My Left Turn

Coach Jay and I had some differences. It stemmed from when he took over the team, and tried to have me removed. I wasn't NBA material, but I was adequate for a senior. Before the season, the assistant coach from Kingsview Junior College reminded me I had a spot waiting for me down there. I was waiting to see if I could qualify for an academic scholarship at State before committing.

Still, it was nice to know that someone wanted me to play well, which seemed to be more than what Coach Jay wanted. When he benched me, the team questioned his decision. As a result, Coach Jay labeled me a "Drain On Morale," and began the process of removing me from the team altogether. A last-minute pardon from the A.D. stopped him, but by then, there was talk I’d never get another minute of time in a game again.

Coach Jay must have been feeling generous when he subbed me in late in the game against Rushcome. I removed my warm-ups and walked to the scorer's table, and then saw Martin Mathews hobbling to the table to check in.

Martin was the best player in the state, bar none. A varsity starter since grade 7, he had secured his status in state history as one of the all-time greats. Entering the season, his first basket would break the state scoring record. It was supposed to be his season to shine before moving on to UCLA, the pros, and a good life.

Then, the unthinkable happened. He blew his knee out one day before the season opener. It would take at least a year to rehab it. His season was shot.

In spite of the bad break, Rushcome put together a perfect season. All that stood between them and 21-0 was us. Coach Jay inspired us to a 3-17 record. Rushcome saw the game against us as a tune-up for the State Tournament. We just wanted the season to end. As such, we accepted our role as squash for Rushcome, hoping for something quick and painless.

I'd heard rumors that Martin was going to dress, in hopes of breaking the scoring record. He had been rehabbing the knee to where he could walk on it without crutches for several steps. I had hoped he would have let go of a senseless goal and focused on the integrity of the 21-0 season. I mean, it wasn't as though he would hold the record for long. Stacey Meyers was within 30 points of the record, and he was only a junior. Barring the unthinkable, Meyers was next in line to claim the crown as Scoring King.

So, when the buzzer sounded and the officials waved us onto the floor, Coach Jay called me over. "He's in just to score a basket," I was told, as if his pronounced limp and over-sized knee brace was a front and he was setting me up. "Let him have his moment." He then patted me on the back and sent me out into battle.

I started to think about my senior season, and how it did me wrong. The summer camps that led me away from camping expeditions with my friends, the midnight league that made it impossible to play softball for my church, the lost opportunities to go to parties, the talks I gave to younger kids in the feeder program, and it came down to one basic command: Get out of Martin Mathew’s way.

I turned to the baseline. The four major news outlets in town had cameras there to capture history. Behind them were reporters from every major newspaper in the tri-state area. I looked up to our stands. The fans we hadn't chased off by our efforts seemed embarrassed for us. I looked across the gym. The Rushcome fans were all standing in anticipation for this historic moment.

I checked the game clock. 8 seconds left. We were down by 34 points, and the only thing left to do was embrace history in the making.

All the thoughts of sacrifice and lost glory began to build up, like an upset stomach. When Martin took the ball and gimped his way to the basket, rage overtook me. I was all that stood between him and history, and the plan called for me to guard him until he picked up his dribble, then move aside so cameras, reporters, and fans that came to see Martin set a new record could do so without me obstructing the view.

I began to see red. I had to do something. It couldn’t end like this.

He got to the free-throw line and picked up his dribble. I ignored my cue and stood my ground, until he took his second step and prepared to shoot. His eyes became as big as dinner plates when it became obvious to him that his moment was being challenged. He reached high in the air to shoot, but because he wasn't expecting pressure from me defensively, his second step was off his bad knee.

I reached up for the ball with my right hand and blocked it. Well, "swatted" is more appropriate. It went sailing, right into Coach Jay's hands, just as the final buzzer sounded.

