A Choice to Fail Epically at Fifteen
In seventh grade, I joined my junior high basketball team.
Because that’s what the cool girls did. And I wanted to be cool.
Possessing no prior knowledge of the game’s most basic rules, a low level of eye-hand coordination (darn parents and their lack of video game purchasing!), and an age gap of at least a year between myself and most of my peers, my prowess on the court was less than stellar. My skills didn’t improve much throughout the year, either. Still, I kept at it. I practiced basketball every day; not just after school with the team but also afterward in my driveway. I wouldn’t quit until I had made 20 free throws, even if it was after dark. Being 5’2”, I focused as much as I could on ball handling and speed. My dad would come out most nights and play HORSE with me, challenging me to keep trying to do a left-handed lay-up. I even went to a few summer camps and had a blast learning from some of the best players out there. Alas, no matter how hard I tried, I just wasn’t very good at basketball.
I spent two nights a week for several seasons cheering on my more talented teammates. I was given two Most Improved Player awards as I advanced from “awfully terrible” to simply “below average”. I continued honing in on both my speed and my knowledge of our plays. On defense, I spent most of my time trying to get an opponent to look me in the eye, as that offered me my chance to use acting skills instead of athleticism and perhaps steal the ball.
Although I kept improving, by the end of my sophomore year I was spending more and more time on the bench. I had sprained both of my ankles (not playing ball, just from being clumsy), and that served as a shaky excuse for my ego as I sat dressed in warm-ups during our last few games. Thoughts that I had been wasting my time started to creep up on me, and I couldn’t help but feel badly about myself.
After our last game, my coach pulled me aside.
“Do you want to play basketball next year?” he asked.
“Of course!” I said. Though I wasn’t sure why.
And that’s when he offered me the opportunity that my parents had suggested; the one I secretly both dreaded and loved at the same time. I was asked to be one of our team captains. Of course, the catch was that it was for the Junior Varsity team… and I was about to be a Junior. Did it sound like social suicide; junior varsity? What if I wasn’t any better there? But, since I knew it meant more game time, I accepted his offer and put on my most convincing “enthusiastic” grin. I wasn’t going to back down from a challenge!
Telling my friends that I was going to play JV basketball, wasn’t as hard as I had imagined. In fact, they were just happy that I’d get to play more. Still, as the season started, it became apparent that even on the JV team, I was lucky if I was our 6th best player. I was rewarded for showing up for practice every day by starting games but was often later pulled in favor of underclassmen superstars. I enjoyed the precious minutes on the court, feeling a rush of pride in games where I could score 2–4 points or a few steals.
Some might have felt sorry for me and my lack of skill despite my efforts. However, I remained excited to play. My once feigned enthusiasm for JV became genuine as I learned to focus on my strengths. I focused on the fact that I pushed my teammates to do better by beating them in our “suicide” races at the end of practice. I focused on the fact that I could help my teammates with homework on the long bus rides to away games. I focused on the fact that I got to know a whole new group of girls, even if I was the odd add-on to their team. I focused on the fact that I continued to try my best at each practice and at each game.
In truth, I learned more in that season than in all of the previous ones combined.
Though I didn’t win any awards that year and our team had a losing record, I came away with new-found confidence. And finally, after that season ended, I ended my epic failure of a basketball career on good terms with my teammates and coaches. I turned my attention from speed to endurance, joining the ultimate no-coordination-needed sport, Cross Country for my Senior year… where I legitimately earned a Varsity letter.
My junior year of high school started off with a choice. Do I want to look cool by being able to say I’m on the Varsity basketball team? Do I want to avoid looking so un-coordinated by riding the bench? Or, do I want to play? I chose to play, and I learned four important lessons.
- I learned that it’s okay to try really hard at something, and fail.
- I learned that it’s okay to champion others while I stay in the background.
- I learned that I have things to offer as a leader, even if I’m not the “best”.
- I learned that playing the game was a lot more fun than sitting on the sidelines.
Each day we all get the chance to answer a version of the same question I was asked at fifteen. Do you want to play? Or, do you want to sit on the sidelines?
I hope you’ll choose to play.
