the eternal questions that NBA executives and coaches all have to deal with, and there I was in the third grade faced with this dilemma. After a few weeks of wondering about how Sharona felt about me, I had to do something. I wrote a little note asking, Do you like me? Please check one: yes no .
I waited until Sharona went up to the pencil sharpener. Only two of us were allowed up there at any time, so I had to act quickly. I hopped out of my chair—all that basketball had given me a quick first step—and dashed up to the sharpener behind Sharona. I waited until she was done and was blowing the shavings off her pencil before I tapped her on the shoulder and handed her the note. She tucked it into her fist and went back to her seat. It took all the discipline I had to keep looking down at the pencil sharpener. I can still remember that engraved on the little dial that you turned depending upon the thickness of your pencil was the word Boston .
I went back to my seat, and I’m happy to report that eventually I got the note back from Sharona and she had checked the yes box. I sat back feeling really happy with myself. Of course, years later when the social mores and methods of girls had advanced beyond the stage when they had those folded paper clackers (which looked like Venus flytraps) with which they interrogated us with questions and asked us for numbers so that they could peel back the folds of their paper monstrosities to reveal our fate, I would long for those simpler days when a simple yes or no could fill or empty my heart. It was one of those small things, and just as I would have to sharpen my skills on the court, I needed to figure out what to do off the court to keep me in the game. But the foundation was there for success in life, in love, and on the court. Work hard, develop your fundamentals, attack your weaknesses, and always do the right thing. I was fortunate to have parents and coaches who helped me to recognize what I needed to do to develop other parts of my personality and explore other areas of interest besides basketball. And if you ever make it to the big time, don’t buy a house with a lot of pine trees.
CHAPTER FOUR
Knocking Them Down:
Free Throws and Seizing Opportunities
In the old days, sportswriters and announcers sometimes referred to it as the charity stripe. While I’m a great believer in giving back and helping out those in need, in some ways I never liked the basketball free throw line being referred to that way. Charity can sometimes mean a handout, being given something that you haven’t been able to attain for yourself, something that you didn’t work for. I can understand why sportscasters or sportswriters came up with that name for the free throw line. It’s a colorful bit of language, but inaccurate. I don’t think you’ll find a single guy in the NBA, NCAA, or even in high school who’s used the term. When it comes to free throws—or even better, call them foul shots—the inaccuracy of the term charity stripe is about the last thing you want associated with them.
First, in almost all cases, except if the opposing team has been whistled for a technical foul and your team gets to choose who goes to the line, the player shooting free throws has been fouled. You’ve earned the right to get to the “charity stripe,” and if you’ve ever watched an NBA game, you know that sportscasters have also come up with the term hard foul . That’s a more accurate term than charity stripe , since many times, as a result of a hard foul, the fouled player falls to the hard court, is struck hard by an opponent, or runs into a hard body on the other team. I’m not alone in having gone to the free throw line after having been smacked across the bridge of the nose or the back of the head. I was not the first player, nor will I be the last, who went in among the so-called trees and crashed to the floor after having made contact with one of the stout limbs or immovable trunks of the
I waited until Sharona went up to the pencil sharpener. Only two of us were allowed up there at any time, so I had to act quickly. I hopped out of my chair—all that basketball had given me a quick first step—and dashed up to the sharpener behind Sharona. I waited until she was done and was blowing the shavings off her pencil before I tapped her on the shoulder and handed her the note. She tucked it into her fist and went back to her seat. It took all the discipline I had to keep looking down at the pencil sharpener. I can still remember that engraved on the little dial that you turned depending upon the thickness of your pencil was the word Boston .
I went back to my seat, and I’m happy to report that eventually I got the note back from Sharona and she had checked the yes box. I sat back feeling really happy with myself. Of course, years later when the social mores and methods of girls had advanced beyond the stage when they had those folded paper clackers (which looked like Venus flytraps) with which they interrogated us with questions and asked us for numbers so that they could peel back the folds of their paper monstrosities to reveal our fate, I would long for those simpler days when a simple yes or no could fill or empty my heart. It was one of those small things, and just as I would have to sharpen my skills on the court, I needed to figure out what to do off the court to keep me in the game. But the foundation was there for success in life, in love, and on the court. Work hard, develop your fundamentals, attack your weaknesses, and always do the right thing. I was fortunate to have parents and coaches who helped me to recognize what I needed to do to develop other parts of my personality and explore other areas of interest besides basketball. And if you ever make it to the big time, don’t buy a house with a lot of pine trees.
CHAPTER FOUR
Knocking Them Down:
Free Throws and Seizing Opportunities
In the old days, sportswriters and announcers sometimes referred to it as the charity stripe. While I’m a great believer in giving back and helping out those in need, in some ways I never liked the basketball free throw line being referred to that way. Charity can sometimes mean a handout, being given something that you haven’t been able to attain for yourself, something that you didn’t work for. I can understand why sportscasters or sportswriters came up with that name for the free throw line. It’s a colorful bit of language, but inaccurate. I don’t think you’ll find a single guy in the NBA, NCAA, or even in high school who’s used the term. When it comes to free throws—or even better, call them foul shots—the inaccuracy of the term charity stripe is about the last thing you want associated with them.
First, in almost all cases, except if the opposing team has been whistled for a technical foul and your team gets to choose who goes to the line, the player shooting free throws has been fouled. You’ve earned the right to get to the “charity stripe,” and if you’ve ever watched an NBA game, you know that sportscasters have also come up with the term hard foul . That’s a more accurate term than charity stripe , since many times, as a result of a hard foul, the fouled player falls to the hard court, is struck hard by an opponent, or runs into a hard body on the other team. I’m not alone in having gone to the free throw line after having been smacked across the bridge of the nose or the back of the head. I was not the first player, nor will I be the last, who went in among the so-called trees and crashed to the floor after having made contact with one of the stout limbs or immovable trunks of the
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