They say that there’s a place…down in the deep south of California in the bayous of that little town called Long Beach. Right there, smack dab in the middle of the sand were these two handball courts, built back to back, inviting the locals to give it their best as a fun and enjoyable moment of exercise. Towering wooden structures that provided hours of athletic competition for the barefoot originals that started the adventure for us all. It was the summer of ’72 for me. I was 12, playing with my dad’s ski gloves and a tennis ball with my 6th grade buddy Kelly O at Garden Grove High School. Riding bikes and playing handball. What a life. Who knew that would be the fire that was lit under a whole bunch of other kids just like us, some older, some younger all over Southern California.
Kelly O. didn’t stick with it like I did, and I had no idea that this “handball” thing would turn out to be one of the best things I could have ever experienced. At the time we didn’t know each other, but the guys in that big photo of us all would soon be part of a brotherhood and family that just didn’t compare to anything else that we’d ever known. We all started playing each other in the 70’s all the way through to the 2000’s, some even today. Diving, smashing, killing, lobbing, passing, yelling “Mine” or “Yours” or “Dig!” We’re talkin old school handball; honest calls, integrity, raw talent vs raw talent. “Let’s see what you got!” was on everyone’s mind every time we met to play. We bet Gatorades or sodas or lunch for “prides” sake, nothing else. Anyone remember those days? Pretty great weren’t they! We all wanted to kick each other’s butt, but something was happening that went beyond that little blue ball. Friendships that we would never be able to forget.
Handball was simply the tool that God used to bring all of us young, goofy, insecure, needy for connection and acceptance, young guys into a fold others that were just like ourselves. Problems, struggles, life, would eventually become some of the topics we’d discuss way after we had stopped playing that day. We were brothers in arms, determined to find our answers in handball, and each other. Fast forward to August 20, 2022. Some of us had stopped playing, some continued, but it didn’t matter because today we came together once again, to add another log to the fire of our lives together that was needed for some time. Today we re-united with smiles, hugs, lots of “Hey you blankety blank, how are you?” and of course lots of stories about the good old days. There were drinks and food and canopies and coolers and banners, and of course…the courts. Those Belmont Courts.
But that’s what really made it “bitchen” and “totally righteous”were them… the guys, the ones that took the time to stop and realize that this moment at Belmont Shores might not repeat itself ever again. Lord knows we wished some of the guys we had lost over the years could have been here with us. We’re going to try for at least one get together each year, or more, but right now is right now. I/We cherished that day in our hearts by the way we treated each other – with love and respect and comradery, and a willingness to serve one another like a brother with a brother. Words can only go so far as how to describe what this handful of guys mean to one another. So, my brothers and friends, I raise my glass and honor you, So Cals finest handball players I’ve ever known. Yes, you are “Legends!”
– Jaime Mugridge
