I was never a great basketball player. Hockey was always my forte, some would say. I think I just rhymed. Nice.
As a young lad, I could skate, puck-handle, deek, cut, crossover, spray, pick a pocket and go to the five hole, but adequate dribbling was, ah, always somewhat of a defined challenge. I guess some of us hockey guys become spazes without wheels or blades. For whatever reason we find it easier to control a hamburger-sized biscuit with a five-foot stick, rather than manage an overweight balloon. But that's who we are, and that's what we do.
To this day, I cringe and squeal at the sight of a televised professional basketball game. I just, can't, do, it. I've tried to develop a tolerance, unsuccessfully. My buddies are big college and pro fans; I'm more amazed by the crystal-like enhanced digital quality picture popping from my friend's 40-something inch plasma flat screen. I'd rather play 500 Rummy.
But I'm not a total basketball virgin. Actually, I've played the game many times. ... Never for an organized team, but intramurals and pick-up games can teach a lot to a kid who grew up knowing nothing more than Billy Smith, Pierre Turgeon and Pat LaFontaine. Those were my boyz -- my idols.
I clearly remember playing the basketball game H.O.R.S.E. in my backyard as a youngster. I was brutal. While others were nailing sweet swishes from 20 feet out, behind the V-shaped oak tree, I was struggling with my left side banker from underneath. "Clunk" was an all-too familiar sound.
My high school business teacher and varsity basketball coach even tried -- unsuccessfully -- to get me on the hardwood for tryouts in my junior year. That definitely would have been comical. Hence, I decided to spare myself the embarrassment.
It took me awhile to grasp a true understanding of b-ball. Icing, cross-checking and spearing were more ingrained within my inter-cranial world of sports knowledge. But I've come a long way and have somewhat forced myself to learn, from a journalistic level. Picks, double-doubles and triple-doubles are almost way too protocol now a days. I still can't play the game as well as I had hoped, but I've pretty much accepted my basketball skill level ... or lack thereof.
But once a year as the high school basketball season approaches, it comes time for me to put my frustrations with my lack-of-basketball-ability aside. This is a great block of each school year, as the best of the best compete on the pre-collegiate level with the dream of moving into the big circle. The energy that reverberates through gymnasiums is electric -- the type of energy that zaps me to watch, and report on, these great baseline-to-baseline contests.
But don't worry. I leave the skates home.