I joined the South Orange Suburban Girl’s Basketball Team in seventh grade because I had a crush on Chad Bartlett. He was the point guard for the South Orange Suburban Boy’s Team and naturally I assumed that if he witnessed my athletic prowess, he would immediately reciprocate my feelings.
Unfortunately, my athletic prowess was not substantial enough to win Chad’s affection – a fact that became abundantly clear on a dark and stormy Saturday afternoon.
We had the home court advantage against the Chatham Cougars, a collection of exceptionally healthy girls. All feathered hair and endless legs, they were not only a giggling gaggle of Farrah Fawcetts in training, but they were also an adept basketball squad. In contrast, our team was entirely under 5-foot-2, with the exception of Cindy Clark, whose altitude belied her ability.
To make matters worse, three of our starters were out with the flu on that particular day. Our coach, a sweet-faced mailman named Rusty, had no choice but to include me in the starting lineup. (Since I had yet to score a basket the entire season, I usually made my entrance some time in the second half when it was already assured we would definitely lose.)
Meanwhile, the boys’ team, who would challenge the male Cougars immediately following our game, had assembled on the bleachers. Chad was there, of course. He tenaciously twirled a basketball on his index finger – God he was cute when he was focused – while I scurried around the court.
Following Rusty’s always-sage suggestion, I tried not to touch the ball. We were both aware of my limits: I had no three-point shot, no foul shot, no stunning fade-away jumper. What I did have – if the gods were on my side and I concentrated with all my might – was a passable right lay up.
So when the ball fell into my hands with less than three minutes left on the clock, I did the only thing I knew how to do. I could feel Chad’s eyes follow me down the court as I dribbled towards the basket. "Go! Go! Go!" echoed through the gymnasium as my Dorothy Hamill haircut bounced in the breeze that was created by my very own swiftness. When I finally got to the end of the court, I gently tossed the ball into the hoop and – swoosh – it miraculously went in. I could hardly believe it. I had scored a basket!
But where were my teammates?
Shouldn’t they be hoisting me on their shoulders to celebrate my accomplishment?
As I approached the group of nonplussed girls at the other end of the court, the reality set in. During all the commotion, I had gotten turned around and actually scored a basket against my own team. Apparently, what my teen ears heard as "Go! Go! Go!" had really been "No! No! No!"
Needless to say, that was the end of my days as a starting member of South Orange Suburban Girl’s Basketball Team. And last I heard, Chad was engaged to a Chatham Cougar. – JoAnne Steglitz