If you're a thirtysomething who's nearly a decade removed from competitive play, don't bring your sorry, nostalgic ass to this court. Ankle-breaking crossover dribbles and sweet fadeaway jumpers are the rule here, and while the "no blood, no foul" catechism is regularly violated by at least one whiner or two, you can expect enough physical defense to bump you out of your favorite habits when you've got the ball--especially when the score is close and there's another crew waiting to play the winners. Surely there are ballers on the North Side and in St. Paul who would dispute the primacy of Painter Park's overall game, but they'd have to come and prove it on the asphalt for their claims to stick.