Every kid dreams of taking, and making, the last-second shot in a basketball game, especially growing up where I did. I had that chance in the eighth grade, but it took awhile to get to that point.
I first played organized basketball in the fourth grade. At that time I was one of the tallest kids on the team, which would turn out to be ironic because by the time I was in the eighth grade I was one of the smallest on the team. It took me that long to have the opportunity to affect the outcome of a game with my shot.
I played on my first organized team when I was in the fourth grade at St. Bernard grade school. It was the Navy blue team (we didn't have team names, must to my dismay, we were only known by our uniform colors). This would've been around 1983. To give you an idea of how long ago it was, there were jump balls at the beginning of every quarter. That first year, as it turns out, would be the establishing point for the rest of my playing career in grade school.
That year I scored one, maybe two baskets the entire season. I was the second team center, which I didn't figure was too bad, especially since our first-team center was built like a mountain.
Of course playing inside wasn't something that was my fortay. I considered myself and outside shooter, those were my favorite shots. In fact the only field goal I can vividly remember hitting that season was a deep shot from the corner. And it happened in my most memorable game of the year. It was a double-overtime game that we eventually lost. I played a lot that game, though, because our center fouled out. At one point late in the game I was standing at the free throw line and after a successful attempt by one of my teammates I jumped for joy. Afterward my dad asked me why I did that.
"Because I thought we were going to win," I said.
Unfortunately we didn't.
The next year was my first playing for a school team, St. Athanasius. I was in the fifth grade and me, and the rest of my friends, made the fifth & sixth grade 'B' team. I was a bench player, again backing up some of the other big men on the team. I played in almost every game, but I'm pretty sure I didn't score. I remember having two free throw tries in one game, but I missed them both. My most memorable game from that season was our last game, a loss in the tournament. I went home and cried after that game, and not because we lost and not because I had missed UK big man Melvin Turpin scoring 42 points in a game, but I was upset because I hadn't played for the first time all season. When I got home I threw myself on my bed and began crying.
That may have been the first time that I realized that even though I loved the sport, and spent most of my time either talking about basketball, or playing it, that I just wasn't that good. I played constantly, whether outside in my driveway or on my NERF goal or the other inside goal that I had in my house. But most of the time I was just shooting and not really playing against anyone else, so I wasn't really able to better my skills against competition. My fourth grade season was fun because I got to regularly play two quarters regardless. But my fifth grade year basketball became more about winning games and losing games and if my team wanted to win a game then it was probably best that I didn't play. The one bright spot of my fifth grade year was, though, that I played on the team with a lot of my friends. Including my best friend, Adam (see previous entry).
In the sixth grade I started a new school, Lanesville Elementary, in southern Indiana where my mom and dad were building a house. Unfortunately it wasn't done by the time school started, and wouldn't be done until around November. I was certain I was going to play basketball that year, especially since my new friend John, who had also transferred into school, was going to play too. But after signing up for the team there was something called "conditioning" that I had to go to before practice started. And when I showed up the first day I found out that it would involve a whole lot of running. I was never a big runner (although I did a brief stint on the track team at St. A's) and after the first day I'd had enough. What was all this running? It wasn't for me, that much I knew. I remember a lot of running, and a lot of sucking wind. I went home that night and told my mom that I didn't want to play basketball that year. Of course my dad thought I should "tough it out" and go through conditioning, but my mom won out. Looking back it was a bad decision, I wish I would've stuck it out, it would've been good for me.
To make matters worse that year Adam came out to see me and spend the night with me after we moved to Lanesville. After a short time together I could easily see (we were at odds with each other after just a short time together) that we were already growing apart and we weren't going to be friends for much longer. I went to one game that season to see my friends play, but that was about it. Meanwhile I continued to shot a lot outside on the court at my new house (which was much bigger and better than my old one) and on my NERF goal in the house.
The summer before my seventh grade year my home got a job (as a junior high teacher?!) at a school called Sacred Heart in nearby Jeffersonville, so I was headed to my second new school in as many years and my third school in three years overall.
But unlike Lanesville, where I joined a class that included my female cousin, when I started at Sacred Heart I didn't know a soul. I was fairly shy and not very out-going as the year started, but I did make a few friends, but no one I could consider a "good friend." But still by the time basketball season rolled around I was ready to start playing and the good thing about this team was there was...no conditioning. But the bad thing was that the team had "cuts," cutting the players deemed not good enough to make either the junior high 'A' team or 'B' team.
The team was coached by Bruce Wright, the father of one of the prettiest girls in my class. He was a little gruff, but he seemed to like what I did early in practice. In one of the first practices he put me on the second team, scrimmaging against the first team. I think he liked my defense (actually he praised me for that in one of the earlier practices, much to my delight) because I probably wasn't shooting very much. I wasn't one of the taller kids anymore, so he had me at guard. I definitely wasn't a very good guard because dribbling wasn't one of my strong suits, although I could still shoot decently from the outside.
