March 29, 2006
Hoops

Hoops hysteria.  Final Four.  March madness.  College basketball wraps up the season this coming weekend.  While most of America will be watching the Indianapolis action, in  Colorado, excepting those with UCLA, Florida, George Mason or LSU in the office pool, the college finals will be so much ho-hum. 

Coloradoans may love football, wrestling and baseball but hoops in our Mile High State ranks in popularity somewhere between curling and the Pillsbury bake-off.  When we Maynard’s moved west from the basketball crazy Mid-West, hoops were huge in my life.  Now, like everyone else, round-ball on the tube is limited to being an excuse to avoid clearing the dinner dishes. 

Oh sure every decade or so the Nuggets poke their head above five hundred. And, at our state’s major schools, an occasional Scott Wedman or Chauncey Billiups suits up. However, a standing room only crowd at CU basketball games only means the Jayhawks and their fans are in Boulder to wave the wheat.  Even with that annual sellout, Buff basketballers lead the Big 12 in just one category; worst attendance. 

Colorado High Schools go out of their way to discourage fan interest.  Come Christmas vacation, when other states feature sixteen team double elimination tournaments, our hoopsters take two weeks off.  Some blame the High School Athletic Association, others the teacher’s union; but, after all these years, with the exception of player’s parents, no one cares.  Were football to take a mid-season, two-week hiatus, angry fans would be marching on the statehouse.  

Growing up in the Land of Lincoln, where the phrase “March Madness” originated back in ’39, hoops were THE sport.  Unfortunately, while I was crazy bonkers nuts about roundball, the bulk of my high school basketball career was spent on the bench. Even small schools have a limited demand for five foot five inch players who are slow afoot and have trouble shooting fifty per cent on lay-ups.  Life as a Cambridge Viking scrub found me always rooting for us to win, or lose, by a bunch.  Only when the margin was huge did players of my caliber see action.  And once on the floor, the first thing a scrub did was foul.  It insured your name in the paper’s box score.  Maynard 0-0-1. 

Not that my entire career was limited to “garbage time”.  Once I played a key role.  A February road game found us in Orion playing our arch rivals, the Chargers.  Clinging to a four-point lead with one minute to go in the first half our coach yelled, “Maynard c’mere”.  Quickly out of my warm-ups I hustled down the bench to sit next to the headman and await my assignment.  Without taking his eyes off the action Coach Smith put an arm around my shoulder and explained, “Make sure the bag of practice balls gets to the locker room at half time.  Last year those Orion fans hid them and we couldn’t shoot around before the second half started.” Then coach patted me on the back while asking, “You understand?” 

We blew Orion out on the strength of great second half shooting.  While the paper didn’t mention the critical contribution, in my heart I knew making sure the starting five could get in some practice shots before the second half was key to our victory. 

With 30 seconds left and my Vikes up by 20, the coach again called my name.  Let the printed history show I played.  Maynard 0-0-1.