When I was about six or seven years old, my parents decided that it was time to introduce some testosterone inducing activities to their son. It would seem that the natural next step for a six year old who had memorized the libretto of Les Miserables would be to put him into basketball, and so they did.
         

I remember very little of my time as a basketball all-star. The coach was the dad of a kid on the team, and the favoritism was overwhelming. His son may have had the natural drive to be great at basketball, I clearly did not hold that talent. I made a promise to myself at the first practice to try as hard as I could. I wanted to be masculine and tough. I wanted to not embarrass myself. I wanted to be able to wow a crowd as a basketball prodigy.


        

I spent the practices throwing the ball wildly into the air- sometimes in the direction of the hoop. The coach gave up on me early, but I was blind to that. It usually took 16 or 17 shots at the net, but I never gave up until I made a basket.

After a few rough weeks of practice, it was time for our first game of the season. It was a heated match. The marroon team faces the gold team. The local sports teams for children were sponsored by local buisnesses. I believe our team was associated with the fire department. The opposing team was sponsored by orthodontics. I remember this because I asked one of the guys on my team what orthodontics meant and they looked at me like I was an idiot and said “Braces”. That was one of the only times someone on the team talked to me. I was elated.

         


As the game began, I found myself unable to keep up with the other kids. This wasn’t like practice at all! This was aggressive and competitive. One kid in particular made it his personal mission to block me off from the rest of the game. I would later learn that this was not a personal vendetta, but a standard procedure in the game of basketball. I began to panic- why did everyone seem to know what they were doing? As I felt my anxiety grow into a frustrated crying choke I remembered the promise I had made to myself. Try as hard as you can! And so I did.


     

After half time, I put my all into the game. I pushed past the large kid who was blocking me and ran up to where the ball was being passed back and forth faster than a child in an equal custody divorce. Someone on my team yelled my name. I was shocked that anyone on my team even knew who I was, and as I looked toward the sound I saw an orange planet hurdling at my face. I closed my eyes and went into hug position. The next thing I knew I had caught the ball and everyone was yelling at me to shoot! SHOOT!


       

Now I wasn’t stupid. The net right above my head was the net for the other team- I had seen the gold uniformed players shooting into this basket. I looked at the other basket across the court and began to run towards it. I held the basketball like a pregnant woman holds her stomach and before I knew it I was underneath the other basket! Everyone around me had stopped playing the game, and I assumed time was just moving slowly because of my adrenaline. I shot at the hoop!

      
       
        
       


And I missed. I was growing increasingly confused why no one was going for the ball, so I picked it up and threw it again  The ball made it in the hoop! On the second try! I had made my first basket during a game! I eagerly looked for my parents in the crowd as the coaches called for a time out.


       
      
             


I later found out that during halftime the sides of the courts are switched. I was making a spectacle out of myself by shooting for the wrong team. However, as I prepared for the drive home not knowing any of this, I was convinced that I was a basketball star.


    

I also later learned that when my parents approached the coach to tell him that they were thinking about taking me off of the team he responded by saying “That’s probably a good idea.”

     
Who says that about a six year old?

 There were a few other attempts at sports in my childhood. After basketball I attempted Karate. I stuck with that until I was a yellow belt! I knew I was good because every year I would get a shiny, gold trophy. It was the god-like form of a karate master kicking out to the side. It wasn’t until my last year that I found out that everyone got the same trophy simply for being involved. 

         
 “I’m a winner.”