Beyond the Byline: Dreams are what make reality bearable

WILKES-BARRE — Bob Milligan was the original Goon.

Bob showed up one day at the Kingston Rec Center with a shirt that had “Goons” emblazoned across the front.

We all stood in amazement, asking him where he got the shirt.

Bob said it was a team he had played on years before.

It was at this moment that we all realized that the Goons had a history.

We were shocked, yet somewhat enlightened.

Without hesitation — and with Bob’s approval — we adopted the name and kept it going for 25 years.

For those 25 years — roughly 1987 through 2012 — the Kingston Rec Center was the home court of a group that became known as “The Goons at Noon.”

The name should tell you all you need to know about the brand of basketball played by the Goons. Let me just say that in this league, a personal foul was often extremely personal.

But these guys — and a couple of gals — enjoyed each other’s company every single day at their lunchtime pick-up basketball game.

There were engineers, architects, educators, administrators, businessmen, physicians, lawyers, salesmen, accountants, a few journalists, a swimming pool installer, college students, high school students, coaches, referees and more.

Each day as the Goons gathered, sides were chosen — the main objective was to split up the players so that a competitive game would be played on the court.

There were Goons that liked to play a team game and pass the ball to the open man, play defense, take an occasional shot and keep the score in a precise and fair manner.

And there were others, who if you passed them the rock, you had a zero expectation of ever getting it back.

A sign used to hang at each end of the court, almost in mockery — it said “No dunking.” No dunking? The Goons were not exactly known for the vertical game.

There was one guy who would like to take half-court hook shots. He was called “Rain Man” because the arc on his shot could bring rain from above.

Another Goon was called “The Difference” because whatever side he was on usually lost — him being the difference in the game’s outcome.

And there was the Goon who stood in the three-second lane all the time. When challenged on it, he said the three seconds don’t start counting until you get the ball in the lane.

Uhhh, no.

When the sides were chosen, nobody ever dared to suggest that one side be shirts and the other skins. Nobody — and I mean nobody — wanted to see this group without shirts on, trust me.

There were scuffles, but no bloodletting. There were arguments that were settled and joked about in the locker room. There were differences of opinions on certain calls, etc., but none ever kept the game from flowing.

The point here is that for 25 years the same basic bunch of Goons gathered to play their very own special brand of basketball and they enjoyed the challenges, the arguments, the differences of opinion and the overall experience of being a Goon.

And they were always there for each other. They became friends and they remain friends. They still gather and talk about those days and laugh at the games and the unusualness of the style the Goons displayed.

I am certain that most, if not all of the Goons would return to those days and play that lunchtime game again.

I wish I could fire up the Way Back Machine and return to those days — to be able to get the Goons together for another game filled with some of the most unusual and spectacular plays never before seen on any basketball court.

There was a time when every Goon had a dream. When we were kids, we would dream about our futures of playing centerfield for the Yankees, or suiting up for UCLA or Michigan State, or throwing a touchdown pass in the NFL.

And some kids actually did dream of becoming a doctor or a lawyer or a fireman or a cop — or President of the United States.

Me? Well, I dreamed of being the next Mickey Mantle, my childhood hero, to be the centerfielder for my beloved New York Yankees.

And I also dreamed of playing for Coach John Wooden at UCLA, or maybe playing in the Big 10 like Chip Hilton, a fictional star in Clair Bee’s book series.

Needless to say, those dreams never happened. I stopped growing vertically and continued to expand horizontally.

But my dreams come back to me every year when I watch a Yankees game or tune in to the NCAA tournament.

Sometimes reality bites, but dreaming can soothe the pain of that reality.

So the Way Back Machine will stay in the garage for now and I will leave the dreams in my mind.

Wait! I think I can hear the late great voice of the Yankees Bob Sheppard.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Now batting for the Yankees…”

Dreams are what make reality bearable

C’mon, dream a little dream with me.