Hoop Dreams

Today’s Flyover People column as seen in The Emporia Gazette:

 

HOOP DREAMS

When I was in junior high, I had my mind set on becoming a Harlem Globetrotter.

Kids have Beginner’s Mind. As youngsters, we don’t know yet that there are obstacles in the world; our dreams are pure.

I had watched the Globetrotters perform on TV and, by golly, with practice, I knew I could become one. It didn’t occur to me at the time that being a short white girl from Kansas might be a hindrance.

So in the early ‘70s, I played basketball in the backyard with my older brother, Leon, who taught me how not to double dribble, travel, or palm the ball. He and I played countless games of one-on-one and horse. We’d often play until the sun set behind us or until Mom tapped on the kitchen window, which meant one of two things – either supper was ready, or we should quit fighting.

Recently, I’ve spent a lot of time on the walking track at the Emporia Rec Center. The track circles the top of the gymnasium and as I watch the pick-up games on the court below, I think about those basketball-playing days with my brother.

Since basketball season coincides with the cold months, Leon and I were out there on any decent day that happened upon us. Last week I asked Leon about his memories. One of his recollections was “dribbling a half-size basketball so cold it would barely bounce, but being so determined to play that I’d wear cotton gloves.”

Our equipment was second-hand and lacking, but I don’t think we complained. We were happy to have anything that resembled a goal and a ball, even if the ball wouldn’t inflate completely.

We had a square of plywood for a backboard, with a green hoop attached. One problem was that it was mounted on the side of our steel swing set. And that meant no lay-ups. The swing set legs kept us from being able to run underneath and behind the goal, but we tried anyway, bruising our shins, so strong was the desire to do lay-ups.

The court was small, not much bigger than the key on a regulation court. To the right were shrubs and ivy and rocks. To the left was a pile of Dad’s rusted scrap iron. We played on packed dirt which had, as Leon describes, “clusters of grass that turned ‘dribbling’ into ‘scrambling.’”

And “shooting from behind the ivy meant pushing it through the branches of an elm,” Leon recalled.

More than anything, I wanted to play team basketball, but in Pawnee Rock, we didn’t have girls’ junior high or high school teams.

Title IX, which opened the door for females to have equal opportunities in sports, became law in June 1972, the summer after my seventh grade year. In eighth grade, we still didn’t have a team, which actually turned out in my favor because that November I broke my arm (a story for another column) and wouldn’t have been able to play anyway.

When I was in ninth grade, the seventh and eighth grade girls did have a team. And we ninth graders begged the coach for a team as well. Coach Bean managed to get us two games with Mullinville. We borrowed uniforms from the junior high girls.

It felt magical to play in a real game even though we lost both of them (25-14 and 19-14).  I was a point guard and when dribbling down the court one time, I launched a shot from near center court. In my defense, I was open.

When I took the shot, I wasn’t too far from the bench and while the ball was in the air, I heard Coach Bean groan, “No, Cheryl.” But the ball swished through the net. Pure luck.

My Harlem Globetrotter dream faded, but I am pleased that the first woman on their team was from Kansas. Lynette Woodard, of Wichita, had what I didn’t have, namely talent, and she joined the Globetrotters in 1985.

Dreams don’t always come to fruition, but they get us excited and give us something to work toward. And I have great memories of playing backyard basketball with my brother.

Leon said, “I remember thinking it was the greatest thing in the world to have our own basketball court.”

It was indeed.

Copyright 2012 ~ Cheryl Unruh