Well, in the comments section DC was getting all nostalgic about our middle school basketball team, and I thought, you know what? Â Those were some pretty classic times. Â Middle school proved to be the culmination of my basketball career, probably because it was at that point that playing games became a lot less fun than just shooting around. Â We just got our stuff handed to us over and over again. Â I had several years of losing baseball left in my stomach, but I’d had enough of basketball. Â Want to play a quick game of knockout? Â I’m in, but anything organized, I think I’ll catch you later. Â Probably a shame, seeing as I was a pure, pure shooter of the basketball. Â I don’t want to say I was a jump shooter, because I can’t jump, but I was a great “shuffle shooter.” Â Maybe the best. Â RAIN! Â Anyway, some hilarity from youth basketball…
The “Oh My God” Game.
This is the game that DC mentioned in the comments. Â We were playing a team that had far more skill than we did. Â Keep in mind, we didn’t run an offense of any kind. Â Our best play was, dribble across half-court, face the sideline, and pick up your dribble. Â Some teams gave us more trouble than others, though, and that was especially true of teams with any kind of athleticism. Â We faced one squad with a prematurely developed monster named “Ricardo.” Â He was so giant, the sides of his jersey were cut so it fit him. Â Now, Ricardo today is probably still 6′ tall, but at 12 or 13 that’s a large human. Â We were fascinated. Â I was fascinated on the bench. Â The critical moment occurred when our beloved point guard charged in on a fast-break. Â He was all alone. Â He went up for a textbook, to form, lay-up. Â Out of nowhere Ricardo volleyball spiked it off the backboard. Â The ball bounced to half court. Â I stood up on the bench and screamed, “Oh my GOD!” Â The coach gave me a stern look, and I didn’t play the rest of the day.
The You Want to Play, or Do You Want to Win Game?
An all-time coaching classic. Â I want to say our record in 8th grade was somewhere around 4-10. Â This number of games was plenty for us, believe me. Â Now, even on our team which was not skilled in any way, there were certain players that were better than others. Â Everyday at practice the 15 people on the squad were broken down into sides. Â There was the #1s, the #2s and the “speed team.” Â Now, I don’t know what it was about the term “third-string” that made it inappropriate, but I guess being one of the 15 best basketball players in one of the least talented classes of all-time wasn’t reassuring enough for some people. Â The coach came up with the “speed team” notion as a way to comfort the 3rd stringers, telling them among other things, they were defensive specialists. Â We had no specialists. Â So, the last game of the year, we are winning or close at the half, and our coach brings us in for the speech. Â He looks at the “speed team” and says, “You guys want to play, or you want to win?” Â They chose play. Â I think we lost. Â How’s that for motivation from a head coach?
SHOOT IT! And, Other Fiascos.
One of the underrated parts of middle school basketball was that we had to sit through the girls games on the road. Â Now if we were bad, our girls team was…well, they were special. Â I don’t know how often they won or lost, but 8th grade girls basketball can be something else to watch. Â 8-6 finals, things of that nature, aren’t out of the question. Â To add to this intrigue, the girls had one of the oddest coaches of all-time. Â A man immersed in Wooden era fundamentals, and completely ill-equipped to coach our young ladies. Â On one occasion he wouldn’t let them out of a time out, and the referee allowed the other team to inbound the ball for a free lay-up. Â When the girls actually broke free of his iron fist, they were quite impressionable. Â In fact, one girl on the team had less conscience than any shooter I’ve ever seen. Â She also never made anything. Â That didn’t stop some of my teammates from screaming, “SHOOT!” every time she darted across half-court. Â And you know what? Â Most of the time she let it fly. Â Watch your teeth on the rebounds.
Three’s. Â Not 2’s. Â The End.
I will say that 8th grade basketball practice was a good time. Â We did nothing but run 3 on 2 drills and jack up 3-pointers. Â This was not effective for a number of reasons, most notably, we didn’t have a fast-break all year. Â But, all that gunning in practice elevated some of us to the status of 3-point shooters. Â In middle school if you made a “3” it was almost like dunking. Â At least in our sheltered suburban area, no one could even sniff a dunk, so if you drained one from downtown…look out. Â The 3-pointer was like a secret weapon. Â We were only allowed to bring it out during special occasions, or in times of desperation. Â Toward the end of the season we were playing a team with another man-giant, this one far less athletic than the aforementioned Ricardo, but much taller as well. Â I’m trying to think of how tall that could have been when we were 12, but he was well over 6-feet. Â He didn’t move that well, but he was a shot-blocking presence. Â Somehow we managed to stay in the game, and in the 4th quarter, our coach told me and a couple of the other guys to start looking for 3’s.
So, on one of our following possessions, I found myself relatively open at the top of the key. Â I got a pass, looked toward the rim, and saw the giant pituitary mountain coming toward me. Â I threw an up-fake, dribbled around him to the elbow, and made a shot. Â It was and remained the only “move” of entire basketball career. Â Needless to say, I was pretty pleased with myself. Â Who can’t get their own shot? Â What? Â RAY ALLEN! Â Seconds later, the coach grabbed someone off the bench and sent them in for me. Â On my way to my favorite seat he said to me, “I said 3’s. Â Not 2’s.” Â And, as they say, there it is.
Feel free to share your own tales of Middle School Heroism.