However a couple of more practices the truth about my game quickly became evident. I was a forward trapped in a guard's body. I could shoot, but I couldn't handle the ball. As the last practice before "cuts" neared I became more and more nervous. I had never been "cut" from anything in my life and I had never been fond of rejection (something that would stay true the rest of my life). As that practice came to a conclusion coach Wright called three or four of us over during free throw shooting. He told us all that it just didn't look like that there was going to be a place for us on the team this year. He also told us who were seventh graders that if we worked hard maybe we could come back and make the team the next year. I didn't hear much after that...I was crushed.
Somehow I made it back to the free throw lane where I had been. There was a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes as I waited for coach to dismiss us. I quickly walked past my dad with my head down and out the door and to the car. I didn't say a word until we were in the car, then I burst into tears. I calmed down after a minute or two, but the 20-minute ride home that night felt like 120 minutes. During the drive dad told me that I just needed to work harder between now and next year. I was still in bad shape by the time we got home. I didn't want to face my mom, so I quickly made a beeline to my room (luckily it was right inside from the door to the garage). But when she came in with some Soft Batch cookies (my favorites) I burst into tears again. I guess either my dad had given her some updates from when he had watched practice and she got the cookies to console me, or they were going to be a reward for making the team. Nothing either one of them could have said, or give me, was going to make it any better. It was the most humiliating (how was I going to face the kids tomorrow at school? Luckily I was new so no one really knew me) and most disappointing day of my life to that point.
The next year, as an eighth grader, I made the junior high team. I don't know that I had dramatically improved, my making the team was probably more a product of a not-very-good group of seventh graders. I was usually the eighth or ninth man off the bench during 'A' team games, but Coach Wright did give me the chance to start on 'B' team.
I scored four points over the entire season, and I can easily remember both baskets. But it was one of the baskets that I missed that stands out more than the others.
First to the two I made. The first came in a 'B' team game when we played against a local public school called Silver Creek. Again I considered myself a good shooter, but I didn't shoot much in games. So when I swished a shot in a 'B' game Travis Cox, a seventh grader who started on the 'A' team, jumped up and down with big eyes when it went in. I wasn't very surprised, though, just happy it had gone in.
My second, and final basket of the season came in our last game. In fact they were our team's last points of the season. It was in the closing seconds of our tournament loss. With our team's fate sealed coach Wright had put me, and some of the other little-used players, into the game. With the clock winding down I got the ball in the middle of the free throw lane. I hesitated for a second, then shot over the outstretched arm of a defender. The buzzer sounded seconds later and our season was over. Some of my teammates were sad, but I was happy that I had scored. Afterward a kid on the other team even told me, "Good shot."
But back to the one I missed. It came during a game in a Christmas tournament that my team was playing in. It was at a local public school called GRC in Clarksville against Holy Family, one of our primary rivals. Surprisingly I played a lot that day since Travis got into foul trouble and the day before I had had a good practice shooting the ball. It was enough to impress the assistant coach, who was coaching the game because coach Wright couldn't be there for all the game. When Travis picked up two quick fouls the assistant coach turned to me and told me to go into the game. It was so early, and unusual for me to be in the game that soon, that when I checked in I looked up into the stands and saw my dad reading the newspaper, which my mom quickly told him to put down. I didn't do much in the game. I rarely looked to shoot because I didn't want to screw up (although I did step over the endline once when in-bounding the ball resulting in a turnover for our team). In the second half Travis got into foul trouble again, and again I was called on to sub for him. Down the stretch the game was tight. With under 10 seconds left we had the ball down by two points. During a timeout the assistant coach drew up a play to try to get the ball to our big man, Justin. Needless to say I was going to be the fifth option on the play. But Holy Family pressured us full-court so when my best friend, Shannon (the team point guard), got the ball across halfcourt I broke open along the left sideline. Spying me open Shannon threw the cross-court pass. I caught it, took one dribble then with my mental clock counting down the seconds in my head...as I had done countless times on just about every basketball goal I'd ever shot at. It was my first shot of the game, but it felt good as it came out of my hands. The ball banked off the backboard and...off the rim. Holy Family rebounded. The game was over.
"Did you mean to bank it?" my dad asked me after the game.
"Yes," I said.
I felt bad that I missed the shot, but good that I got to play so much. But the day got better. Afterward we went over to my Granny's house and watched the UK-UofL game and I saw one of the greatest performances of all-time as Rex Chapman, UK's freshman phenom, bombed the Cardinals with three-pointers and dunks in a the most lopsided victory in the series to that point, 85-51. Chapman scored 26 points that afternoon, including a buzzer-beating jumper to end the first half. It was a shot that every childhood Kentucky fan would replay at the court at their house. Three...two...one...
Some of us hit them, and some of us don't.
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