As the the high school basketball season continues to wind down, it appears that the same two teams from last year — Laurel High boys and West Jones girls — might be headed for return trips to the state semifinals in Jackson.
We are also on the cusp of the beginning of March Madness, when college basketball will be moved to the forefront of the sporting world. The buildup and the subsequent Big Dance is one of my Top 5 favorite times of the year in sports. I swear I will pick the first round of the tourney perfectly one day, but I digress.
Playing baseball was always my true love in sports. From oiling my glove to sliding into second base to break up a double play, I loved everything about the game. However, baseball was not my best sport and my mother, to this day, will tell you that the most talent I had for playing any sport was basketball.
I enjoyed playing basketball. I remember when we lived in Corinth, I used to play every season at the local YMCA. One season, I was selected to play on a team called the Tide. Yuck! That was the same season that Bill Wood sank a shot at the buzzer in our opponent’s goal and we lost by one point to the Rebels. Even more yuck!
When we moved to Laurel, I played a couple of seasons for the Laurel Broncos. (Ask my mom about Roosevelt.) And I played junior high basketball for Laurel when I was in eighth grade and I also played on the ninth-grade team at Laurel High a year later.
I hung up my sneakers for basketball at LHS before my sophomore year because of a problem I had with the head coach. That is another story, for another day, but the Cliff’s Notes version is that I was mostly to blame because I was a teenager — a very stubborn, rebellious and highly competitive one at that. You can also ask my mom about that.
While I no longer played for the Naders on the hardwood, I did continue to play in the local church league, which I had been doing since we moved here when I was in sixth grade. And if you think that it was any less competitive than high school basketball, you would be sorely mistaken.
My good friend Joel and I made a formidable one-two punch when we were on our games. I ran the point and he was a point-forward before the position became a popular one. We won a lot of games and had a lot of fun battles with our friends who played for other teams. But it was in church league basketball that my stubborn, rebellious and highly competitive personality got the best of me — and got me kicked out of the league.
Disclaimer: I am not proud of what follows, but it did happen and I can’t take it back. Plus, looking back, I think it’s pretty damned funny.
I was 18 or 19 years old and I had gotten into an argument with a girl who I had previously dated one Friday or Saturday night. Back then, I had a temper that boiled over rather quickly, and I got so mad after the argument, I punched a light pole.
At that time, my sister was working at a local doctor’s office. She X-rayed my right hand and told me I had what was known as a boxer’s fracture.
Great.
We were in the midst of trying to make a run to the playoffs and I couldn’t dribble with my right hand, let alone shoot a basketball with it. I nonetheless took the court a few days later with Joel and our teammates against the No. 1 team in the league.
When I did take a shot, I did it left-handed. I had practiced shooting left-handed for a few days and became decent enough to make a few shots from 10 to 15 feet out. So, in an attempt to make up for my lack of offensive output, I focused on playing lockdown defense. And that, in turn, led to the last time I played in an organized basketball game.
We were trailing by five or six points early in the fourth quarter when a pass I threw was stolen by the other team’s point guard. He raced down the court and I gave pursuit. As he was going up for a layup, I swatted the ball out of bounds.
Then, the whistle blew — and I blew up.
The referee called a foul on me when I never touched the other player. Already playing frustrated from my recent injury, I went over the edge.
I yelled that the call was a bunch of “bull malarkey” to the ref and he slapped me with a technical foul.
Then, after that first T, I slammed the ball against the wall and, as I walked away, I told him that his calls were “holy fracking bull malarkey to the umpteenth power.”
Not only did I get T’d up again, the ref kicked me out of the league for the rest of the season.
I never played again. A decent basketball career over before it really got started.
Yeah, I was a bit of a hothead back when I was a kid, but I have simmered down tremendously, unless LSU is playing football.
Now, instead of playing, I watch my two sons play basketball and from time to time think about some of the moments from my past of playing basketball, most of which are good ones. Hopefully, neither one of them will ever punch a light pole during basketball season.
My brother Sam and I spent many hours competing on the driveway basketball court. We even had a couple goals inside that bore witness to some very hotly contested one-on-one games.
Happy birthday, Sam. You still can’t outshoot me!