One Last Shot

I once had a dream of playing college basketball. I even tried my hand at it for awhile at various colleges, but I was never quite good enough to catch on anywhere. I was a step slow, a vertical that was non-existent, and a height that would make Michael J. Fox not feel so short. In fact, I was Scott Howard from Teen Wolf, you know without the whole morphing into a wolf thing going for me. I was on the cusp of average with an ability to play good defense and give up my body for a charge. I believe they call that player scrappy.

Once I found out my limitations and that college ball was not in my cards I began to stop playing as much. People would ask me to play or join a league and I would decline. Those people seemed shocked that I wouldn't play and to tell you the truth so was I. But I continued my passive attitude of not playing basketball even though I wanted to play. I suppressed that urge to play. I fooled myself into thinking- We all have to move on from childish games at some point, right?

And it was six years ago that I did move on from playing- transitioning from player to coach. My time had come and gone to play in the games. It was now my time to pass on my love for the game and the knowledge to a new generation of kids. I wanted to prepare them for their time as high school basketball players. Maybe I could help them capture a glory that I spent so long chasing. I played with the kids sparingly if we needed another player. I only picked up a ball to show them the right way to make an effective play. I had made the decision to pass the torch to these new hoopsters through coaching; effectively benching myself permanently from the game.

After six years of coaching various ages and leagues, seeing many of my kids go on and have success in high school, I was out of basketball. I was now merely a spectator, no longer coaching or playing like I had all of my life. I stripped myself of basketball.

That is until I wrote about my failed journey for a championship during my high school years I began to feel a twitch. It was a twitch to just go outside and shoot some hoops like I had when I was younger. Shooting hoops was always cathartic and relaxing for me. Just me, a hoop, and a ball all working out the problems of the day together. That, in turn, could lead to some pick up games at the park and a renewed interest in playing basketball regularly. This was a game I loved to play growing up, but just fell by the wayside as I got older. The older I got the less time I went outside to shoot or playing. After having written and re-read that piece a few weeks ago I felt a renewed sense of passion and interest in playing the game I grew up obsessing about. It was time for a comeback to rekindle the light of a game that, at one time, meant the world to me.

Yet, I still did not play or shoot. I was content to watch basketball on TV. Constantly brushing off any opportunities to play at the local gym or with friends at the park. I just couldn't bring myself to play. The comeback came to a screeching halt.

Then it happened last Wednesday as I was driving. I saw a kid at the park shooting all by himself. I was envious of him, outside just shooting hoops like I had done so many times before. I quickly remembered the annual alumni game was happening that very night, which features the current varsity team against the one time members of the varsity team. If I was going to play why not do it at my old high school for this one night. If anything it will give me an excuse to see the old high school and if nothing else a reason to have some extra turkey the next day. There was no debate or hesitation on my part. I was all in.

I called my buddy Godfrey, an old teammate and a guy I was sure would go and play, and told him of my plan. Suffice to say, Godfrey, a basketball junkie/lifer, was really excited to get my call and he too was ready to lace up the sneakers once again. I called up the school and told them that the class of 99' would be representing with two of their finest players. The guy on the other line, Eric, dutifully obliged though it did take him awhile to confirm that we had at some point played basketball at Mitty.

Godfrey picked me up an hour before tipoff so we could get to the gym early to get some shots up before the game. We talked about what we expected before the game. My main goal was to get a little bit of run, not hurt myself, and hopefully not embarrass myself in front of my fiance who had never seen me play before. She was a reason for me going out there to play as she always asked why I never played and wanted to see me play one time. Well here we go for better or worse.

The gym was less than packed upon my triumphant returned to basketball. I remember playing to a lot more people back when I played. The crowd seemed to have the enthusiasm of a grown man sitting, watching Twilight. It was still early so I went and changed, talked to a few teachers and coaches, before going to the other gym to warm up. I figured by the time I came back more people would be ready to watch the game.

Not so. I think people actually left before the game started. Well, I guess if I played lousy, less people would be there to see it. Besides, I had modest goals for the game: 4 points, 4 assists, 2 boards, and two charges. I felt that would be pretty good against the defending state champions. Oh, did I forget to mention that our group of savvy, veterans i.e. out of shape old guys, would be taking on the defending state champions i.e. THE DEFENDING STATE CHAMPS. Last years varsity won state led by a 6'9 sophomore freak of an athlete, Aaron Gordon, who is ranked number six in the junior class of top recruits(#2 as a forward). And now he was a junior. In the past our alumni teams were overmatched due to a lack of playing basketball, lack of continuity both offensively and defensively, guys taking awful shots, and terrible cardiovascular shape. The physical conditioning between teenagers that play everyday as compared to guys that play when they have a chance or sporadically is like a thoroughbred racing a jockey- HUGE.

