SuperNova Afterglow: End Of Days

Finally, Respect...and how I lost it again!

Very long blog post...peruse if you dare.


It was a busy Friday at the Y. Kids in some schools were out for the day and college students returned home. I was walking through the hall to the gym and saw some middle school boys huddled outside the court window and talking about how the guy in the Under Armor headband was pretty good. I knew who they were talking about right away but my thoughts immediately went to, how would they rate me as a ballplayer? Then I thought, I doubt I had any reputation at all.

I was about to change that.

Since there was a game ending as I got ready to warm-up, I did not get to stretch or shoot around. I let myself be a little late, because I spent a great deal of time backing up my computer and writing a blog entry about Brett Favre before leaving the house with Alex in tow...because he also was out of school. Jen had Maddie, so that made it easier.

With Alex in the YMCA's 'Kids Corner', I was able to focus on the task at hand. I was improving in my energy and shooting. And it is difficult to combine the two. What I also realized as the day went on is that guys who defend me on the perimeter would pay as I dribble drove into the free throw lane area and dropped five to 10 foot jump shots over them. My jump shot has returned! And not just from mid-range, but the three-point line.

I had been knocking down the shot in warm-ups the previous day and was encouraged to do some leg presses later that night. I came back with strong legs and was pulling off the old feat that gave me so much pride in my younger day. There is such a feeling of exhileration, when you are able to elevate and feel like all those around you can only look up with mouths agape, not knowing what to do.

That's my perception of reality and it works for me. It's boosting my confidence being able to feel like I'm young again. The second game I was in, my energy was pretty good. I gave my defender fits. The game went back and forth before our opponent tied it at 12. Both teams needed a three-ball to win. Our opponents failed in their first attempt. We had already tried several times before they tied the score.

They were pressing us on inbound passes. I was in the backcourt when it happened again, so the ball came to me. Because I was feeling so encouraged and because my teammates seemed a bit sluggish, I brought the ball up. The pressure was waiting for me before I reached midcourt, so I stopped and just stood their dribbling, begging them to come get me. No takers. So, I made my move.

Two of my teammates had finally crossed center court, so I stepped toward my defender before crossing over my dribble. The pick was waiting for me at the top of the key, so I pretended to notice that the defender behind the pick was forcing me to give up my plan to use the screen. That's when the guy guarding me started running out to trap me with the other player who stopped momentarily behind the pick.

In perfect rhythm, I dribbled toward the hoop and behind that pick, hoisting up a long three-point shot as I faded to my left. I barely had to look at the hoop, as I watched both defenders coming to trap me before they realized the ball was airborne. The shot landed dead center with a swish! That created quite the buzz around the gym with a lot of atta-boys.

I felt pretty good then. Young Mike was on the opposing team and walked up to me to give me the first congratulations and a high five. Another opponent, Jeff, came over and told me I was only allowed to shoot shots like that when I was on his team. Poor Jeff. I messed up later, hurting him while I played defense like a mad man.

I wish I could walk off on high notes and not keep playing and turning myself back into the person they all thought I was.

It was the last game, and I was getting myself revved up to finish with one more push. I wanted to end on that high note. I did play well and was using that inside game. An older guy named Dan. Good fellow in his 60s and a military guy who drives a White Lexus to the Y was trying to double me when Jeff was guarding me. Dan has long arms and will wrap you up before you can make a move around him. He fouls quite a bit because he doesn't keep his hands up, but rather reaches and tries to bother the ball handler. That's okay, but he makes too much contact.

I tried to break his arms off.

It could have been the energy drink combined with a Cadbury chocolate egg, while working myself up into a tizzy of an adrenaline rush, but I got a bit insane. I got inside the lane with Dan collapsing on me twice. The first time he winced and grabbed his shoulder like his arm was coming out of its socket. I think I barely missed the first shot. The second time, I showed no mercy for him as he dared to get in my grill again. I went under his arms with a low hard dribble and took the ball into the lane and scored.

We had fallen behind in this game and I was determined to get us back into it, having made the score 17-15 their favor with the game ending at 21. I had been active on defense and offense. I was ripping the ball away from their point guard and bothering him every time he tried to get in the lane. After scoring on Dan that last time, I roared "Let's Go!" and added "WE CAN DO THIS!!" in my loudest, lowest voice. Then I laughed and looked around to see if anyone shared my phony enthusiasm. It was tongue in cheek but no one showed any emotion and play went on.

They scored to make it 19-15 and we did not score on our next possession. Jeff got the ball and did what he always does when I overplay him to the middle of the court. He drove baseline and under the basket. I thought I could keep up with him because I was so driven, but he had a half step on me the whole way.

There were two guys on the other side of the rim, waiting for the play to come their way and I wasn't going to allow him to score or pass. I jumped at the moment I guessed he would do something with the ball and the play developed so slowly that I was ahead of it. I ended up swiping and hitting Jeff pretty hard without knowing what I was thinking. All of my instinctual play and extra effort blew up in my face and I immediately felt very bad and began apologizing to Jeff. He would not look at me or acknowledge my remorse then or after the game when I apologized again.

Jeff's been a friend to me on the court and always has encouragement, something kind to say, or a joke. He can be really clever with an acerbic wit and I have not taken the time to get to know him or really anyone else. So, I guess it was no shock that he would not accept my apologies. No one really knows me or what I am trying to achieve now. Even I sometimes forget. But I remembered another part of myself that day.


