I played competitive basketball (such as it was...) for just over a month when I was in sixth grade. I've always loved shooting...there's really no better way to spend a morning (one of the greatest moments of my young life was helping my dad install a net above our garage), and I gotta say, I'm pretty accurate from downtown, to this day.
Unfortunately, I possess not even close to the level of coordination required to excel at the sport, and this was evidenced throughout those six weeks back in middle school by the way I plodded down the court, managing to hold onto the ball only because I was the tallest kid on the team (positioned at center, usually...), and keeping myself viable only because I made the shot (usually).
Problem was, in between making that shot, I traveled, and double dribbled, and stumbled and fumbled, turning over way too often. There were physical fundamentals to the game my clutzy self simply could not capture. Any under-the-leg or behind-the-back voodoo on my part (discouraged by the coach but practiced by most of us whenever we thought we might get away with it) invariably resulted in losing the ball, and once, maybe twice, accidentally kicking it out of bounds. And then one night, we were scheduled to play during half time at a high school game, a pretty big deal for 11-year-old boys. I had the misfortune of forgetting my sneakers, and had to play the ten minute exhibition in fucking winter boots, in front of a crowd of what probably amounted to 200, but to me seemed like 20,000. That was some serious plodding, like Frankenstein, big rubber-soled shit kickers scuffing up the hardwood (looking back, I'm surprised I was allowed to play) and putting a hefty strain on my shins. I took heat from my teammates for a long time after.
They called me Bootsky.
It was clear the success I'd had playing Little League baseball would not translate to basketball. Best to keep my hoops strictly recreational, I decided.
I've been following March Madness more closely than usual this year. I'm an Iowa fan, on account of an experience I had nearly 20 years ago, visiting a buddy in Des Moines during a successful Iowa season. He was an alumni, and for the few days I was there, I got swept up in it all - hanging out, watching the game...the wings, the beer, those flash point moments of excitement when games come down to the final seconds...those were nice memories, and for that reason I developed a devotion to the Hawkeyes that's lasted.
I'm also a Wisconsin fan, however...and this is definitely the year to be a Wisconsin fan. Iowa was vanquished early, but Wisconsin is now in the Final Four for the second year in a row. They'll have their hands full with Kentucky, but it could easily happen. They are a seamless team, I think...and they are more than worthy of taking the National Championship, getting to it at least, which would be fantastic, since that hasn't happened in 74 years.
My buddy back in the day said something I've never forgotten. He said he'd rather watch college hoops than the NBA, really any college sport over the pros, because these kids play just for titles and glory, not money and fame, and that fact enhances the experience of watching.
I'd say it also enhances the experience of playing. Most college players will not go on to the NBA or WNBA; their basketball career, which probably started in middle school, or before, will end when their college days do. That's a solid decade, or more, of intense dedication to practice, to the forging of talent into craft - to, literally, eating, drinking and sleeping the sport - that gets abruptly and jarringly terminated by the final buzzer in that final game their senior year.
I imagine that's tough to take: what was once their lifeblood suddenly becomes just another pastime, strictly recreational, for fun...never again to feel any closer to meaningful competition than the intramural league at the local Y. Some individuals might go on to coach (but like the pros, it's safe to say most won't), and many are likely to take an interest in fostering their children's careers one day. And that's great; that's how you keep the spirit alive. But when that final buzzer in that final game comes and goes, and the stands clear out for the last time, I'd bet it starts feeling really quiet, really quick, and the game, in whatever manner they embrace it in the future, never again carries the same urgency.
That means every victory, whether it's just beating a conference rival during regular season, surviving Selection Sunday, or making it to the Sweet 16, Elite 8, Final Four, or the Championship itself, is of the utmost importance.
But also, for the seniors anyway, a little bittersweet.
