It was the fall of 1995 and the gym was completely packed to the rafters. I'm not exactly sure what "packed to the rafters" looks like, but it was extremely full. People were actually standing to watch us play. I think they were confused and didn't realize it was a high school girls basketball game. You mean this isn't the NBA Finals featuring the dynasty of the 1990's Chicago Bulls?
We were in enemy territory. Hostile territory, even. Our team bus was escorted into the city by two police cars to ensure our safety. I found this partially unnerving and equal parts unnecessary. What reason did they have to guide us into the city? What did they expect to happen? You know those high school girls always carry around spare thousands in their backpacks, just in case. Turns out the cops were needed later, but they weren't there. My guess is they were watching the enthralling game inside like everyone else in the vicinity. One cop asked the other, "Hey man, I thought you said MJ and Pippen were making a surprise appearance soon? Isn't that why everyone's here?" Some boys thinking they were men or thinking they were thugs came on the bus while we were playing ball and stole things, like one of the girl's watches. None of my stuff was stolen. You mean teenage boys don't like The Steve Miller Band Greatest Hits 1974-1978?
It was hard not to notice the huge crowd. The gym was designed so that there were only bleachers on one side, opposite the benches. We had a brick wall behind us. Oops, maybe that's why the gym was so packed. Anyway, I was a sophomore and did not become a starter until my junior year. The game was not off to a good start in the first quarter. Scoreless!! ...except only our team was scoreless. They had won the tip-off and immediately scored. And then stole the ball and scored again. And rebounded and scored again. And scored again. And then... you get the point. Finally Coach called a time-out and I tried to find a few friendly faces in the crowd. Where were our legions of fans? They were outnumbered.
Nothing was working. The crowd eventually quieted down, because even in the meanest town and with the meanest fans... they felt sorry for us. The first quarter ended and it was 18-0. Gulp.
Coach didn't substitute at all during that time and she started the same group for the second quarter. I was getting irritated that I was still warming up my spot on the bench. I didn't care how the bench felt, it was warm enough and it could have my awesome Starter jacket if it really need it to keep warm. The stupid bench was zapping all of my heat and I was getting cold. I wanted to play; besides, our starters were getting tired.
In a moment of exasperation, Coach yelled my name and I saw spittle fly. Her face twisted in anger, her eyes flashed, and she jerked her chin towards the game. I sprinted over and knelt down on the sideline, awaiting a whistle. She boomed, "WOULD SOMEBODY JUST MAKE A DAMN BASKET!" I saw the icky white-crusted corners of her mouth turn down with a frown. My best friend Jess was sitting helplessly in the seat right next to Coach and our eyes locked in her moment of desperation. I shuddered in disgust for her and thought, "Shake it off, Hawks!". It's go time.
You know what's going to happen, right? I got a couple touches on the ball, ran up and down the court a few times and started to warm up. The other team was "resting" while playing zone instead of man-to-man and I saw my opening. It all came together... so easily like that last puzzle piece. I clapped my hands once and started stepping into the shot at the top of the key while the pass was en route from the wing. In slow motion I saw the crowd fade further away in the background as the orange-ball-that-I-love came closer. I squared up and shot. I held my follow-through and stayed on the tips of my toes as if I was shooting a game winner in overtime. Instead of swishing through the hoop as I had practiced thousands of times, the ball clanged noisily on the rim in slow motion. Everyone in attendance held their collective breath while I held the shot. The crowd was mute.
The basketball bounced once
then hit off the other side of the rim
then
The basketball bounced once
then hit off the other side of the rim
then
it
fell
silently
in
through
the
hoop!
The place exploded! Figuratively. The gym was so loud I swear every person there cheered except for the opponents on the court. 26-2!! I saw the crowd rise to its feet and several arms raised high as I transitioned to defense. Ask anyone who was there that day and he will tell you just how well that shot is seared into his memory. For a brief moment, life changed. Friend and foe were high-fiving, ex-lovers embraced, and one cop said to the other cop, "This is better than if the Bulls could win another three-peat." Outside the gym, boys on the bus suddenly felt remorseful and decided not to steal the impressive Sony Discman with the funny-looking CD inside. If you weren't there, I'm sure you heard it and it affected you as well. You probably decided not to curse at the driver who cut you off and you couldn't quite fathom why. Think back to where you were one cold November night in '95 and I'm sure you'll recall an evening that just felt right... now you know why it did and what that clanging sound was that you heard and yet couldn't place.
I'm sure someday I will tell this to fidgeting children who would rather do anything but listen to this story, whilst I am sprawled on a couch with a can of Iron City propped up on my ginormous belly, talking about the "glory" days. Wait, take that part back... I'm not a dude and so I won't have a jumbo belly double-functioning as a beer coaster and potato chip crumb catcher, as convenient as that may sound. Also scratch the part about glory days, as I think you had to be on winning teams and you also had to be super good to reminisce. Or do you just have to think you were super good?
I don't remember the rest of that game, how many points I scored, or even if we won or lost. Since this is my blog though, sit back and I will tell you exactly what happened.
We went into the baddest part of town and came away with a stunning victory that made the other team bemoan their fate and cry to the basketball gods. Their fans were so distraught that they threw rocks at our bus on the way out of dodge, which required police escorts for us noble and valiant warriors of the hardcourt. Some of our opponents quit as soon as the buzzer hit zero, never to touch a basketball again. I've heard since then that a few of those girls are still in therapy for a recurring nightmare they have about the shot. Others discussed ending their season effective immediately that night; how could they go on after losing such a large lead halfway through the second quarter?
And to think that the courageous comeback all started with one lone jump shot.
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