When I first arrived in prison 14 years ago, I remember stepping onto the recreational yard of a Level 4 maximum security prison. Beneath the relentless sun, it was a sweltering 110 degrees, and hundreds of residents traversed a patch of scorched dirt the size of a football field.
Some guys flocked toward picnic tables to join card players. Others worked out on pullup bars, and a few loners walked about aimlessly to enjoy the sun’s warmth.
Ahead, a basketball hoop was mounted above a slab of dusty concrete. A second one was positioned opposite it, but that side of the court was forbidden to me and anyone else who shared my ethnicity. That side was strictly for Blacks. The other for Latinos and whites.
Among hundreds of incarcerated people, we had only one ball to share between us. The two sides had to take turns using it.
On the Blacks-only court, I glanced toward the hoop’s rusted rim and gray strands of what used to be a net. Twenty feet from it, a guy scooped an orange ball off the ground before shooting it toward the hoop. The ball sailed and bounced off the rim before rolling toward me. I took the dusty ball in my hands, and pressed my fingers into the soft rubber.
Softball in prison? Who knew?
For some of us in prison, outdoor sports are a reprieve from the monotonous life in a 10-by-12-foot cell. For others, it’s a rejuvenating form of exercise. Spectators view it as entertainment. For most of us, good conduct can earn you increased access to sports.
A few years after my experience at a maximum security prison, I was rewarded for my good behavior and was allowed to transfer to a Level 3 medium security prison, opening the door for more autonomy and privileges.
When I arrived at the new prison, it took my eyes several seconds to adjust to the new terrain because the yard was covered in a carpet of emerald green. It was grass!
Between the county jail and prison, I hadn’t realized how long it had been since I’d seen grass. I inhaled deeply. Seconds later, I heard a metallic clink. In the distance, a dozen people were spread over a baseball diamond. At home plate, a player swung a metal bat with all his might. I froze.
Back when I was in the maximum security prison, where violent riots seemed to erupt monthly, I couldn’t imagine the staff giving us a metal bat. It was practically a weapon. But on the medium security yard’s baseball diamond, Blacks, whites, Latinos, Asians and Pacific Islanders all came together, and instead of swinging bats at each other, they used them to play a game of softball.
I quickly joined a team. Soon after, time and even weeks seemed to fly by.
Organized sports and more
After several years, I was rewarded for my good behavior again, and this time I was allowed to transfer to a Level 2 medium security prison.
Now, I’ve been here for six years. There are more sports activities than I ever imagined in a prison: basketball tournaments, softball leagues, volleyball games, a tennis court, horseshoes, soccer, football. There are organized games played in the mornings and at noon, and practices at night. Teams design their own uniforms with their names and numbers.
We even have a sports show that’s filmed by the prison’s media center. The two hosts bicker hilariously over everything from professional sports to prison leagues, and the show airs on TVs throughout the institution. I appeared as a guest and discussed football for an hour in one episode.
We even have a gymnasium for indoor sports. Inside, colorful murals of our favorite teams and champions line the walls — the Los Angeles Dodgers, Los Angeles Angels, Los Angeles Lakers, Golden State Warriors, Las Vegas Raiders and more.
I sometimes see an interview on CBS or FOX, in which a professional athlete expresses gratitude for being able to play the game they love so much. Similarly, when I step onto the prison yard, surrounded by hundreds of my colleagues who are playing a variety of sports for exercise, entertainment and pure fun, I’m grateful for the privilege to be able to play them.
