Moves Like Shaq

There was a time when I thought, no, I knew, basketball was my sport. All of my friends in middle school and high school were athletes and by tenth grade, every one of them were on the basketball team at school. Naturally, I felt left out because after 12 years straight of playing softball, I had lost the chance to acquire the skills needed for any other sport.

For example, the 5-second blitz rule in touch football bewildered me nor did I ever let it apply. If the quarterback is standing right there, with the ball, completely open, why on earth do I have to wait “5 Mississippi’s” before I can tag them!? I now understand that without blockers, being the quarterback in a touch game would be nearly impossible without a rule like that, but still, it seemed unfair. In fact, more often than not I would just tag the quarterback immediately and justify it by saying that I was simply a quick counter. I’m gifted I guess.

Anyway, the girls on my softball teams were never exactly the friendly type, and by the time I was in high school, I was feeling both burnt out and left out since my friends spent their afternoons together at basketball. That’s when I knew basketball needed to become my sport.

I joined a community basketball league in hopes that I could learn the rules fast enough to think about joining the school team. My community team had a wide range of skill amongst the players, so it’s unfortunate when I say that I was one of the best on the team. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I was a pretty good at shooting and dribbling. I was fairly unaggressive though, and couldn’t resist flinching and moving my feet during a screen, so I was taken off the list for defensive positions.  By process of elimination, the position I was put at was….point guard. That’s right. The leader of each play, the ball carrier, the player expected to know what was happening on the court at all times.

It’s beyond me why the coach thought I could play this position without knowing any of the rules, but he put me there anyway. After that season, this is what I could tell you about the game of basketball: my job was to run back and forth across the court dribbling the ball. That’s all I knew and know now.

Maybe I should blame the coach, who was well informed that I had never played basketball before (yes Coach, as shocking as it may be, I’m 15 and have never played a formal game of basketball). Or maybe it’s my parents’ fault for not teaching me the rules of other sports during my childhood. Maybe it’s even my own fault for not reading up on the rules before signing up for a team. I hear Basketball for Dummies works wonders.

Anyway, I guess all of these factors played a part in making my days of basketball fame short-lived. By the last game of the season, we had not won one single game.  This was our last chance to break our defeated streak. I, obviously, was playing point guard for the entire game and I was feeling confident and ready to make this one count. With a couple minutes left, I made a steal from an opposing player that created uproar from the crowd. And by crowd, I mean the six or seven parents that consistently attended our games.

With a close score and now having possession of the ball, I was sure this was the break my team needed to get ahead. I dribbled as fast as I could, leaving the other team behind with only the whip of my ponytail as I ran. I was going to run to the other end of the court and make my lay up and my team, the Comets, would win their first community league basketball game. I ran, dodged, faked, dodged again, kept running, and then….the whistle blew. Uh excuse me ref, I’m only at half court…I haven’t made my winning shot yet.

“OVER AND BACK.” …what? Nuh uh! Wait, what’s over and back? It doesn’t even matter I had an open court ahead of me! Turns out, no. No I didn’t. I had completely forgotten about the fact that my steal was not in fact a steal. It was taking the ball back after an opposing player had stolen it from us. Therefore, of COURSE they weren’t going to chase me into that “open court” space I had ahead. That was their side. I was carrying the ball away from our basket and going to shoot for them.

Luckily, this isn’t one of those horror stories that you see on TV where the young child runs and scores for the wrong team, jumping and cheering feeling so damn proud of themselves that it breaks your heart. But it was still pretty humiliating. The awkward stares from my teammates, the smug grins from the other team, and my parents awkwardly clapping since they got excited any time the ball was passed in my general direction.   

But…that was the day I knew that basketball wasn’t, nor will it ever be, my sport. That was my first and last season as a basketball player. I can’t say that I learned a lot, or that I had a lot of fun doing it, but at least I did it….Next up, soccer.