Martin fell to the floor in a heap. The echo of the final buzzer hung in the gym like a stale smell of dirty sweat socks. The referees were too shocked by my actions to at least call a foul and send Martin to the line (For what it mattered, it was a clean block.). Coach Jay dropped the ball to the floor, looking more scared than angered by my actions.

I felt someone grab my arm. It was Tim, my teammate. "Come on!" he cried as he pulled me to the exit. Soon, my teammates were all surrounding me. I also saw Officer Van Nuyes in the mix as well. Before I left the gym, I turned to see what was following me. There had to be 100 people chasing me, most of them dressed in the yellow and black school colors of Rushcome. I turned back towards the door and raced into the locker room.

Coach Jay had to answer for my actions. Rushcome's coach was ready to strangle him, thinking it was all his idea. Reporters were frantic trying to get to the bottom of this story. Coach Jay must have been upstairs for a good 40 minutes. Fans tried to get into the locker room, but Officer Van Nuyes blocked the entry. The State Patrol had to come in and restore order. Three fans were arrested during the free-for-all. As a team, we stood in the far corner of the locker room, unsure as to who was coming through that door or what the intentions were.

Our post-game rituals depended on the results. When we won, we were like kids on Christmas Morning, ready to tear up the town in celebration. When we lost, we were reduced to simple plans at someone’s house. That night, the locker room was filled with quiet whispers and shock. No one knew quite what to make of the events that unfolded just moments ago.

Coach Jay finally came downstairs, 40 minutes later. His first order of business was to search me out and direct me to the office. He then looked at the rest of the team and said, "Hang tight here for another hour or so. The authorities are clearing the school. Go straight home, and be sure to report any unusual activities to Van Nuyes immediately."

We entered his office, me first. I figured he'd open up with a flurry of obscenities at me, and for some reason, it didn't matter. What I did may not have gone over well with Rushcome, but it summed up my basketball career quite nicely. Besides, it cast a negative light on Coach Jay, and I could always take that one with me wherever I went.

He looked up at the ceiling, and then laughed. "I should have known you'd do that," he said. "You've been waiting to cut loose for a long time. Well, so you know, you’re not on the post-season roster, and not because of the season. Rushcome is our first-round opponent in the sections, and it’s at their place. Those animals want to kill you. Turn your gear in before you leave tonight."

He turned and went to the back room. I got up from the chair and went to shower. I passed Tim on my way. He tried to give me his patented "Cheer Up" smile of his, but he looked like he wanted to laugh. I turned back to the rest of my teammates. Those that weren't grinning were smiling in approval, like it was the right thing to do. My career may have ended, but I had the respect of my teammates, and that meant more to me than any success I might have dreamed of going into the season.

Rushcome blew us out by 50 in the first round, then lost to Madison in perhaps the biggest upset in state history. Marty did not dress for either game, opting to sit on the end of the bench in street clothes.

I didn't ruin Marty's life. He didn't make it to UCLA. He settled for a great run at a Division-II school in Iowa, then went on to play pro ball overseas. Marty took to the high road, never once moaning of how I did him wrong.

Coach Jay was let go after the season ended. His efforts caught the attention of a lot of important people on the school board and the PTA. He tried coaching at another school, but was forced out by a group of parents before tryouts could commence. He was a decent math teacher, and he retired with a full pension last year, but I think he felt he should have been more to the game than he was.

As for me, once the hoopla died down and CNN, ESPN, and Fox Sports stopped showing the clip over and over, I returned to a normal life. Like Marty, I kept to myself, opting not to speak of my actions to anyone. Marty's parents did call and ask for an explaination after Meyers broke the record. I did tell them about the season I had, and to my surprise, they understood. They remembered watching me the year before and wondered why the coach didn't play me more.

I look back on that moment in time with pride. Sure, I was scorned by one and all for my poor display of sportsmanship, but while most people sit and wonder how their lives might have changed if they'd only turned left when they always turned right, I know how my left turn affected me. I still would have gone to college and found my way into middle management, but unlike some, I did so in peace.