The Shot Heard 'Round the World

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

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. 

Dating Hiss!-story

This post is not going to be caustic as the title might suggest.... just a little bit of insight to those of you who find this subject absolutely fascinating (I really don't know why that is the case since my life is happily ordinary, but you know who you are).  Think of the "hiss!" coming from the black cat silhouette with it's back arched against the moon in the background.... you know, the Halloween cat.  It's a "hiss!" because anybody who's spent time in the dating trenches would be a little bit battle-weary as they approach the ripe old age of twenty-nine.  (I'll give some of you time to roll your eyes at that remark..........ok, let's continue.)  Also, as with a couple other things rattling around in my mind, this is a way for me to remember things that I would otherwise forget with the passing of time and to feebly attempt the ancient art form of writing.  All names have been changed to protect the mostly guilty parties.

I hit the dating scene early; my first boyfriend was in kindergarten.  From what I can recall, he was the cutest, funniest boy in class and he just so happened to be interested in ME.  I remember being at his house for a play date and then returning the favor at my house.  Everything was fun and games while we were jumping on my brother's bed, until I had to flaunt my leaping prowess and come crashing down, not timing the landing correctly as little kids do.  The tears flowed, my embarrassment was at an all-time high, and he was not my boyfriend shortly after that.  I was so smooth.  Through the years, it turns out that he wasn't the cutest or the funniest, but neither was I.  We both became something in the middle and became good people, which is a very high compliment in my book.  We remained cordial friends and say hello when we see each other.  I hear he's married now with a family and I'm happy for him.  Besides, I don't know how any kindergarten relationship could survive after the traumatic lesson I displayed in the physical dangers of jumping on the bed, especially the ego-bruising kind.

My next "real" boyfriend was a much older "man" due to the fact that he was two years older than me.  I remember having those long and important phone calls that were so important I can't remember a single thing we discussed, aside from one defining moment when he asked my age.  I had to think fast for a second since I had just turned fifteen a few days before.  My brief panic turned into relief and I casually replied "Fifteen".... as if I was on the verge of turning the blissful sixteen and the fact that I was still fifteen was beyond boring.  He then asked me to "go out" with him and I said yes.  My answer was the same when he asked me to the Christmas dance.  Wow!  He was so grown up that he even had facial hair when most of the freshman boys in my grade did not.  Needless to say, my dad did not like the idea of the two of us together.  I was baffled as to why he wouldn't want me with such a distinguished, older man who was almost a senior and oh-so-cool.  My whiny defense of "but Daddy he dated his last girlfriend for two whole years!" did not help matters and again I was perplexed.  Obviously this meant my new boyfriend was interested in a committed long-term relationship, right?  Um, wrong.  He never even kissed me.  After the dance we were sitting in his truck outside my house, listening to music while I waited for the kiss that would never come... instead I was astonished to hear the break-up speech.  Somewhere in the hazy mumbo-jumbo of words I heard "Your brother said he'd kill me if I touched you".  The relationship spanned two entire weeks and to this day I don't think I've even asked my brother if he did indeed threaten him or if that was simply his excuse to find a more mature woman of sixteen or seventeen.  I'm pretty sure that one turned out for the best and I'm guessing that my dad was secretly pleased.

All of that extensive and valuable dating preparation led me to my actual first boyfriend who was around for longer than two weeks and who didn't leave after seeing me cry for the first time.  We were both sixteen when we met.  If I ever thought another boy was cute up until that point, it all changed when I saw Demetrius.  He had chiseled features, perfectly shaped kissable lips and a straight, proportional nose.  His eyes, oh my goodness, those eyes...well, everyone who met him would tell me how he had the most amazing blue eyes they'd ever seen, as if I didn't stare at them every chance I could.  His hair was brown and it varied over four years from very short to almost chin-length, while his face looked great with either style.  Some even compared him to a young Mario Lemieux, but at the time I thought he was way cuter.  One of my jealous friends said that he was too good-looking for me and instead of getting angry I merely agreed with her factual assessment.  I didn't see a point in arguing when someone's right, although now I have a healthier self-image where I would at least stick up for myself more... not to mention I now think Lemieux's got it over Demetrius, but I'm digressing.  Besides, it really is what's on the inside that counts...and he had that too while I knew him. 

Our relationship was a typical high school sweetheart love and we were happy for the first few years, even surviving the first two years of separate colleges, apart in distance but still together.  The more I learned about him the more I loved him and it worked in reverse too.  Isn't that odd how that happens?  When it does happen, it's fun and exciting and addicting.  I loved basketball and he loved soccer; we'd cheer each other on from our rival high schools.  Demetrius was more than just a pretty face and we'd spend hours discussing our thoughts on life...not unlike most other couples although we thought we were unique.  I remember the tears in his eyes when he saw me for the first time after I had emergency surgery; I remember him playfully teasing me about drooling all over his arm when I fell asleep during a movie in my freshman dorm and he didn't have the heart to wake me up; I remember the way we'd laugh and laugh about all kinds of silliness, delighting in each other's company. 

