Court Wars--this is a very long memoir, so don't begin unless you have time.
I recently made peace with the game of basketball. For the past six years, basketball and I have been at war. Holding a basketball or even thinking about playing the game brought anxiety, fear, doubt, and nausea. Truly, I believed that I would never play the sport ever again.
I am not a career basket-baller. I’ve only played the game during junior high gym, the occasional game of h.o.r.s.e with friends, and a few times at church ball games. Those church ball games were terrible. Our team captain tolerated nothing. Every time I made a bad pass, or missed a shot, she would yell. I’m sure she believed that hollering insults led to better players. That’s probably true for some people, but not for me. When others demand action through insult, my rebellious monster emerges.
So it had been 10 or 11 years since I had played basketball when my boss, a middle school principal, announced that he needed teachers to play in the faculty versus student basketball game. This was during my first year as a teacher. I wanted to impress my boss, so I signed up, aware that my basketball skills were mediocre at best. What was I thinking?
To give another teacher a rest, I was substituted in about halfway through the game. I don’t remember exactly what I did on the court, but I do recall that someone actually passed the ball to me. I dribbled and then tossed the ball along to someone else. The rest of my play time was devoted to running up and down the court during possession changes, trying to avoid eye contact with whoever had the ball so they wouldn’t pass it to me. I thought I blended nicely with the other players, but maybe I didn’t. One of my students approached me afterwards and stated, in that dry, junior high way, “You looked weird when you were playing basketball.”
Nobody should care what a junior high student thinks of him or her, but it really crushed my fragile ego. The feelings of utter failure and embarrassment eclipsed any sense of worth I had about playing basketball. I deeply regretted putting myself out there like I did. I vowed to never play the game again.
I honored that vow until spring of 2011. I got a fresh start at a new school and another invitation to play in the faculty verses student basketball game. I did not volunteer to play, but somehow, the vice principal of the school tracked me down and demanded, “You are going to play in the student versus teacher basketball game.”
“I’m terrible at basketball.” I explained, feeling that old, familiar despair creep in again.
The vice principal didn’t take no for an answer. In fact, she put my name on the roster without my permission. I never told her I would play, but I guess she took my silence as agreement. Of course I was enough of an adult to know that I could make the final decision about whether or not I played, but one of my students made me change my mind. Mallory was an outstanding student. She loved to play basketball and so finely sharpened her skills that she made the high school varsity team. That meant she would be playing on the faculty’s team during the game. All varsity players played on the faculty side. Mallory asked me if I was going to play and I answered through gritted teeth that I that wasn’t sure. She argued that I should play. I admitted that I am quite a terrible basketball player and she persuaded me with, “That’s okay. Just get open and stand near the basket and I will get you the ball. Then just shoot it.”
Now, how could I resist that? I realized it was time to break the “no basketball” vow. All I needed was the assurance from an expert that I would survive the experience.
In those ominous days before the game, my defense mechanisms kicked in. I told all of my students how horrible I was at basketball. Every chance I had, I ridiculed myself so everyone at work would be prepared for me to flop around on the court. I was hoping that they wouldn’t make fun of me or tell me that I look “weird” because I said those things first.
On game day, I had excuses: sore throat, too tired, bad lunch, etc. But I knew that I had to go out there and play. And so I did.
I did not play in the first quarter, but Mallory did. She dribbled, shot, pivoted, blocked, and competed with skill. I watched her play and visualized myself playing with the same amount of skill. It was like we switched roles. Mallory was showing me how to play basketball, just as I modeled language arts skills for her all year.
I started in the second quarter. Most of my four minutes of playtime, I jogged up and down the court. I was able to keep up with the other players—victory number one. Someone actually passed the ball to me—what a vote of confidence! I was close enough to the basket that I could shoot, but I was pretty confident the ball and the net would not meet. I was right, and even more, the ball didn’t even meet the backboard or rim. I raised my hands to my head in exasperation, just so the audience realized that I knew that it was a bad shot. It’s one thing to suck, but it’s another thing to suck and not know it. I wanted to make sure that everyone knew that I knew that I sucked.
On our next possession, I had the ball again, but not so near to the basket. I knew that I needed to dribble. No problem. But then I was forced to pass the ball to a teammate. Problem. Before I could pass, a defender gripped the ball and we grappled. However, I refused to relinquish possession of the ball. We both clung to the ball until the referee ruled, “Jump ball.” I felt like a bona fide competitor.
My four minutes of basketball glory ended, and I rode the bench the rest of the game. It was for the best. The students were in the lead and the teachers needed the good players on the court. Mallory played most of the rest of the game and then returned to the bench.
I said to Mallory, “Nice job. You played well.”
Her face showed disgust and she explained, “No, I was terrible. I only made three baskets and I missed like, four shots.”
I was shocked to hear her put herself down. Compared to my performance, Mallory was brilliant.
Unfortunately, the 3:00 bell pealed and the game was over before the fourth quarter ended. The students edged out the teachers by two points.
I’ve heard many sports fans say that life lessons can be found in athletic competition. And while I know that is a cliché, I guess that it’s also undeniable. I had a few important insights. First of all, it’s okay to participate in an activity, even if you don’t excel at it. The important thing is to at least get in the game and try. My basketball skills were inadequate, but my teammates picked up the slack.
It’s also refreshing to watch my students shine in sports and activities other than language arts. And I could tell that some of them are very hungry for success. Mallory put herself down for only making a few baskets. She expressed her disgust for what she considered to be her poor performance. I guess that is one of the traits of a successful person—one who is never satisfied with his or her performance and is always reaching for better. Every human needs something that they can work towards perfection, like a sport or a craft or a hobby. We become our best selves when we have the opportunity to improve and hone our skills. That need to always reach upwards is crucial to life. I would join a game of basketball in the future if someone asked me. However, I will be spending most of my time reaching upwards off the court.
