Basketball MVP

It was a late weekday evening at the gym of a small East Texas middle school where I was attending as a 6th grader. Many adults and children had gathered from in town and out to watch their friends and family members compete against the opposing team in a basketball game, whether it be for the away team or home team. I, of course was on the home team. You see, I wasn’t particularly the MVP of the basketball team of my middle school, or even was on the starting team. I was a backup, and I was a spectator more than a player on gameday.

Towards the end of the game, the coach sent me in to play, once we were a good deal ahead. When I was on the court, I only wanted to simply hold the ball, if only for a second, so at that moment, all eyes in the gym would be on me. And for that moment, I would be considered a true basketball player, an athlete, a symbol of masculinity. But, it had yet to happen.

This was my chance, I was on the court. I was actually noticed as a part of the team. Was this televised? Was there an announcer somewhere that was saying my name and jersey number? Whatever the case, I was in. After having run back and forth to each side of the court a few times, I hadn’t gotten a grip of all the ends and outs of the game rules, so I mostly just followed the crowd of players when they moved. I occasionally blocked a guy on defense when he was passed a ball, but he would still get the ball.

But, one moment, there was a time when the ball slipped out of someone’s hands on the opposing team, and the ball landed in my hands. I couldn’t believe it! I was given a chance to shine! To save the team! To be the MVP of the game and to be carried out of the gym in glory! Perhaps I would even be approached by that special crush and congratulated, which would complete the whole experience.

I held the ball and looked at the others, they looked back at me prompting me to do something, so I did it. I looked up at the goal, squatted for a shot, and remembered how my current coach and previous coaches had told me to shoot the ball. Your dominant hand placed behind the ball and your other hand supporting it. Squat and shoot, pushing with your dominant hand and arch it.

I did just that, and the ball went in. I did it! I was a contributor to the team! But, instead of an uproarious cheer, there was silence. My team was looking at me in disappointment, while the opposing team was smiling in mockery. I think someone on the opposing team even patted me on the back and said, “Thanks”. The referee walked in and gave the ball back to my team. At that moment, I began to realize what I had done. The coach pulled me aside and told me that I had shot at the other team’s goal.

I hung my head and walked over to the sideline in shame. I did not want to make eye contact with anyone around, but watched the remainder of the game, not thinking so much about the game, but about my goof-up. Instead of being the team hero, I was the team traitor. The game ended and I wanted simply to look straight ahead to the entrance and leave. I didn’t even bother getting in the line at the end of the game to shake hands with the other teammates. I simply wanted to run home and stay there.

During that time, I was vulnerable to embarrassment, chastisement, and mockery. So, at least for that night, I was an MVP, which stood for, Most Vulnerable Player. Even though I was made fun of for several days after, I still got pats on the back, saying, “That was a good shot.” Or “Nice work, Preston!” and even my mom, persevering in positivity, told me, “Good job on that goal!” It was the energy that I needed in that moment. Now, looking back, it was a good knock in the head to pay attention to my surroundings and keep my head in the game, or it will eventually show. Since then, I have never helped the opposing team on accident. So that lesson has definitely been learned!