OK, I admit it. My childhood sports achievements were few and far between.
I ran a year of JV cross country. I ran a year of JV track (shin splints became the bane of my existence). I think I won one league title as a YABA bowler at Valley Lanes (my mom still has a few of my various trophies on the mantelpiece at home).
But one of my claims to glory came my senior year at Jesuit High in Portland, when I was the manager of the varsity basketball team (yep, I washed uniforms, picked up basketballs and did the statistics for the team).
For Saturday practices, coach Herm Schattenberg (God rest his soul) would organize free-throw shooting contests which were run like the NCAA tournament. Every player, from varsity to frosh, was in the bracket, and even the coaches and team managers (aka me) were thrown in the mix. You shot one-and-ones until one person made eight free throws. Points were awarded for top-six finishes, and the year-end winner got some sort of prize.
Now, keep in mind, as the manager, I had a lot of free time during practices to hone my free-throw stroke. The players would be learning the intracacies of our zone offense, and I'd be off on a side basket shooting free throws.
And one glorious Saturday, Lady Luck smiled upon yours truly. One by one, I knocked off a couple of JV players, then a couple of varsity players, then one of the star players in the semifinals. Here I am in the finals, going up against the star player, one who signed with the University of Portland on a basketball scholarship, who should have dispatched me with ease.
Yet, somehow, I matched him make for make. Then, inexplicably, he missed. Suddenly, I'm in the lead. Now, your opponent could do anything to try to distract the shooter as long as they stayed outside the free-throw circle, and here I was, two foul shots away from beating the star, and everyone ganged up on me. All the starters are toeing the line, hooting and hollering, while the star decides to moon me just as I'm about to release the ball.
Swish! Swish!
I'd won. Even now, 20 years later, it still brings a smile to my face to think I'd somehow beaten him. And I still get a chuckle remembering Coach Schattenberg's woeful voice, saying, "Hell, our best free-throw shooter is the (bleep)in' manager?!?"
The reason this story popped in my head today is because that star player was Eric Spoelstra, who Monday was named the new head coach of the Miami Heat.
I'm sure Eric doesn't remember that glorious day in sports history. But I'll never forget that for one day, I got the best of a future NBA coach.
Good luck, Eric, with your new gig. Looking at your picture on the Internet, you've hardly changed. I'm real happy for you.
Til next time ...