King of Kourts

My Teammates and I are on our Carver Middle activity bus, on our way to the first game of the season against our cross-town rival, New Hope Middle. The bus is quiet, nervous energy fills the air, the only sounds: the noisy bus engine and the rattling of windows after each bump in the road. 

I take this moment to reflect and think about my Spindale House Tiger teams that lost all our games the first year. However went undefeated 18-0 the next three years. I’m now a 7th grader, finally old enough to play at Carver after spending the entire 6th grade too young to play middle school but too old for the Spindale House. Not enough 12-year-olds sign up to have a league for the age group. 

I get physically nauseous when I think about being an American baller unable to play in an organized official league in Small Town Friendly aka Rutherford County. I turn my pain to a gain by working day and night, night and day, the rain would come, the snow would fall, and the heat would swelter. Mother Nature brought all four seasons before I could finally try out, make the squad, become a starter and now ready to show the world my improved basketball skills.

I had dress rehearsals at the Playground and Projects of Forest City, The Hall in Rutherfordton and the Carver Ballfield in Spindale. Opening night is now, I have the chance to represent the school from my hood. Carver is located just off Ledbetter RD, the games are official they all count; chills tingles my spine at playing with real refs, time and score keepers. 

I look over at my seatmate, my homie Bubba Jordan. His name is Vincent, but I would give him the nickname years later after I came home from Clemson to visit him and pick up a zip of weed. He had an Industrial League game at the Spindale House, our community center. He put on a show scoring 42 points, a truly Jordan Ques performance, a poor man’s Michael Jordan hence the name Bubba Jordan. 

He along with my cousin Simmie Dave were my best friends in the whole wide world we had gone through so much joy and pain; triumph and loss during the many street ball battles on Ledbetter. I punch his shoulder. He doesn’t speak but gives this nervous smile. No words needed. I know my brother ready to eat. 

I spy my cousin Reggie whose brothers were great basketball players but he will surpass them all. Blease, whose big bro was a NAIA All-American at nearby Gardner Webb College, will follow in his footsteps. Finally big Jack, whose mother and granny had sheltered him from participating in street ball battles on Ledbetter. I assure her that her baby boy will be safe with me. I pull him from her loving arms and turn him into a warrior. 

We are all 7th graders except for Bubba. He is an 8th grader. I’m the youngest, but I take the mantle of Alpha Dog in our Ledbetter pack of wolves. This is the first leg of our improbable journey. I couldn’t find a finer group of ballers to go to battle.

As our bus enters the long gravel driveway to the parking lot. Students greet our arrival by throwing rocks from the gravel at our bus. We consider New Hope Middle the best team in our conference. Their best player is Ice. He is an 8th grader who is not only a talented basketball player but also the best pitcher in Little League.

My Ledbetter homies make up the starting five. Bubba and I are in the backcourt. Reg and Bleed are the forwards and Jack is the center. We walk into the hostile environment. They fill the gym to capacity with students hissing and booing our entrance. I ignore the fans to survey our battlefield. I am impressed with the gym’s aesthetics. It contains upper level bleachers and a stage at one end. 

Small Town Friendly was a hotbed for basketball. Our high school R.S. Central High: the R is for Rutherfordton where New Hope is located and S for Spindale where Carver is located. The Hilltoppers had gone 32-0 the previous year and won the NC State Championship. The two teams represent the future of our beloved high school. 

Hostile environments are nothing new to me, even at this tender age of 12. I’ve traveled on my bike to various Small Town Friendly courts where I embarrassed older guys who wanted to do me harm. I was fearless and relentless. I viewed this as just another challenge I’m tailor made for. I had viewed Ice at the Hall. I thought he was a worthy adversary but to be fair I regularly played against high school aged guys and grown men. He was still a boy. 

I entered the staging area feeling like a king, yet to be crowned King of the Courts of Small Town Friendly. I will display an arsenal of deadly weapons to include piercing penetration, unstoppable scoring from inside and outside the paint on offense. Relentless full court on the ball suffocating defense, that will melt their Ice King to a puddle.

The game begins. Bubba and I set the tone early with back to back-to-back steals we converted into easy scores. I was big for my age, around 5 feet 10. I was as tall as most inside post players, however I played guard. Bubba and I rotated who would bring up the rock. 

We had played in so many street ball battles together we knew instinctively where on the court the other would be at all times. New Hope’s strength was their inside game, their big front court. However, if the guards couldn’t get the ball across half court, we neutralized their strength. 

I’m taking the ball out. They finally scored. Suddenly, Bubba winces in pain. Moments later, I feel something hit my leg. The fans are throwing BBs. Please understand, Bubba and I are from the Apartments, the poorer section of Ledbetter, and we are football players at heart. We have a higher level of toughness than your average middle school basketball player. 

Instead of fearing being struck again, it had the opposite effect. I became enraged and took it out on whoever they used to stop my patented spin move and jump stop in the lane. I used my size against the smaller guards and speed to blow by their big men. The first half ended with us up 15 points. We are blowing out the more experienced favored team on their home court.

As we exit the court to our visitors locker room, which is basically an enormous bathroom with no lockers, dread and concern overwhelms my senses. Hey man, I yell to get Bubba’s attention. Do you think they’re gonna try to cheat us when they come out for the second half? I ask. There is no way they can. He replies. Why do you ask? Cause you remember what happened at Bessemer City. I say. 

Aww heck, that’s right. He replies. Who do you think they’re gonna bring out in the second half? He asks. The only way those pretty boys gonna stop us is to go get the Hilltoppers. I reply. They couldn’t. They wouldn’t. Could they? Bubba replies.

Now, under normal circumstances, this would seem preposterous. However, we had witnessed firsthand the lengths teams would go to defeat our teams. We line up for second half warm-ups. Bubba is ready to lead us out of the locker room. I stop him and whisper. I’m not gonna look, you just look when they come out and give a signal. 

We go through our lay up line. I’m behind Bubba. He shoots his lay up and heads to the back of the rebounding line on the opposite side. I shoot my lay up and look for his signal. I’ve seen that look before, usually when our beloved Cowboys would lose. Bubba, Sims and I would cry for a good 30 minutes afterward. 

I tear up, afraid to look; keeping my eyes laser focused on his. I think (it doesn’t matter; I’m ready to eat any mfer they throw at me, including Hilltoppers.) Who down there, the Hilltoppers? I ask. He turns and smiles. I was just playing with you. It’s the same knuckleheads we gashed the first half. 

I look across the court and was never so happy to see those Red and White New Hope uniforms. We won the game and ended the season 10-0; middle school champs. Our first of many championships in our future. 

A thousand-mile journey begins with one step. My Ledbetter RD homies and I take the first step to fulfilling our Ledbetter Dream.