And not only did we have physical limitations to contend with, but we also had a coach. Now I had played in these alumni games back when I first got out of high school and at that time we never had a coach. A coach implies someone who will or has instructed or trained a team. We were a rag tag group of guys that on the fly decided to play together for one night. But there we were, being led John Faylor, who was athlete of the year back to back in the 80's(he was kind enough to lend us that credential by pointing up to his name on the banner) and his enforcer, The Chief- Okay, his name wasn't the chief, but I never caught it or bothered to find out what it was. He looked a lot like Rob Ryan, the Dallas Cowboy Defensive Coordinator if you are picturing it. But they gathered us around and gave a rousing speech which included nuggets of gold like, "who is going to Los Gatos after this?" and "try not to foul because the pizza will get cold if the game runs too long." I was ready to run through a wall for these guys.

Godfrey and I, the 3rd and 4th oldest guys on the team behind two guys from the class of 80' who have never missed a game, started on the bench. We decided to let the young guys duke it out and maybe have a chance to shine against their reserve players. two minutes into the game and one of our alumni starters was already winded and asking for a sub. I immediately pop up and check myself into the game. Coach Faylor tried to recall me in favor of someone else, but to late I was already checked into the game.  Alumni at this point were off to a good start only down by one early on. I didn't have to win the game, all I had to do was not lose it or put us in a hole.

Our first offensive possession I was open quite a bit. Feet set, good space, ready to lock and load out here. That's right fella's good ball movement, good penetration, and just for the kick out to me and I'll put this baby to bed. I hit my three's in warmups. Confidence is sky high. And the kick out... Never came. The whole game it never came. After all these years I was reduced to the old man screener/facilitator in this game. And when I did touch the ball it was to inbound it after a made hoop. I thought that Godfrey and I, when we got into together, would be able to get the ball to each other, but even Steve couldn't get the ball and if he did he would be called for an offensive foul.

So I took my talents to the defensive end. This is fine. I'll just block shots and slap fives like my old Coach Skip use to say. I'll get my charge and everything will be like it was in the old days. I'm a team player here. I'll just wait for my chance to take a charge. That will get the seventeen people watching in the stands excited.

Then came my chance to excite the home crowd as their one time star, yours truly, would go toe to toe with their current star, Aaron Gordon. Gordon caught the ball on the wing and blew by his defender leaving only me standing between him and the rim. Gordon had already thrown down a sweet and effortless windmill, which really is cruel and unfair to all of us vertically challenged people to have to watch. Our eyes lock as I step up and he comes barreling at me. He lowers his shoulder into me and like a finely trained theatre actor I exploded onto the ground for what I believed was my finest charge. The whistle blew and the ref called a blocking foul on me. I felt the air deflate in the gym with that call, like Mudville when Might Casey struck out. I stared into the ref's soul, saw there was no soul, and knew how it was he did not call a foul. The half ended on that note with Aaron Gordon thinking he got the best of me, Coach Faylor running to get pizza, and the ref cheating the crowd out of a career defining move on my behalf- the charge. Varsity 27, Alumni 21.

The second half was very competitive(surprisingly) as we scrapped a rotation and went for the win. With coach Faylor still eating pizza I assumed the role of Coach, though I made the old Chief feel like he had the Con. A lot of these younger guys I had coached and well, they may not pass me the ball or slap me five, but they do listen to me as if I am still their coach. We went into a trapping zone press to start off the half that gave the Varsity fits. I made sure to sub big guys in and out to hack away at Gordon and we chipped away. We got turnovers and timely three's from our shooters to keep the game close.

At the start of the 4th and us down 2 points Coach Faylor came back out, which meant I would insert myself into the game. This would immediately lead to the second and final act between Aaron Gordon and myself. A moment I am sure he has forgotten, but I am still and will be writing about for a time to come. I was down in help defense as Gordon's defender tried to front him. A baseline pass came into Gordon and he swooped up the ball with thoughts of Glory and a rim jarring dunk. Only he did not expect a the white shadow to meet him as he was going up and tying up the ball. He and I wrestled for the ball. The whistle blew and we continued to wrestle for the ball. Neither one of us was going to to let up no matter how uncomfortable it got for everybody as we both continued to fight for the ball long after the refs broke it up. I, however, ended up with the ball as I held it up in the air in triumphant for the 11 people still in attendance to behold.

I then subbed myself out. For good.

I walked toward the bench, but not before slapping the floor and getting in a defensive stance, fired up by attempting no shots and getting one jump ball. I assumed my position as puppet master coach and continued to sub in new guys and telling the Chief new complaints to launch at the ref while I called timeouts to talk strategy. In the end we found ourselves down by only three with under a minute left. A few errant shots and a couple free throws later and the game was over as we lost 54-49. I logged five minutes with no shots attempted, no rebounds, 2 assists, seven fouls, one forced jump ball and a wish that the game didn't have to end.

We didn't win, I was nowhere close to being good or a factor on the court, but I did get John Faylor, after his eighth piece of pizza, telling me that I could coach the team from now on. More so, I had a great time getting back into the game. Playing out there on my old high school court reminded me of some great times I had playing basketball. It got the competitive juices going, it was intense, and it was fun. Sometimes you leave things in the past because they don't work out like you thought or because it broke your heart when you failed. You only remember the bad things, the negatives of the experience instead of focusing on why you ever started playing in the first place. You play because you love the game; a game that will never walk away from you and will always be there if you ever choose to want to play again. On this one night I enjoyed playing basketball again. Its because of that I think I will give it another shot.