Confessions of a Former Hooper
As I’ve mentioned before, I used to
sit on the bench, chew on ice for 1.5 hrs, clean off my gymshoes, rock a cute uniform be a hooper. I played basketball in elementary school, and was on my high school team for 2 years until I quit from inactivity. I mean, all my potential talent *side-eye* was being wasted while I made an ass groove on the bench. And my Coach (RIP Mr. Penny) barely knew my name and just called me “Crazy Girl” because he thought I was funny. Hmph. (-__-)
But I digress. I won’t even talk about how when I did enter a game, I always scored. My solid 2.3 ppg average was from 1.8 minutes of playing. Beat THAT! But no, I ain’t bitter. O_O
There were MANY lowlights, including:
- The many finger jams I got. No one should jam their fingers this often and play so little. Like the time I jammed two fingers on my left hand and it was wintertime. I couldn’t bend my fingers so gloves were impossible. Twas terrible.
- The time I stole the ball from an opponent (YAYYY me!!!), drove down to the other side to our basket, was going up for a layup when the world’s most painful charley horse got my calf. I crumpled to the floor while the ball flew over my head into the land of airball. WOMP!
- The time I lost my Jumpman shoes. Chewing ice during that game wasn’t so fun when my kicks weren’t dope. 🙁
The few highlights of my ill-fated and short career were:
- The Christmas tourney we played where we lost horribly, but anytime I went in the game (yes, all 2 times), I hit 3-pointers.
- When somehow, I found myself under the basket, guarding someone who was 5’9 (I’m 5’4). Well, since I was guarding her, she figured she didn’t need to jump. Her not jumping while I did led to me blocking her shot. It. Was. AWESOME!
- The fact that as little as I played, my picture always ended up in the yearbook for an action shot. Guess I had mastered the art of posing while shooting. Shoot, I had to be a master at SOMETHING.
- While on the Freshie team (we were nicknamed the Baby Dolphins), I was a starter (*sigh* the good times). There was a game when we almost beat Marshall’s Girls’ team. Almost doesn’t count my ass! In this case, not getting blown out by them was an accomplishment. We only lost by like 5 points.
Then there was that one time when:
I was on the bench with my fellow riders having an in-depth conversation about
physics, how bad we were losing, why ice was so delicious, how cold it was in that gym, though everyone else was h otthe game, the coach called me up to play. I, of course, didn’t hear him. When word finally traveled to the end of the bench that he HAD called me, I ran up, forgetting that my warm up jersey was still over my actual jersey. Well this was brought to my attention as I ran up and I took it off really quickly. While taking it off, I ended up elbowing my coach in the chin. WOMP. *shakes head* F my life.
I wasn’t a saint though (like Dorothy Mantooth). We used to have to sprint 36 lengths of the court before practice. I’d come in 10 minutes late on purpose and join in on sprint #25 like I was there the whole time. Or during conditioning season, we had to run from my school, to the Sears Tower. I’d pretty much jog the way there and then power walk back.
Other times, I never even made it to Sears Tower. Just halfway and would see people coming back and head back. I may even stop and get a sammich. I was turrble. This work ethic (or lack thereof) probably had a lot to do with my bench-riding (that and the fact that there were people who were better players than me and actually put forth effort. But semantics).
It was a self-fulfilling prophecy though. When I first joined the team, I bust my behind and got few props for it. So I reduced my effort by 50% and got the SAME results so… yeah. Statistics told me I was right. *nods*
Off the organized court, I LOVED playing basketball. When the season ended, me and my friends (and fellow bench riders) would go to the park behind the school and hoop there. We loved basketball so much that we played in the rain, in like 50 degree weather. Trying to bend your wrist to get your form right is hard when your fingers are frozen and you can’t see the basket. We did it though.
All my passion left my body when I stepped into team practice though. Maybe I coulda been somebody had I actually, you know, tried. And by somebody, I mean… yeah, naw. I coulda tried but a career in basketball was not in my future. 1. I wasn’t THAT good. b. My skills were average at best. III. I wasn’t that good.
There was the time in college that I formed an intramural co-ed basketball team. We called ourselves the Black Panthers. We lost in the 2nd round of the playoffs because the boys were being ball hogs. hmph. Yeah Kris, I’m looking at you! lol That was over 4 years ago, and it was the last time I’ve touched a basketball.
I miss basketball though (a lot). Like I wish someone could push me on a court today and say “hoop”. I still own a pair of Nike basketball shoes that are FRESH and have only been worn twice. In case of hooping emergency, I’ll break them out the box.
Could I still walk the length of the court dribbling the ball between my legs? Probably not.
Could I still hit a 3 from the top of the key? If it touches the rim, I’d consider it a victory.
Could I run the length of the court? Without wheezing? Doubtful. But I do miss it.
These are my confessions.*Cue Usher*