The Basketball Diaries

Basketball. It used to be my life force, my essence. It was all that I was. I believed the world revolved around Chapel Hill and the sun rose and set simply because Dean Smith drew up a play to make it happen. I would go to UNC or die trying. I had heard something about it being a top public university or something like that, but there was no need to be bogged down in trifling details such as these. I wanted to be in Blue Heaven.

I wanted to be a great player, too, but the Lowe/Gentry genes aren't exactly designed for superior court skills. I remember when I made the freshman team at North Surry, my uncle Ronnie asked me, "What position do you play, middle linebacker?" After that self-esteem boost, I went on to average 1 point a game over a 10 game season. I matched the feat the following year as the 12th man on a 12-man JV squad. The problem was, I still only scored 10 points, but it was over 20 games (that's 1/2 a point a game for those of you scoring at home ... mostly coming during 30-point blowout wins). But, I drew an occasional charge and inexplicably blew Bryan King a kiss at West Iredell after he hit me on a no look pass on a give and go. I'm pretty sure there are still 40 year old men in west Statesville making fun of the "fag" who blew a kiss to that other guy, but hey ... I was excited just to be playing. I could jump -- though there is no video footage of it, I did actually slam a volleyball on a 10 foot goal in the NSHS field house. It was the dribbling and shooting that I struggled with. Sure, many would argue these are necessary skills, but again, I tend to overlook the trifling details, remember?

My interest as a player sort of waned after two straight knee injuries sidelined me for my sophomore and junior baseball seasons. Playing both sports was taking its toil on my middle linebacker build. But, the love of the game was still there. I have so many memories associated with the game. I remember my dad hitting his head on our 12 foot cathedral ceiling when Lorenzo Charles slammed home Dereck Whittenburg's airball to beat Phi Slamma Jamma in 1983. On that day, it was actually okay for Tar Heels to pull for the Pack (at least if they were 10 years old).



I remember running up and down our hallway (subconsciously channeling Jim Valvano looking for a hug, I guess) after Rick Fox hit a baseline jumper at the buzzer to upset then No. 1 Oklahoma as an 8 seed in 1990 - a team many said shouldn't have even made the tournament.



 I remember braving the rain to celebrate the 1993 championship as a student after watching it in Carmichael ...

... storming the court after the blood game against dook ... 

... and the 21-point comeback against Florida State in the second half.


I remember seeing Vince Carter jump out of the gym against Virginia Tech during my sports writing days, and my mom still has the autographed Antawn Jamison photo I used as a Mother's Day card in 1998 (for the record, it was Antawn's idea). Yes, he really is that nice in person.

After that, it gets a little blurry. I still remember being very excited with the national championship wins in 2005 and 2009, but basketball started taking a backseat to football in my world. I guess it was the hope Mack Brown instilled in me before hooking his Horns. Maybe it was the excitement Butch Davis created before the witch hunt led to his demise to save the skin of the higher ups (for the record, the higher ups are all gone now, too). Most likely, it was because my hero stepped down after 879 wins. It just didn't seem to be the same without Coach Smith. For some reason though, and maybe it's because the football team now gives up more points per game defensively than the basketball team, I'm having a little glimmer of love again for the sport I had forsaken.

I really like this UNC basketball team. Ol Roy's team is making me feel a little nostalgia for the Coach Smith days. Sure it's not the best shooting team we've ever produced, and there have been the inexplicable letdowns against Butler and Iowa, but there's a little spark in this team that takes me back to the days where I couldn't sleep the night before a big game, and cried for days when teams like Georgia or Ohio State (or Weber State, but I digress) inexplicably knocked the mighty Heels out of the tournament before it was a dance. I see a little of George Lynch's quiet moxie in this team; a bit of Steve Hale grittiness and maybe even a bit of Kenny Smith smooth in that left handed kid from Iowa.

Maybe its the fact I have to get up at 4 in the morning to watch games live now (or the fact I actually do it), or maybe it's coaching the sport for the first time in my life. But, for whatever reason, a little of that basketball fire is rekindling in my belly. I may have been the 12th man on a 12-man team, and I'm pretty sure I'm the only 5 foot, 8 and 3/4 inch post player in the history of high school basketball, but I do know the game. I'm slowly starting to remember the grace of the game, the pace of the game, the lessons the game teaches and the agony that can come when the other team's plan works a bit better than yours. I'm charged with teaching 8th graders the nuances of a game that can be gratifying or humbling in the blink of an eye. I'm blessed that I was part of a great coach's system in Ron King, and doubly blessed to understand the things Coach Smith brought to the arena every night. I can't match him in Xs and Os, but I can take the life lessons he instilled -- selflessness, humbleness, respect for the opponent, life and the game itself -- and I can pass it on to another generation a world away from Coach Smith in his latter days.

So, I'm now left with the challenge of figuring out how to watch the rest of the season 13 hours ahead of you 'Muricans back on Tobacco Road, but where there's a will there's a way; where's there's a back pick, there's an alley-oop slam; where's there's a point guard silly enough to pick up his dribble in the corner, there's a double team to make him pay. That's the Dean Smith way, and now that I'm seeing the style of play created by the man return to the floor named for him, I will figure it out.

And I plan to enjoy every last second of it even if I don't sleep the next three months and all my students have to watch videos and do worksheets during the NCAA tournament*.

* If anyone from the administration of Mont' Kiara International School is reading this blog, I am SURELY just writing this sentence for comedic effect and would NEVER sacrifice the educational opportunities of my students for some silly game (Do you think they bought it?)