The swings in the park dangle like loose ropes, with nothing to push them but a little breeze. The park sign says “Closed,” and yellow tape bars the entrance. With an uneasy downward parachuting of the heart, you see that the tennis nets have been removed and the basketball rims have been detached. The backboards have a bare, blank, dead, purposeless look. But the craving for a contest is hard to break. Your eyes turn toward the only games you can find: the ones in the neighbor’s backyard.