I played with them some. The game was "Make it, take it"---license for ball-hogging, really. The tall kid would holler, as his jinx word to keep another's shot from being successful, "Obama!" The next-tallest kid would yell, in the same situation, "Jorge!"
The two youngest would mostly yell the name of the kid with the ball, over and over, sometimes throwing in a variation on "Gimme the ball for a freakin' change."
On the way home I decided I'd sink one basket in the hoop at every house I'd pass that had one. There were 6 or 7 of these. It felt a tiny bit daring; I'd stop dribbling as I got near, so's not to alert any inhabitants to my arrival. I figured if they heard or saw me shooting a basket, by the time they could object I'd be gone. And sure it's sort of trespassing, but spiritually a basketball hoop not being used is a greater shame than a stranger shooting a basket in somebody's driveway.
It was all going fine until I didn't notice that the net on one basket was all squeezed up, the way they get when not used much---didn't notice until my ball was stuck in it. And at regulation height. Or maybe even higher.
So then I had to wade into those people's ivy to get to the stick leaning against a tree and use it to poke my ball out. It wasn't easy, but it was fun. Notched the tiny daring up a little.
After that I walked through some other people's sprinklers (ahhh) & left the drops on my glasses all the way home.