Recently sportswriters have told us that a 12-year-old hockey player
was suspended because of his father's actions, that a former NBA player
came out of the stands after a game and went after the officials after
his son's college team had lost, and that a UCLA basketball player left
the team, reportedly because of a conflict between coach and father. Now
we enter the month of emotional high school basketball tournaments, expecting
numerous irate parents to berate coaches.
In contrast I recall a basketball game in January, 1980, as an event
shared by a father and son. The 8th-grade team from Pearl City was visiting
Durand in northern Illinois. It's doubtful anyone was expecting a dramatic
evening, and a kid with skinny arms and long legs was an unlikely hero.
When I proclaim the game to be the most exciting sporting event I've
seen, you must consider that I have a long list of treasured moments when
I rubbed shoulders with the best.
For example, I watched Greg Bell practice on a cinder path, jumping
over the sand pit behind Garfield High in Terre Haute, Indiana. Naturally,
I would like to think that when Greg won the long jump in the 1956 Olympics
at Melbourne, Australia, he remembered the faithful crowd of one boy.
The summer Greg was in Australia, I won my first four heats in the Terre
Haute Soap Box Derby. Just three victories from Akron, I was then paired
against the boy who had beaten me the year before. He won again. I hope
that victory helped give that boy - Tommy John - the competitive confidence
that put him in major league baseball.
That fall, I was a scrawny freshman st Garfield and highly skilled at
holding an air-filled blocking dummy. Few who watched Terry Dischinger
play basketball at Purdue, in the Olympics, and the NBA realize he got
tough by knocking me on my can during football practice.
But these events pale beside the excitement created when Pearl City
played Durand. The outcome was decided early in the second quarter, with
Durand comfortably ahead. That's when the coach put in this skinny kid
named Robby.
Robby was less than imposing on the court, but Durand is a small town
where they don't cut any kids willing to come to practice. Robby got to
play occasionally, and even took a shot one game, but when he entered the
Pearl City game his career stat sheet was dominated by a large zero.
Twice during the second quarter Robby got the ball, and twice he shot.
Neither attempt came close. Robby's father watched quietly two rows up,
behind the Durand bench. He worked out of town, and it was only the second
time he had been able to see Robby's team play.
During halftime the coach announced a unique game plan for the Durand
Bulldogs. He said that everyone but Robby had scored at least one basket
that season - and now it was Robby's turn. The other players were to feed
him the ball during the second half.
Seven times during the second half Robby got the ball. Late in the third
quarter a shot glanced off the rim. Halfway through the fourth quarter,
the ball went in, but rolled around and out. The next time down court Robby
got the ball and could have shot, but his best friend, Troy, was closer
to the basket. Robby passed and Troy hit a lay-up.
Then, with less than 30 seconds left, Robby slipped behind a defender,
took a pass, and put up a shot from eight feet out. It hit the backboard,
then went through the net. Robby's father jumped up and screamed.
Everyone on the bench and in the Durand crowd cheered, but Robby's father
just let forth a violent, victorious scream - a long and long "Yay"
that reverberated throughout the gym as Robby slapped skin with his teammates.
Then Robby's father cried.
On the way home, Robby's father told him that from then on he would
have to earn his shots. Robby was told he would long treasure the time
when his friends loved him enough to do everything they could to give him
his first two points.
At home Robby waited patiently for the usual questions from his mother.
"Did Durand win?"
"Yes."
"Did you get to play?"
"Yes."
And then, after a pause, Robby added, "I made a basket."
"You're kidding," his mother said.
I cried again, and laughed when Robby told his mother how loud my screaming
was.
Certainly, it was louder than anyone yelled for a Greg Bell, Tommy John,
or Terry Dischinger
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