I used to be the 'hot head' that my wife learned about from a couple of guys she ran into at her work about 10 years ago now. They said they were afraid of me because I had been so full of myself back then in the Upper Michigan basketball arenas. I never saw myself that way, a bad guy, but realized I had gone through phases of my Mr. Hyde personality back then. Just never realized an insecure, quiet guy like me could strike fear in others.

In the early 80s, I dominated play in the lower B, C and D-leagues. I never dared play A-league guys, mostly because no one never asked me to join their squad. I did run into a guy named Curt Carson who figured out how to motivate and best utilize me on his team. I had become the central focus of the offense and never realized I was showing up everyone else by being belligerent or demanding. Curt was the guy spoiling me like a prima donna.

Curt knew our team could win championships, and we did, going from C-class to B-class and then started my own team and won one final trophy before quitting. I didn't care about winning as much as scoring. That's all I ever dreamed about as a kid --scoring average, how many points I had.

I took that attitude with me to a team I played for in Escanaba for a year and a half and scored 53 points one night and boasted all game long how I wanted to outscore Jordan who had 49 the night before. I stole passes, drove and scored. I don't recall missing a single shot. My recollection of my play was like my body was outside of myself looking in. Is that an out of body experience, I don't know? I could not have been guided by angels, unless it was the devil, because they would not have stood by and let me humiliate everyone on the court like that.

Curt would get me pumped up for games in the old days. Kept talking about how great I was before and after games. He was like the dad I always wanted, who was proud of me. And that reminds me. I even managed to embarrass my own dad one night.

My mom would always make dad take her to my men's league games. It was nice to have them there. I would always talk to them afterwards and get mom's feedback. Dad let her do the talking for him. She would tell me later his impressions. One game, mom couldn't come but dad did, which was a surprise.

Before the game, a scorekeeper who was on Kingsford's high school team, asked if I would dunk the ball in warm ups. We had played some pick-up games at the community center gym and knew that I could do it. For some reason, in warm ups, I wasn't psyched up enough. I wasn't in my best shape. The rum and cokes and beer were slowly catching up with me.

I apologized to T.J. and the game started. It was an important game as we played a team that also contended for first place. The game went back and forth before we finally broke far enough ahead late that we could cruise to victory. I never liked to come out of games and give my teammates some minutes. And in this game, I was pretty amped by the end. With time running down, I got the ball in that little junior high gym and had only one guy ahead of me for another score.

That's when it happened. I don't know why, but he just stepped aside as I approached. I was going to try to dunk over him, but he seemed to know my aim. Maybe, he wanted to see it too. I was fueled even more by this opportunity as I rose up and slammed the ball cleanly through. Unfortunately, I aggravated an old work injury on my middle finger as the blood oozed hot.

I didn't care. Everyone wanted to shake my hand as I came out of the game. Was I whistled for a technical foul for hanging on the rim? I don't remember why they stopped play. Opponents wanted to shake my hand and they did. They didn't know they were getting a bloody handshake from a smirking imbecile who wanted to rub their faces in it rather than accept congratulations.

What was wrong with me? Whenever I got myself in that zone, I was a creep.

The game ended. My dad walked down a short way from the bleachers as I turned to him. I blurted, "What did you think about that?" all proud of myself. He just took one look at me like he didn't know who I was and just kept walking by. That was the one time I can think of that I deserved that man's derision. But I didn't learn from it then and apparently I forgot again until Friday.

I have tried to be humble. And being a tenth of the athlete I once was helps with that. But when I start to get that old feeling, I lose myself. I try to use it to fuel me, boost confidence, but their are those side affects.

I've thought about cutting back on caffeine or energy drinks and just play with the anti-inflammatories like Alleve or Ibuprophine or anything like aspirin for the pain. I take Gloucosamine, because it's supposed to be good for aging guys like me. I've thought about Testosterone supplements, like I need any more of that, right? I don't know.

I'm just looking to get an edge. I wear goggles, head band, patellar straps, ankle supports, arch supports (sometimes). I keep trying new shoes and there's the stuff I've been through -- chiropractor, acupuncturist, yoga, personal trainer and more. I told myself I was getting back into shape for Alex, because I wanted to share this game I love with him. Until now, he hadn't shown any interest. And in the last week, he's asked me twice to play with him.

Fortunately, after missing out on playing with him the first time, we got into the gym and I shared with him what I could without pressuring him. He seems pretty natural at the game. He's a little awkward, but not as awkward as I had previously thought. And now I'm encouraged that he wants me to show him what I know. He's coming to me as a basketball authority and acknowledging that I can help him.

Timing is everything. He wanted me to not play with the men but take him into the small/kids' gym and 'teach' him basketball. I told him I would still play the pick-up games but would give him attention afterward. I also made him a promise of one hour of practice, five days a week all summer long. He just had to promise to let me put him in a basketball program, because he needs that structure to learn. He seemed agreeable. We're still working out the details.

There's some hope that a kid with the potential to be eight inches taller than me can learn to love the game I play and maybe do it the right way and better than his old man, who's still trying to learn.

BLOG POST I WAS WRITING that made me late for basketball...that I'm told contains grammatical errors and other hiccups too various to mention...for what it's worth...

"Divorce-gate" ...might not be public now. working on reopening old blog posts now.