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This is the place to be seen in the neighborhood; the bleachers are packed and others sit in picnic chairs all around the court. The crowd’s attire ranges from trendy fashion, rhinestone sunglasses and high heels to backwards baseball caps, tank tops and baggy shorts.

They gather to watch basketball played by men from divergent walks of life — some a little on the chubby side, some seemingly without an ounce of body fat, but all completely soaked in sweat.

The land here, which was originally owned by slave owner James Barry until early 1868, has changed over the last 16 years. The notorious Barry Farm housing complex exists now only as piles of rubble, overgrown with weeds and grass and surrounded by a cyclone fence. A new condo complex offers views of where rows of nondescript brick apartments used to stand.

What remains of the old neighborhood are the basketball courts of the Goodman League, revamped in 1996 by Miles Rawls. This is where the old Barry Farm Community Summer Basketball League operated from its founding in 1977 to 1995. Now under Rawls’ oversight, it remains a family-friendly community hub and neighborhood magnet.

The referees, like the players, are a motley crew — jolly and occasionally out of breath as they try to keep pace with young men who hail from vastly different levels of the game. Players come here from across the so-called DMV — the local term for the intertwined communities of D.C., northern Virginia and southern Maryland.

From local streetball legends to rising high school and college prospects, these courts have even showcased the occasional future NBA legend, like D.C.-area native .

“At the end of the day it’s the kids, the comradery, the getting everybody together from different parts of the city, different parts of the DMV,” Rawls said. “It’s what I call a safe haven.”

In one of the poorest and most crime-ridden parts of the nation’s capital, Rawls’ also knows that offering a bit of alternative recreation can have a deep sociological impact. He has no illusions about what some of his regular players “would be doing if they weren’t here for three or four hours a day six days a week ... that’s what pretty much drives me,” he said.

More than two decades after he first started, Rawls looks at the court and ongoing daily pickup games as his life’s work and legacy.

“It uplifts me man, to be honest with you. It brings tears to my eyes, 29 years later I’m still relevant, still on top. That’s a long time to do anything, in the hood, in one of the worst neighborhoods and wards in D.C.,“ he said. ”I wouldn’t trade it for nothing.”