Basketball E-Mail Chains

Sometimes they spring to life

Hi everyone and welcome new subscribers! We are The Townies, a collective trying to change the way we talk about women’s hoops. Please reach out to say hi or to challenge us to a game of 3v3.

And speaking of 3v3! The Unrivaled basketball league starts tonight at 7 and 8 p.m. ET on TNT.

---

As Townies we often ask ourselves: what is my relationship to basketball right now?

I thought about this as I sent an email to alumni of my college basketball team, more than 50 people from different eras of the program.

The idea was to create a central meeting grounds for us all (even if virtual). But after a few days, nobody responded.

Then, out of pity, a Townie replied. Then, after that, crickets.

---

I’m not trying to sound like I’m 90 years old when I’m coming up on my 31st birthday, but I gotta be honest that meaningful socializing has gotten a lot harder than it used to be.

My closest friends are getting married and having kids, changing patterns in how we gather. Also, my own routines are changing: I’m taking on more writing projects, I try to keep Shabbat—lovely paths that can also feel solitary.

Lately I’ve felt most connected while hanging out with…the trees. Their form laid bare in the winter, reaching across the road. Some bold and complicated, others delicate and minimalist. I feel an implicit understanding between us as I walk past.

Like a pregame nod between teammates.

---

One day, the alumni basketball e-mail chain actually popped off.

It started with my closest friends, but then people I hadn’t heard from in years, people I’ve never even met started sharing updates.

Every morning, a new e-mail to read. Full of the qualities I loved about Grinnell college basketball: enthusiasm, openness, delightful contradictions.

The chain had a certain kind of energy. Like a mini locker room. It led to follow-up texts like, “Can I see your presentation on the analytics of shot selection” or “Should we enroll in Jordan’s lesbian timber framing workshop?”

What a relief, to know our connection can evolve, even survive the wreckage of adulthood.

---

I went through a stretch, recently, of feeling “alone in life.” I’m still working through its many dimensions, but you’ve probably felt it too. Sometimes, we believe ourselves to be on an island, with no way of reaching out or being understood.

So we freak out a little bit about how we got there, and what it says about us.

And we grab onto a branch that feels solid, or plant a seed and wait for it to grow.

---

When I ask people why teammate relationships tend to be stronger than other types of relationships, I get the cliche answers. Because you’re going through the same thing together. Because teams connect you to something larger than yourself.

The cliches are true. Basketball creates connection. There’s beauty in the give and go, in the gift of seasonings from DiJonai to Marina.

But connection doesn’t exist without awkwardness, without sometimes throwing the ball out of bounds. That’s the flip side.

Someone from the e-mail chain remarked that though she finds her basketball relationships to be highly thoughtful and vulnerable on personal issues, when it comes to addressing difficulties within the friendship, they’re no better at it than anybody else.

Maybe that sounds disappointing. To me, it’s relieving. Yes—in some ways basketball relationships are special—but in many ways they’re just regular things. They can lapse, or fail to grow, or wither in the winter months.

---

After a while, the alumni e-mail chain died down. And in the quiet, I thought to myself: has socializing really gotten that much harder? Haven’t I….always chosen solitary paths, while also worrying about togetherness and connection?

In college I’d sleep through parties, or go get shots up at 9 p.m. on a Friday night, but then demand full attendance at a team bonding event the next morning.

One teammate pointed out these contradictions in our college basketball yearbook.

“They should remind you that stereotypes and their limiting qualities have no place in your life,” she wrote.

I thought about that as I sat on her couch, touching the small toes of her months-old son. It’s sort of freeing, recognizing that I’ve always been this way—that I’ve been seen this way.

So often what teammates can offer each other isn’t resolution, or even guidance, but witness.

A way out from our limited self-conceptions. A way forward and a way back.