“How do you know about Cousy?” I asked.

“I watch ESPN classics on TV,” he replied, walking away.

One of my recent games was a one-on-one match against a guy who was 7 inches taller than me, and five decades younger. He had just dominated another player about my size — 5 foot 9 — but closer to him in age, while I waited on a nearby bench to play the winner.

Pick-up basketball is one of the most egalitarian activities you can engage in, and it’s played all over the world. Walk onto a basketball court in Boston, London, or Toronto, Chicago or New York, as I have, along with scads of other cities and towns, and you’re soon part of a game. Many of the games are five-on-five, but more often they’re three-on-three, two-on-two, or even one-on-one.

It’s a sport played from the neck up, I’ve always thought. Fortunately for me, a lot of younger players with lots of testosterone and an overload of ego haven’t come to realize that yet. My one-on-one career was about to be continued with a player who seemingly overmatched me in all the significant categories, except one: experience.

My opponent had the ball first because he had won his previous game. It helps to begin a game with the ball because you can’t score without it. His first shot from 3-point range missed. I’d positioned myself well for the rebound and within moments, scored a 3-pointer. That raised his eyebrows a bit.

Next, I ran left with the ball and threw in a reverse layup for 2 more points. Suddenly, it was 5-0, and my opponent’s feet seemed to sink into the blacktop with a mix of determination and reservation. I missed my next shot, and he got the ball back. Now he looked ready to play.

Playing defense is vital, as Bill Russell, another former Celtics great, proved so often. When I put my hands high in the air, I’m well over 6 feet from fingertip to toe. While my opponent had increased his resolve, he seemed a bit intimidated by my defensive position. A lot of younger players aren’t aggressive on defense, but I have to be.

My opponent’s next shot rattled off the backboard and the rim, and I landed another rebound. Once I got the ball back, thanks to Bob Cousy, the outcome of the game was never in doubt. The hook shot is so old it’s new, and it’s still one of the very best weapons for a shorter player to use against players as tall as trees. I knew my opponent hadn’t seen the hook shot often, nor was he expecting me to use it, if he had.

With hope, thrust, and prayer, I hit three consecutive right-handed hook shots to win the game, 11-0.

Despite my arthritic knees and my numbing, stumbling feet, I’ve been richly blessed. It’s not the winning that keeps bringing me back, it’s the joy I feel when playing the game. Cousy’s hook shot has kept me in the game at an advanced age.

I asked my 16-year-old grandson, who’s the co-captain on his Sharon High School basketball team, “Am I the best 79-year-old basketball player you know?” With a scrunched-up face, he replied, “You’re the only 79-year-old player I know!”

Ed Forster is a writer in Old Orchard Beach, Maine. Send comments to magazine@globe.com.

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