Roy S. Johnson: I was watching basketball with a Trump Republican. This is the beginning.

This is an opinion column.

I was watching basketball with Republican Donald Trump.

Did this sentence read as silly as it appeared to be typed? Did you laugh or did your head explode? Any answer is reasonable because, well, here we are. All are asserting themselves as the aftershocks of the presidential election subside.

When our emotions calm down. When our calibrations are recalibrated.

who are we Who can I trust? Who do I share my time with? My most precious time. Time I can’t put back. I can’t go back.

It wasn’t the first time I watched basketball with Republicans, clearly. I’ve probably done this more times than I care to know because political parties weren’t really a thing until the last few years. It’s not a vital thing. It’s not a self-defining thing.

Not even close.

Especially not when sports, food and maybe a drink or two were involved.

Of course, we can support different teams. Cheer loudly for our teams. Even though your team is our rival, that didn’t stop me from sharing the basement and the big screen with you — unless your team was Cal-Berkeley. I’m not kidding

When the final whistle blew, everyone held hands and went home. Yes, there may have been some banter, a victory dance, and verbal hurling, but it was a game. Just a game. No one was hurt, not even hurt.

There will always be another game.

Then teams entered into force. Political teams. They matter much more than they should.

The sides of the passage. The matter.

Party mascots. The matter.

Colors. The matter. Hell, there was more hate and disrespect among Democrats and Republicans as Crips and Bloods.

Two teams — Democrats and Republicans — suddenly became important. To everyone. Way more than you should. Way more than you still should.

«Maybe you want to watch some rounds tomorrow?»

I have known this Republican for several years. Good old man. (I’ll even call him the Good Dude Republican from here on out.) I consider him a friend. We have our differences, but none of them were more important than what we have in common. We love sports. We love our families. We love good food. We love building brands and businesses (ie making money).

He worships the same God (he and his family visited my church this summer).

They came that Sunday Rock City Church President Joe Biden announced on Sunday in late July that he will not seek re-election and is endorsing Vice President Kamala Harris as the Democratic presidential nominee.

Suddenly teams important. And Good Dude Republican and I weren’t rooting for the same thing. Not even close.

He made it clear from the jump that he would not be voting for Harris. Like before she secured the nomination — which was, what, 20 minutes after Biden’s bounce? Before many of her positions and policies were mapped out and digested.

Shortly thereafter, I wrote a column: «America is ready to elect a female president, especially when women’s rights are at stake.» (Yes, I felt that.)

«I’m not,» the Good Dude Republican shot back as soon as I sent him the link.

I challenged him to tell his wife and daughters. Yes, it was a game on.

«Let me rephrase that,» the Good Dude Republican quickly followed. «I would vote for a woman. But not her.»

Our text exchanges in the next few weeks? Fire. He praised immigration. “They opened up parts of the wall.”) Questioned Harris’s intelligence. («I don’t think she’s very bright … I listened to her talk.») Her record sparked a crackdown on marijuana offenders. («I think there were about 1,900 cases of weed.») Jumped on Trump’s humiliation of Haitian immigrants in Springfield. (“60,000 residents … 20,000 drive into town. That’s like 30,000 people showing up in Hoover.) He blasted her proposal for a 39.5% capital gains tax (even though it wouldn’t affect him).

He raged at boys playing girls’ sports.

I challenged his views, debunked many of them with facts. Never mind. He held his own the team.

By September, we quietly retreated to our separate digital corners and quietly agreed that our communication would be cut off. There were definitely some texts. We deliberately avoided ours teams. Obviously, neither of us had anything to do with playing political scotch. With a grenade.

Early last Wednesday, before the sun rose, after sorting out emotions about the election result through the night in a columnafter catching my breath and remembering no weapon is prepared against me …. I had no spirit of fear. …. I texted Good Dude Republican.

“Congratulations, brother. God bless us all.”

«Far from perfect,» he replied. «As do I. I hope he makes the country better.»

«We’ll see.»

Five days later, on Monday, the Good Dude Republican texted about watching basketball. In his house.

I stopped. Deliberately stalled. I haven’t seen him in person since that Sunday in July at my church.

Here we are. Re-evaluation of premises. Reevaluating friendships. Checking tickets at the door of our club.

I accepted the invitation and accepted the gesture as a reminder of what we shared when only teams mattered, not teams. And what is more important. Should I.

The evening went well. Good food. Good friends. Good game.

His daughters remembered me from visiting the church. His wife hugged me and said they would come back.

There were discussions — some political, but mostly sports. Nothing to do with teams. The fire that we both had lit before the election was reduced. Our political disagreements have faded into their proper place.

Behind what should be more important.

For faith, family, food and our teams.

Oh, the basketball we watched: no. 19 Kentucky defeated the no. 5 Duke (and 17-year-old phenomenal rookie Cooper Flagg) 77-72.

Later I thanked him for his hospitality.

«Great time! Much love to you!!,” he replied.

There will be another match.

I was raised by good people who encouraged me to be a good person and surround myself with good people. If they did, they said, good things would happen. I am a member of the National Association of Black Journalists Hall of Fame, an Edward R. Murrow Award winner, and a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize for Commentary. My column appears on AL.comand digital editions of The Birmingham News, Huntsville Times and Mobile Press-Register. Tell me what you think o rjohnson@al.comand follow me on twitter.com/roysjInstagram @roysj and BlueSky.