PICKUP GAMES

By Raoul Suarez

I’ve started to realize that most of my friendships don’t live in conversations anymore. They live on the court.

There’s a certain kind of silence that comes with pickup games. It never feels empty. It’s a space where no one feels the need to fill every gap with words. You show up, maybe exchange a quick nod, and then the game starts.

That’s it. No long catch-ups. No life updates. No pressure to explain where you’ve been. Just plain balling. For a while, I used to think that meant something was missing. That maybe we weren’t as close as we used to be because we didn’t talk the same way anymore because everything stayed on the surface. Scores. Plays. Jokes. Quick reactions. But the more I kept showing up, the more I realized that the game itself is the conversation. Every pass, every cut, and every look says something.

You learn to read people without needing them to say a word. You know who wants the ball in big moments. You know who’s going to hustle for a loose ball even when they’re tired. You know who’s going to laugh off a mistake and who’s going to get quiet. Those things don’t come from talking. They come from playing together, over and over again.

There’s a different kind of vibe in pickup games that feels familiar no matter how long it’s been. Even if I miss a few weeks, sometimes months, it doesn’t take long to fall back into it. The court doesn’t ask where you’ve been. The game doesn’t make you feel like you’ve been gone too long. It just starts again and everyone finds their place.

I’ve had games where we barely said anything beyond calling out switches or arguing over a foul. But in those same games, there’s trust. You make a pass without looking because you know someone will be there. You rotate on defense because you expect the same effort back. That kind of understanding doesn’t need to be explained. It’s built quietly. It’s built over time.

What I’ve come to appreciate is how simple everything feels in that space. Life outside the court can get complicated. Schedules. Responsibilities. Things that drain your time and energy before you even realize it. There are days when the last thing we want is a long conversation or a planned hangout. But we can still play. Even when we’re tired. Even when our mind is somewhere else. The game gives just enough structure to show up without overthinking it. The focus narrows. The noise fades. It’s just the sound of the ball, shoes on the floor, and voices calling out plays. Simple. Repetitive. Familiar. Grounding.

in the middle of that, there are these small moments that stick. A good pass that leads to an easy basket or a goal. A stop on defense that everyone acknowledges with a quick nod. A joke after someone misses a wide-open shot. Nothing big. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to remind you that you’re part of something, even if it only lasts for a few games.

I think that’s what makes pickup games different from other ways of staying connected. They don’t require you to be fully available. You don’t need to have the energy for deep conversations or the time to sit down for hours. You just need to be there, physically present, willing to run up and down a court for a bit. And in return, you get connection in its simplest form. No expectations. No pressure to maintain anything beyond the moment. Just shared effort.

There’s also an honesty in pickup games that’s hard to find elsewhere. You can’t really hide who you are when you play. Not completely. Effort shows. Attitude shows. The way you respond to losing or winning. It all comes out naturally. You get to know people through that. Not through what they say about themselves, but through how they move, how they react, how they show up consistently or don’t.

It’s a different kind of understanding and I’ve started to see that it’s just as real as it can get. Maybe even more lasting because it doesn’t depend on keeping up with every detail of each other’s lives. It doesn’t need constant communication to stay relevant. It exists in these repeated moments. Game after game. Run after run.

After that, you leave the court. Go back to your separate lives. Deal with whatever is waiting for you outside. At some point, you come back and the game is still there. The same court. Maybe the same people. Maybe a few new ones. The feeling doesn’t change. You step in, and without needing to say much, you’re connected again.

I’ve started to realize that most of my friendships don’t live in conversations anymore. They live on the court. I used to think friendships had to be maintained actively all the time, and that if you weren’t talking, then you were drifting. Now I’m not so sure. Some friendships just wait on the sidelines. And all it takes is one game to bring them back into motion.