As the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament unfolds, we are always intrigued by the storylines as much as the match-ups. This year, we have two coaches whose teams were marred by an ugly fight (Xavier and Cincinnati) but ultimately overcame the difficulties to rebuild the teams into tournament contenders. We also have Shaka Smart, the VCU coach who wants to remain at the mid-major school and forge upsets against the larger counterparts as opposed to joining their ranks (for the time being…). And even more interesting, we had a father coaching his son to a victory in the tournament. Creighton’s coach Greg McDermott and star forward Doug McDermott won their first round game together over Alabama. There are many other storylines and tales of overcoming adversity in the tournament that we can relate to, and I hope they can match the experiences from my days with the round ball and beyond.
No, I did not even come close to qualifying for the tournament, or play organizational basketball beyond my sophomore year of high school. Instead I’m looking back at the time when my father coached my grade school team in basketball from second through eighth grade. We were a misfit team to say the least, as we were designated the “B-Team” from fourth grade onward. The other team in the school had the two best players, who would go on to be the only players from either team to play varsity for the high school team. My dad, instead of throwing up his hands at this, rallied the team around “the little things leading to big things.” He insisted that our fundamentals would be necessary for us to win, and only as a team working as a finely tuned machine would that happen. Our plays were organized chaos – all five players on the court should be expected to shoot and score at anytime on the court. Our point guard could run the same play and we could execute it with a completely new angle of attack or cut to keep the defense at bay. This type of autonomy allowed us as players to become creative within our roles and take pride in our set plays that involved everyone moving with and without the ball. We trusted each other to be where they needed to be, and my dad rarely called plays from the bench during the game. Our team had faith in ourselves.
We never lost a holiday tournament to the “A-Team,” albeit one year came down to our center sinking a half-court heave to win the game. Other contests against our A-Team were decidedly in our favor. They insisted on detailed set plays that seemed more mechanical than fluid, whereas we took joy in cutting to an open spot or setting a pick for our teammate. Out of that rag-tag group, two players have since started coaching football at the freshmen level, no doubt making practices fun like my dad did. The autonomy he afforded us allowed us to take ownership of our actions and our team, and it developed into leaders and coaches. For that, I can’t thank him enough.
In full circle, my dad and I attended the NCAA play-in tournament game last year between VCU and Southern Cal. We watched a scrappy, undersized squad led by an energetic coach who looked like he and his team were drinking in every moment. My dad turned to me and before he said a word, I beat him to it. “Looks familiar, doesn’t it? I wouldn’t bet against VCU.” My dad replied and still boasts to this day, “Yeah, I think they could beat Georgetown after seeing them in person.” One Final Four later, my dad had the understatement of the year. Here’s to hoping that players who have been blessed by excellent coaching will carry on the torch of ministry through coaching, with that light that crosses generations and brings us closer.
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