More Than Just a Game

It is a familiar place to me. Returning to that out dated gymnasium season after season. I open the door, step onto the hair-line cracked concrete floor, I look up at the twenty foot ceilings lined with rotten insulation. I acknowledge the coach with a nod, while lacing up my gleaming new basketball shoes on the cold, hard, aluminum bleachers. The smell of sweat hangs in the air, the soft crisp feel of new leather invites my anxiously awaiting fingertips. I am ready to play.

Now you're probably thinking, I'm the star varsity basketball player for my high school. Wrong. I tried that out. It wasn't for me. Perhaps because I was to brilliant and made the other players develop a complex. Perhaps it was because of my of my aggressive attitude and happy go lucky personality, or because coaches considered me a cancer to the team. Or perhaps it is because I truly love basketball. It isn't just an escape from my everyday problems. You see I am a St. Martin/St.Paul Muskie.

Being the star basketball player of my high school just doesn't

fit my profile. Basketball to me is much more than that. It's the camaraderie that develops between teammates. It's the eye contact made when you thread the needle to an open teammate, resulting in a score. I love that intense feeling of connecting with out speaking with that one person, despite the other eight players that are on the court. Or the enormous roar from the crowd when you knock down a jumper to tie the game up with a minute left in the 4th quarter. Yeah. I love all of this.

Now you might be thinking we're just a bunch of scrubs who just show up and play. Wrong. It is much more than that. We practice every day. Its difficult to imagine that such an eclectic cast of characters can gel into a well-oiled machine. From the tall, skinny, shy teammate who provides a calm sense of leadership. Or to the teamate who cracks jokes and makes everyone laugh. Still the desire to win thrives in all of my teammates. Practicing night after night. The seemingly endless amount of lay-ups. The heart pounding five on five scrimmages. Diving for loose balls on the hard, unforgiving concrete floor. Running sprint after sprint, taking just enough of a break to catch your breath, and wipe the stinging sweat from