Glory Days
My boys are playing a lot of basketball these days.
All three of them are on rec-league teams and before the game we have animated discussions about how they're going to do.
(My boys do not lack self-confidence).
And after the game I hear all about the plays that were made and weren't made.
It's a funny thing about getting old.
I used to love to play pickup basketball. We played on Sunday mornings and at least one evening during the week. I played from the time I was 18 until I had to give it up when I tore my first tendon - about 32. I miss not being able to play that game.
I recall specific games and plays and shots that didn't fall.
In fact, just the other day I was rehashing a moment of near-glory.
My buddy Chris was the captain of Canisius College. He, along with a couple of other close friends were really, really good basketball players.
I was on the team because I was a fun guy to drink with after the game. Plus I did not lack for self-confidence. Even though everyone on the team was a Division 1 type athlete, if you heard it from me, I was by far and away the most talented member.
Anywhoha...
I hardly ever played.
I would stand on the side and watch.
Guys would come from other colleges and I'd watch exceptional talent run and jump and dunk.
My only chance to ever get in a game was if someone fouled out, someone's jock broke, or the fight cost us two or three players.
Thankfully, that almost never happened.
But it did one day!
We were playing for a league championship. We were down by three when one of our players fouled out. We called timeout and the captain of the team looked at me.
"I guess you're in."
(How's that for a vote of confidence?)
There was less than 10 seconds to play. We needed a three.
I ran onto the court and went to a spot. The former Canisius point guard was flying up the court and he zoomed a 'no-look' pass to me in the far corner.
Here's the kicker:
When he saw who he had hit with the pass he yelled:
"Oh shit!"
But I put it up.
It was a perfect shot and time stood still as it arced its way to the goal.
But it hit the back rim.
Our center grabbed and stuffed the rebound while slapping the side of his own leg to draw the attention and whistle from the ref.
He then calmly hit the free throw and then scored 10 points in overtime to get us the win.
Here's the best part.
As we were walking off the court he put an arm around my shoulder.
"I was praying that shot didn't go in," he said. "Because you would've chirped about it for the next 30 years."
(That doesn't sound like me, does it).
"We're gonna' win," Jake said on Saturday night as he headed off to the game.
Hours later he was back:
"We got killed," he said. "But I drilled a three from the corner with a hand in my face. It was a great shot!"
That's my boy.
All three of them are on rec-league teams and before the game we have animated discussions about how they're going to do.
(My boys do not lack self-confidence).
And after the game I hear all about the plays that were made and weren't made.
It's a funny thing about getting old.
I used to love to play pickup basketball. We played on Sunday mornings and at least one evening during the week. I played from the time I was 18 until I had to give it up when I tore my first tendon - about 32. I miss not being able to play that game.
I recall specific games and plays and shots that didn't fall.
In fact, just the other day I was rehashing a moment of near-glory.
My buddy Chris was the captain of Canisius College. He, along with a couple of other close friends were really, really good basketball players.
I was on the team because I was a fun guy to drink with after the game. Plus I did not lack for self-confidence. Even though everyone on the team was a Division 1 type athlete, if you heard it from me, I was by far and away the most talented member.
Anywhoha...
I hardly ever played.
I would stand on the side and watch.
Guys would come from other colleges and I'd watch exceptional talent run and jump and dunk.
My only chance to ever get in a game was if someone fouled out, someone's jock broke, or the fight cost us two or three players.
Thankfully, that almost never happened.
But it did one day!
We were playing for a league championship. We were down by three when one of our players fouled out. We called timeout and the captain of the team looked at me.
"I guess you're in."
(How's that for a vote of confidence?)
There was less than 10 seconds to play. We needed a three.
I ran onto the court and went to a spot. The former Canisius point guard was flying up the court and he zoomed a 'no-look' pass to me in the far corner.
Here's the kicker:
When he saw who he had hit with the pass he yelled:
"Oh shit!"
But I put it up.
It was a perfect shot and time stood still as it arced its way to the goal.
But it hit the back rim.
Our center grabbed and stuffed the rebound while slapping the side of his own leg to draw the attention and whistle from the ref.
He then calmly hit the free throw and then scored 10 points in overtime to get us the win.
Here's the best part.
As we were walking off the court he put an arm around my shoulder.
"I was praying that shot didn't go in," he said. "Because you would've chirped about it for the next 30 years."
(That doesn't sound like me, does it).
"We're gonna' win," Jake said on Saturday night as he headed off to the game.
Hours later he was back:
"We got killed," he said. "But I drilled a three from the corner with a hand in my face. It was a great shot!"
That's my boy.
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