By Chris Ballard
Sports Illustrated
A few months ago, I entered San Quentin State Prison with a group of guys to play basketball against a team of inmates.
First, the important details: none of the dozen of us who went got knifed or were taken hostage. The guards didn’t fire a single shot, and we never had to hit the deck. Likewise, no one had to D up Scott Peterson, a Menendez brother or any serial killers, at least as far as I know. Which is to say our worst fears, and those of our families, were not realized.
That didn’t stop us from being, shall we say, a bit cautious. For example, afterward I sat at a bar with a teammate who we’ll call “Jake.” We were crusted in sweat and feeling mildly euphoric, as tends to happen when one safely departs a prison with the largest death row population in America. “So,” I asked Jake, “What did your wife say when you told her you were going to play at San Quentin?”
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