Our last year together is when the inevitable slide started - neither wanting to admit that our lives were getting crowded with other people and new things to experience - wanting to move on to become the people we were meant to be and yet wanting to hold on to each other in the process.  Lots of bitter fights and tears ensued and we broke up on September 11th, 2002.  I thought that my break-up was tough but I knew it was nothing in comparison to what the victims' families were going through and would endure for years....that was certainly much bigger than me and my boy problems.  Demetrius and I tried to stay friends for a couple years which (not surprisingly) failed.  He was a good first boyfriend.  I don't regret my time with him and I would hope that we are both better people for our time spent together.

Jeremy was my second serious boyfriend.  He was the anti-Demetrius in some ways... his hair the color of wheat, his body built more for football which caused me to feel secure in his embrace...his eyes were a wonderful blue and he was also handsome.  Now Jeremy would tell you that his eyes are green, and those pesky arguments over nothing are one of things that we did best.  Oddly enough, I find crooked teeth attractive and his top teeth had just the right amount of imperfection.  Jeremy could be a gentleman at times and he was funny and very sweet.  It puzzled me how he managed to be both innocent and cynical at the same time.  He had strong beliefs and valued family, with that last quality beginning to carry more weight as time changes us from college-aged to late twenties.  Like Demetrius, we'd laugh together and have fun doing mundane things with each other such as going to the grocery store.  However, he kept wanting more than I was able to give.  It became exhausting for me as I tried to be everything in the world to one person and to convince him that I loved him.  The constant barrage of questions where I had to account for my time really tested my patience.  I had to carefully parse my words for fear of upsetting him, which is something I don't envision myself doing for the next fifty years or so (God-willing).  In the end it was Jeremy's lack of self-confidence that destroyed the relationship, although I would bet all of my money that he would whole-heartedly disagree.

My last boyfriend was Carlo.  He had me completely fooled from day one.  It was as if he knew exactly what I was thinking and what I wanted in a partner, so he said and did everything he could to prove to me that he had it all.  His skin was the perfect shade of tan - courtesy of the Mexican sun - and his hair was the color of the Steelers' home jerseys (minus the gold).  Carlo's hair was starting to thin and his hairline receding, but it made no difference to me.  He had very skinny long legs that I found adorable and dark eyes, full lips.  He was a brooding and serious kind of handsome, whereas Jeremy was a happy and bright-eyed kind of handsome.  Carlo lured me in with his promises and with some of the best food I have ever tasted...cooking multiple course meals for me on a regular basis with each inexplicably being better than the last.  Along with his other fine qualities, Carlo was also a proficient liar.  Stupid men, silly me.  We wanted different things out of the relationship, which he eventually admitted once he realized the gig was up.  Thankfully I found out sooner rather than later.  I left that relationship a little bit wiser and very proud of myself for standing up for what I want in my life.  Most importantly though, I left that relationship knowing how to make an authentic guacamole so delicious you would swear you're in Estados Unidos Mexicanos.

I have briefly dated several other people aside from the serious five (okay, serious three) above.  Searching my memory, I think it's a conservative estimate that I've ruled out at least fifteen other men by way of at least one date each, if not two or three to be on the safe side before throwing in the Terrible Towel.  The process of elimination is a powerful tool; albeit one that can be slower than molasses.  Unfortunately this man-vetting process is taking a toll on my mom and my close friends.  My friends are polite so they listen and ask questions on the latest prospect with interest (mostly genuine, sometimes feigned).  "Name?  Age?  Employed?  Religion?  Manners?  Height?  Does he like Pittsburgh sports too?  Oh he does?!  Good!  ...Wait, I'm sorry, which guy are you referring to again?  Refresh my memory."  

After reading through my own dating hisstory, I've realized that I need to take some of the positive qualities from each person and that would make for a fun next boyfriend.  His strong points would read as follows:

-Jumps on the bed just for fun

-Exudes oh-so-cool vibes yet is still afraid of my brother

-Earns approval of my dad

-Cares not about my drool on his arm

-Laughs with me

-Wants a family someday

-Makes me yummy food

I can certainly think of a hundred other things to add to the list, but ninety-five percent would be mostly silly things like some of the ones here....and I think the list above is pretty comprehensive for now, until a new boyfriend comes along to add his own qualities.  Besides, he must have the serious qualities first in order for me to get to know him enough to figure out the silly ones.  And if nothing else, he's got to have a very good answer to this crucial question that I may pose to him someday... "Does this pierogi outfit make me look fat?"