
Any time a stranger watched me try to dunk or shoot from half-court and barely make the paint, I felt a connection with them. The times where I fell into the courteous, shot-for-shot rhythm with a court cohabitant were precious, pure and reminder that I shoot like garbage. I’m not one for sentimentality but the memories bring a tear to my eye — especially the memory where I found out I have oddly brittle shins.
If recollection isn’t your game, the court was also a site for commerce.
Think of all the bandages Shoppers sold to those with scraped knees. Think of the food outlets patronized by those looking for energy. Think, Santa, of how many classes I’ve paid to retake as I chose practicing my fadeaway over reading my Foucault. With the toppling of this court, my Hegel will improve, but what of my handles?
What’s the use of a ‘hydrogen fueling station,’ anyway? Sure, it’ll make sure each H atom is topped up and ready to zip around the atmosphere, but my team, the Vancouver Glizzies, and I need the court to fuel up our souls.
An ultimatum.
If this letter doesn’t work, meet me on the court, Santa. Bring your boys, I’ll bring mine and we’ll settle this Space Jam style. I’ve caught personal, flagrant and technical fouls more times than I can count, but this plan, man? This is worse -- tearing down that court is a foul of the heart.
The ball’s in your court right now, Santa, but if you listen to me and the folks who love the game… it could be our court.
An online open house event will be held to hear opinions on this project on February 25, from 11:30 am - 12:30 pm. Find more information, register for the event or submit online comments here.