My Messy Garage Transformation

My old half-court in the garage was just embarrassing. Bare concrete with cracks wide enough to lose coins in, and those cheap foam tiles sliding all over. Knees aching after every game, balls bouncing like drunk kangaroos. Had enough.

Dropped by the lumberyard last Tuesday. Told the guy I wanted real wood – something that wouldn’t die after one winter. He pointed at this maple stuff. “Soft maple, buddy. Tough as nails but won’t murder your joints.” Sounded right. Hauled eight big bundles home, stacked ’em taller than my kid in the driveway.

Cleared out everything first. Brooms, tools, that broken snowblower – all tossed into the yard. Swept till my arms were noodles. Found more cracks. Grabbed that rubbery goop in the caulk gun, squeezed rivers into every split. Took forever.

Then came the real work:

• Rolled out this thick plastic sheet first – moisture barrier thing. Unrolled it like carpet, fighting wrinkles.
• Laid pink foam boards next. Cut ’em jagged with my boxcutter. Looked like a puzzle done drunk.
• Started placing planks. First row against the wall? Easy. Then realized nothing was straight. Had to muscle every piece with rubber mallets. BAM BAM BAM for three days straight. Neighbors thought I’d lost my mind.
• Sanding was the worst. White dust everywhere. Looked like a flour bomb went off. Wore goggles and still blinked gunk for hours.

Finished yesterday. Dripped three coats of that shiny court finish. Waited a whole day biting nails. Just bounced my old rock-hard Spalding on it. THUMP. Perfect sound. Jumped up – landed like I hit clouds. Ran drills barefoot – wood warm under my feet, no splinters even. That soft maple feels alive. Worth every damn blister.