So last Tuesday I woke up thinking, “I’m gonna build a basketball court in the driveway.” Dumbest thing ever? Maybe. But my neighbor saw me dragging plywood and just shook his head. Classic.
Step 1: Buying Stuff Blind
Went to the hardware store feeling like a pro. Grabbed:
- Cheapo rubber basketball tiles – guy said “engineer grade”, whatever that means
- Weird plywood sheets labeled “for outdoor stuff”
- A box of screws that looked tough
- This foam padding roll, ’cause why not
Got home and realized I forgot a saw. Borrowed one from Dave down the street. His looks older than my grandpa.
Step 2: Measuring? What Measuring?
Laid the foam padding straight onto concrete. Looked wavy from the start. Threw the plywood sheets on top. Corners stuck out like broken teeth. Grabbed Dave’s saw. Sawdust went everywhere – eyes, mouth, probably lungs. Coughing like crazy trying to cut the stupid plywood to fit. Edges looked like a beaver chewed them.
Tried nailing the plywood together. Boards wobbled like Jell-O. Switched to screws. Drill battery died after five minutes. Waited two hours charging it. Finally got plywood sorta flat. Mostly.
Step 3: Rubber Tile Nightmare
The “engineer grade” tiles had these little puzzle-piece edges. Should click together easy? Hah. Lined up the first row. One corner popped up. Pressed it down. Opposite corner popped up. Tried hammering it with my fist. Hurt like hell. Got a mallet. Bashed ’em together. Mallet left dents. Sweat dripping like crazy. Fourth row didn’t line up. Ripped ’em all up. Saw the foam shifted under plywood. Wanted to scream.
Step 4: The “Fixed It” Method (aka Giving Up)
Shoved the foam flat-ish. Hammered plywood seams with more screws till my arms ached. Threw the rubber tiles down again. Still had gaps. Said screw it. Gorilla taped the gaps together. Looks trashy. Feels bumpy. But hey – my kid bounced a ball on it. Didn’t roll away sideways. Called that a win.
Final Thoughts
Was it worth it? Cost me $230 and a weekend. Back hurts. Garage is a disaster zone. Dave wants his saw back tomorrow. And the court’s got lumps. But my kid played HORSE on it for an hour without complaining. Gotta remember: Sometimes “done” beats “perfect”. Next time? Just buy a damn portable hoop.
