March Madness is upon us as the regular college basketball season draws to a close. Conference Championships, brackets, rankings, and the Big Dance are harbingers of Spring.

But the game of basketball is much more than an organized sport. It has been a unique rallying point for kids of all ages. It once called for TVs to be turned off in favor of outside neighborhood play. No matter how many people showed up, a game was on. 

I’m from East Central Illinois where basketball is a religion. Most of us were born with a ball in our hands. Birthing is a challenge, under those circumstances, I’m sure. Though I never heard a mother complain. There was no necessity for a net on the hoops we wore out. Backboards were made of wood with no breakaway rims, and courts were not measured off. They were mounted on garages mostly, measuring somewhere close to regulation ten feet off the ground. The favored home court was at Gary Cox's house. It was flat, wide, and long enough for some major tournaments. A few broken garage door windows were the only casualty over the years. Mr. Cox never seemed angry about replacing them. I think he enjoyed having all of the boys around.

Our neighborhood also was home to Schlarman High School, so we were very often part of the sixth man team of fans. There were bigger games at Danville High, holiday tournaments, and the occasional visit to University of Illinois George Huff Gymnasium (and after 1963, Assembly Hall) to watch the masterful Illini dominate Big Ten play. At least that's how I remember it. Regardless, basketball was a year round experience even during baseball and football seasons. It was true on about every block in about every town. If you dribbled a ball around and shot a few times, kids would show up.

I grieve the loss of spontaneous play.

We recently drove up to Naperville on a visit to my daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren. My eyes were peeled, as we drove through the country and stopped in little towns. But there was never one hint of anyone playing basketball outside and no evidence that kids even existed. This is no surprise to me. We live in a suburb of Memphis, and I rarely see anyone playing anything that isn't organized and closely monitored by adults. My old friends back home in Danville sadly confirm that school playgrounds and courts we used to haunt are all but abandoned.

Parents seem terrified that someone will snatch up their child if their grip lock and hovering are relaxed. I get it. But the facts are that such a risk is miniscule. According to the Polly Klaus Foundation, "Only about 100 children (a fraction of 1%) are kidnapped each year in the stereotypical stranger abductions you hear about in the news." Stranger Danger is no more threatening than it was 60 years ago. 95 percent of all child sexual abuse comes at the hands of family, friends and acquaintances. This number hasn't risen either. But with all the hysteria surrounding lurking predators, we have ushered kids to an inside world. Sure, they are carted around to team sports and community activities under the watchful eyes of grownups. But we have lost something precious as independent play has all but disappeared.

I don't know that there is any answer to the problem. Mike Barnicle, the columnist, author and TV personality, said that we need baseball. "We need that pressure valve to be popped open for a little relief." He has a good point. I think we need basketball for the same reason. Maybe we really could change things around and bring kids back into the sunlight for some pure friend-to-friend unmonitored, unconstrained delight.

Perhaps all it would take is for the adults to put hoops up over their garages or at the end of driveways. Then we could put an orange ball in the hands of kids all across the country. We could unlock the doors and tell them to go outside. My guess is that if they dribble and shoot for awhile something wonderful might happen. To paraphrase a favorite movie line...If we build it, they will come…because hoops are irresistable.