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May 26, 2005 As I mentioned in part I, the Spartan teams were in dire need of coaching in the fundamentals of team play. We were teams of solid athletic skill that did not understand the nuances of playing effective basketball. By "effective" I mean competitive. Palyers from nearby schools would come to our games "for laughs." After a "close" game, a 60-42 affair at Miramonte, we got on the bus cutting up as if we had won the state championship. At half-time, our coach said, "I’m proud of you guys. We’re only down 23. If we execute, we can actually lose by less than twenty." Coach Bauman had done all he could, and after the game, again did the right thing by driving off in the opposite direction. We felt for him, after all, if what we were doing was going on his resume, he’d never again get another coaching job. We new he had great intestinal fortitude, for he somehow managed to stay sane and never felt the need to walk around campus with a bag over his head. All I could do was hope that his car window was rolled down, because it would take a lot of wind to blow away the stench of our season. We finished 1-17, our lone win coming at the expense of the Alhambra Bulldogs. It was a game we led by seventeen points with five minutes to play, and held on to win by four. Later a friend of Coach Bauman's told us he came to his house drunk and danced on his furniture. Of course, being the Spartans, we ended the season with five double-digit losses. But the lone win was sweet. And speaking of sweet, during that lone win, everyone on the team was lit. We sobered up in the fourth quarter and managed to keep from blowing t he lead. I remember that on one drive to the hoop, I banked a runner in off the glass and was fouled. When I went to the free-throw line, the referee handed me the ball, looked up bewildered and asked, "Son, have you been drinking?" I replied, "Yeah, with your momma. By the way, our cheerleaders are lit, too." I was called for a technical foul, and what's more, the freethrows I shot sailed over the backboard. Now don’t get me wrong, we had some good athletes. On the streets, we had serious ballers who had reputation around town. We just had no understanding of how the game should be played. Everyone wanted to be a shooter, but no one knew how, nor wanted to try and learn the fine art of screening out and rebounding. No one had ever taught us what a "pick and roll" was. No one filled the lane on the fastbreak. They were eager to wait for the wild carom so they could "pad their stats" with a put back. Looking back, it’s funny. Enduring it was another story. It was almost tragic, that no one had ever thought to take a group of good kids and teach them the fundamentals of team sports: Sharing, role fulfillment and commitment to winning as a team rather than seeking individual glory at your teammates’ expense. And like I said, this is a TRUE story. ------------ About the author: Timothy Stelly is the 45-year old author of "Tempest In The Stone" and the upcoming, "The Malice of Cain". He resides in Pittsburg, California with his three youngest children Dante, Kimberly and Lawrence. I have a new website: stellbread0.tripod.com Email: stellbread@sbcglobal.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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