WILKES-BARRE — Bob Milligan was the first Goon.
Bob arrived one day at the Kingston Rec Center wearing a shirt with “Goons” printed on the front.
We all stood in awe, asking him where he purchased the shirt.
Bob explained it was from a team he had been on many years before.
At that moment, we all realized the Goons had a history.
We were surprised, yet somewhat enlightened.
Without hesitation — and with Bob’s approval — we took on the name and continued for 25 years.
For those 25 years — roughly 1987 through 2012 — the Kingston Rec Center was the home court of a group known as “The Goons at Noon.”
The name tells you all you need to know about the type of basketball played by the Goons. Let me just say that in this league, a personal foul was often very 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, teams were chosen with the main goal to ensure 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 ball, you had no hope of 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 liked 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 bloodshed. There were arguments that were resolved and joked about in the locker room. There were differences of opinions on certain calls, etc., but none ever disrupted the flow of the game.
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 sure that most, if not all of the Goons would come back to those times and play that lunchtime game again.
I wish I could activate the Way Back Machine and go back to those times — to be able to gather the Goons for another game filled with some of the most unusual and amazing plays never before seen on any basketball court.
There was a time when every Goon had a dream. When we were kids, we would imagine our futures of playing centerfield for the Yankees, or joining 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 firefighter or a police officer — 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.
It goes without saying, 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.
