We’re into March Madness, and as an old man looking back over my life I’ve been thinking, part of it was about basketball, the road not meant to be. I was born in Indiana, when Bobby Knight was a god, and basketball the sport of kings. When I came out of the shoot as a boy, my parents placed a basketball in my crib. I was destined to either end up in the NBA or have an inordinate fear of spherical objects. Let’s just say I never got to guard Larry Byrd or Michael Jordan. Basketball turned out to be a double-edged sword for me, a blessing, and a curse. Allow me to explain. Basketball, The Road Not Meant to Be
I grew up in a small farm town in Indiana. As a child, I lived within two blocks of the community outdoor basketball court. My family was far from wealthy, and my parents headed for divorce, so I spent most of my time at said basketball court to avoid all the fighting at home. Basketball became a kind of surrogate family for me, and it was something I excelled at. That’s the good side of the two-edged sword. I spent about a bazillion hours playing basketball back then, and God blessed me with excellent hand-to-eye coordination. I could shoot the lights out from anywhere on the court, and playing the game brought me joy. Basketball, The Road Not Meant to Be
I played on elementary and junior high basketball teams and barely made the junior varsity because I was a scrawny kid, no meat on my bones. Then, between my freshman and sophomore year of high school something bizarre happened; I grew from five-foot-eight to six-foot-five in one summer. It was awkward at first, what with wobbly knees and all. I often had to walk up the stairs on all fours to keep from falling. And I kept hitting my head on the frame of my six-foot bedroom door (when I told my wife this much later in life, she might have said, “That explains a lot.”). So as a junior in high school, I could shoot the lights out and at 6’5″ had an inside game. Basketball, The Road Not Meant to Be
By my senior year in high school, I had grown to 6’7” and was a scoring machine. At the end of my senior year, I scored 26 points in both semi-final and final games of our local high school tournament, and was immediately recruited by the coach of a local NAIA college. He told me that I would be the team’s starting center, and to my young and demented mind it was ‘NBA, here I come’. Then I arrived at college for my freshman year, attended the first team meeting, and all of a sudden it became ‘NBA, there it went.’ Basketball, The Road Not Meant to Be
At that first team meeting I discovered that the coach had been trying to recruit the number one player from Ohio as his center, but it had fallen through. I had been his second choice for center. Well, apparently Mr. Ohio basketball changed his mind, because he was at the team meeting, all 6’8″, 270 pounds of him. Basketball, The Road Not Meant to Be
I could shoot the lights out, but I couldn’t compete with someone who just stood under the basket, knocked everyone else around him on their asses, rebounded the ball, and put it back up from point blank range. I was relegated to the junior varsity. My sophomore year, I had leg surgery half-way through the season. This mercifully put an end to my demented thoughts of making it to the NBA. Instead, I transferred schools, joined the Peace Corps, where I met my wife and have had an incredibly blessed life and a successful career in the pharmaceutical industry. Basketball, The Road Not Meant to Be
Remembering that giant that took my place as center reminds me of how the game of basketball has changed over the years. For example, back then Larry Byrd and Michael Jordan ruled the NBA. The rules were very different, and the referees let the players actually play basketball. I remember the Jordan Rules, which basically said if Jordan gets anywhere the basket, knock him on his butt. Then there were the epic battles between Larry Byrd and Bill Laimbeer of the Detroit Pistons. Back then basketball was a contact sport. Basketball, The Road Not Meant to Be
Today, when a player drives to the basket, if someone sneezes on him the referees spend half-an-hour looking at the monitor to decide if it was a flagrant 1 or 2 foul. In my opinion, professional basketball has devolved into two minutes of basketball for every hour of commercials and/or watching the referees view the monitors. Where’s the fun in that? It’s more fun watching pickleball. Those old folks knock the heck out of each other at the net. Basketball, The Road Not Meant to Be
But I digress (I am old and have difficulty focusing, oh look, a puppy). I guess I hadn’t entirely gotten over my basketball woes when I became a father. When our first daughter showed up, I put a basketball in her crib. My wife, who is from New Jersey, immediately removed it and replaced it with a stuffed animal. I think it was the Little Mermaid. Basketball, The Road Not Meant to Be
I put a basketball goal up over the garage and taught my oldest daughter how to play hoops. I coached her rec basketball team for a while. I’ll never forget the first game. I had the flu, felt terrible, and we lost by a lot. When I went to the bench to pick up my clipboard after the game. I heard a commotion, and heard someone say, “Coach, your daughter is in a fight.” Apparently while the teams were shaking hands after the game, one of the girls from the other team punched my daughter, and they were rolling around on the floor beating the crap out of each other. When I look back, that’s the point where I should have gotten the message, but I’m apparently not a very good listener. Basketball, The Road Not Meant to Be
That daughter was a rebounding animal, and great under the basket. She made it until her freshman year in high school, at which time she told me she was a swimmer and joined the swim team. I blame it on that stuffed mermaid. She now has a great job at the University of Kentucky, and we’re proud of her. But God help me if Kentucky wins the tournament this year. I’ll never hear the end of it. My wife and I live in Florida. Basketball, The Road Not Meant to Be
Then my middle daughter arrived, and again, I placed a basketball in her crib. My wife immediately replaced it with a stuffed animal, a stuffed bunny. I taught this daughter how to play hoops, she was a good shooter, and she made it onto the high school varsity girls’ team. She also played on the soccer team. Her junior year she came to me and told me, “Dad, I’m a soccer player.” To this day I don’t understand how the hell a stuffed rabbit translates into soccer, but I still blame my wife. Basketball, The Road Not Meant to Be
Which brings me to my third and youngest daughter. When she arrived, I placed a basketball in her crib. My wife replaced it with one of those cloth books that plays music. I taught her how to play hoops, and she had inherited my excellent hand-to-eye coordination. She could shoot the lights out. She made the high school varsity, and as a sophomore scored 14 points in the first half of her team’s conference championship game. I was in seventh heaven. Basketball, The Road Not Meant to Be
Then at the end of that school year she came to me and said, “Dad, basketball is your thing. I don’t want to play anymore. I want to spend my time studying and getting good grades.” For three nights straight I stayed up trying to come up with an argument for that one, but all I got was tired. I blame it on that cloth book. Turns out she got good grades, went on to get an MBA, and is quite successful working in marketing in NYC. I guess the good grade thing worked. We’re proud of her. Basketball, The Road Not Meant to Be
I’m not sure of the moral of this story. I guess it could be “man plans, and God laughs.” Or ‘what kind of demented person tries to relive his childhood dream through his children?’ Or perhaps, be careful what you leave in the crib. My wife just shakes her head, smiles, and says “Everything will be okay.” I’ve been hearing that for over fifty years, and so far, she’s always been right. Basketball, The Road Not Meant to Be
I guess basketball will always be a part of me, for better or worse. My college coach went on to coach for the Los Angeles Lakers, so he made it to the NBA. I still watch the games during March Madness. And I even included a girls’ basketball team in my new comedy murder mystery, HOLY CRAP, coming end of April. There’s something about being born in Indiana; must be something in the water, or maybe it’s all that fried bacon. At least I don’t have an insane fear of spherical objects. Basketball, The Road Not Meant to Be
To find out more about my brand-new comedy murder mystery, HOLY CRAP, or any of my other murder mysteries, you can visit my author website at johnjjessop.com. As I often say, laughter is the best medicine, and you don’t need a doctor’s prescription for my comedy murder mysteries. Two of them have won first place awards for Humor.