It's more than a Game
“Noooot Tooooo-day!” were the first words and my first encounter with Emily on the basketball court. She held the ball with a strangling grip and a determination in her eyes that could convince anyone… of what I’m not sure, but the look was there and made me question just what would happen next and furthermore in no way prepared me for what would. I had one hand up and had edged myself one step closer to her when she intensified her look, squeezed the ball closer to her chest, and worked to spin around me…running, not dribbling to the basket along with some type of battle charge/cry. She’s always catching my glimpse, doing the most absurd things (I’d consider) in the most incognito (or so she’d believe) methods. Like as I’m about to shout, “Get back on defense, put your arms up!” My eyes and concentration are focused on those athletes looking at me for reassurance of what I just said while hustling down the court. However, it doesn’t take long for my eyes and subsequent smile, no matter how hard I try to dissuade it, to find Emily along the far side swiftly jogging backwards, almost in a dancing horse rhythm… if you could imagine that without laughing- but that’s my problem too. Rather, I’ve found it’s what lets her enjoy the game and reminds me why it’s been so fun for myself all these years. Other times, when her rotation is up during a scrimmage and the subs are instructed to go in, she’ll ever-so-carefully sneak behind a player as to avoid leaving the court, again believing she’ll never be found and believing somehow we just happened to over count 6 instead of 5 subs … every time. This results in stopping the game, then acting as if I need to find her, when she is clearly visible around the 10 year old, 80 pound boy on the court. We then break into the same conversation where I have to explain she’ll get her chance to shine again in only a matter of minutes. She relentlessly throws her arms down at her side, exhales a slight but rather annoyed sigh and works to drag her feet off the court to wait her turn in just three minutes. What heart.
Restin. I don’t know much about him, though I’ve come to admire his progression amidst great adversity. I’ve never held a conversational dialogue, only a few exchange of words rather with Restin. Though the little we did converse or perhaps instead the exchanges of moments we shared left my heart fuller with understanding and a growing adoration. I took my seat next him on the bench in the middle of Cassell’s court. It was our team’s first tournament and I knew if I was nervous on a college court with beaming lights, this once in a lifetime opportunity for Restin must have had him shaking out of his skin. I leaned in to ask the obvious question, “Are you nervous?” He kept his expression unchanged and concentrated in the same direction- straight across the court. Just when I thought I wasn’t understood, his slight nod began to affirm my thoughts. I promised him the flight of butterflies he was feeling would only last the first 20 seconds and then he wouldn’t even notice a thing. Whether he believed me or not, he shook his head again in the same fashion. Just as we exchanged thoughts, Restin’s number was echoed by the announcer throughout all of Cassell- enough of a grand entrance to make Restin pop out of his seat and leave behind a trail of butterflies... He joined his teammates and played the first 3 minutes. When he returned to find his spot on the bench, I looked at him to ask, “Are you nervous anymore?” His grin answered any questioning I might have had and, for my sake, even calmed any nerves within me before taking the court.
Andrew. The one and only. You just couldn’t make another of him. I don’t think it is possible. There is just no way. At times he can be the most frustrating and wild spirit and in the next minute warming my heart with his child-like innocence. I suppose he doesn’t know the ways in which he makes my Tuesday nights worth looking forward to, but that wouldn’t matter to him anyways… he’d be him no matter what. I admire this. My favorite time with Andrew was during our first tournament at Cassell Coliseum. He just couldn’t keep back his joy and excitement to be there. It got me thinking- why should we ever suppress how excited we truly are? In my opinion, you don’t ever fully live until you express it. We were standing in the hallway, the one before the tunnel that opens up to the court, just waiting for the opening ceremonies to take place. Apparently, each year, an athlete from the Virginia Tech Basketball team joins each tournament team to escort them out onto the court. I was informed of this through the athletes’ beaming smiles and jittery movements, all intertwined with random shouts of, “I CAN’T WAIT” and “THEY’RE COMING!!” This is when Andrew ever so timidly leaned in to ask me, “are these real Virginia Tech athletes?” Forgetful myself of how astonishing this was… I responded with the same amazement, “Yes, can you believe it!?” And then, “Do you want to meet one of them?” He stepped back, unsure of the reality as I called Eric Green over.
“Hey Green!”
“This is Andrew.”
“This is Andrew.”
“Andrew, this is Eric Green.”
Green immediately leaned in to grab Andrew’s hand and slap him on the back… all in a fluid motion, slick and sleek. Andrew, on the other hand, stood there, stiff as a board. Eric proceeded to blurt out a few words somewhere along, “Hey man, how you doin?” “doin alright?” “enjoying the day?” “glad you’re here.” All until he could no longer hold a conversation with himself. I stood staring on the outside, Andrew’s facial expression hadn’t even flinched once. His eyes had taken on the size of golf balls, his body stood in the most erect and statue formed pose, and his jaw had fallen unhinged. He had just met the President.
“All. Day. Long!!” These were the words exclaimed from Buddy as he marched down the court with the basketball, planted his feet at the top of the key, and sunk a bucket. I’ve never seen Buddy run, in fact most of the time when the game renders the obvious need to hustle back on defense, like clockwork, you can always find Buddy on the far side motioning with his hand for everyone to get back… as if to say, “Get back, get back. I’ll be there later.” He always shows up… just later. Buddy keeps everyone in line. No beating around the bush. Whether you’re bouncing a ball while someone is talking or really just doing anything to annoy him, Buddy makes it known. He’s straight forward, quite admirable. I had the pleasure to run into Buddy off the court and in, nowhere else but, the nail salon. Thinking he wouldn’t recognize me off the court, I stuck to my own business. Gratefully and thankfully, I was wrong. Buddy rushed towards my direction with an excitement of Christmas morning and eased his arms around me. He guided me insistently to then meet his mother and cousin. What came next, I could have never expected. Buddy threw his hands into my face and asked, “Aren’t they pretty?!” Buddy had a clear coat of polish; just enough to make them shine… much like him.
Jimmy. 68 and yet plays with the heart of a 12 year old. What an accident waiting to happen- I’ve also never seen someone get hit in the head so many times and still beam a smile even after the surrounding breathless gasps and frightened anticipation. Jimmy never fails, he takes a few moments- I believe to gather what his own reaction will be- and then all that can be heard around the court are sighs of relief… Jimmy is smiling. He couldn’t have been more excited about his team’s first win against the Radford warriors. He told everyone in his sight with a million dollar smile… you wouldn’t have known the difference. I had missed his second game, but when I saw him Tuesday at practice, I was blown away by the black ‘n blue that now covered half of his face! “Jimmy, what could have happened to you?!” Expecting it to have been a story of how he tripped down the steps or slipped on something wet in his house, I was even more astounded when his reply was, “I went over the clock table at the game!” There’s that Jimmy smile. He brightens my day and that’s not by accident.