Extremely smoothly written, it reads like a long New Yorker article. Lots of good details. I was a little disappointed by Bradley's complaints about money and his insufficient acknowledgement of his luck and privilege, particularly when he encourages poor students to dream of becoming professional basketball players. (How is this a positive message?)

> An elaborate structure of fines punishes tardiness: a five dollar fine for arriving from ten seconds to five minutes late, a ten dollar fine for being up to ten minutes late, and five dollars for each additional minute over ten. Holzman established the fine system with approval from the team. The money collected goes into a pot that is used for a team party at the end of the year. Therefore, it is to everyone’s advantage for Holzman to fine.

> In those moments on a basketball court I feel as a child and know as an adult. Experience rushes through my pores as if sucked by a strong vacuum. I feel the power of imagination that creates a sense of mystery and wonder I last accepted in childhood, before the mind hardened. When a friend tells me that his son cries when I miss a last-second shot, I know how he feels. I cry a little, too. That’s why ultimately when I play for anyone outside the team, I play for children. With them the communication of joy or sorrow rings true and through the playing that allows me to continue feeling as a child I sense a child’s innocent yearning and love. ( )

Bill Bradley is a former Olympic gold medalist, Rhodes Scholar, three-term United States Senator, and starting forward for two New York Knick NBA championship teams. Just your average guy come to the Big Apple from Missouri to play hoops every day with Hall-of-Famers Walt “Clyde” Frazier, Willis Reed, and Earl (the Pearl) Monroe.

In his book Life on the Run, in which he writes about a season with the Knicks, we read the following:
I find a message at the hotel to call a Chicago friend. When I reach him, he says that he has arranged a little party in my honor…the evening quickly turns into an interrogation.
[Fast forwarding past the interrogation, he then continues . . .]
Finally, one of the members of the group says, “Do you really like to play basketball?”
“Yeah, more than anything else I could be doing now,” I reply.
“That’s great. You know, I once played the trumpet. I think I know what you feel. I played in a little band. We were good…In my last year we had an offer to tour and make records. Everyone wanted to, except me.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“My father didn’t think it was secure enough.”
“What about you?”
“Well…I guess I agreed…So I went to law school and quit playing the trumpet, except for every once in a while…”
“Do you like law?”
“It’s okay, but nothing like playing the trumpet.”

Even if you haven’t anywhere on the horizon gold medals, studies at Princeton and Oxford, legislative prominence, or professional sports crowns, the best message you can take from Bradley’s book may be just this: Find your own personal “trumpet” and play that sucker. ( )