I was out the other day on the municipal campaign trail with my buddy Lindell Smith when we ended up at Mulgrave Park. I thought I knew every basketball court in Halifax but The Councillor knew better. He wanted to show me a court I’d driven past a million times but never noticed.
“Damn,” I thought, as I steered my little red truck around a north-end corner and saw it perched above Barrington Street. Hunkered in the shadow of the Irving Shipyards (tell me that any other neighborhood in town would have been saddled with that giant building casting a pall over its windows and playgrounds) was a single, crumbling court surrounded by a fence that has more holes in it than a perforated jersey.
I weaseled my way into a pick-up game with a handful of kids and, after just three short games, this court had became one of my new, favorite places in Halifax. Not because of what it is, but because of what it could become. And because any asphalt oasis where some very fine young ballers come to get their daily dose of round-ball sustenance is very good place. Maybe it’s the best place.