When I Was Number 14

I’m not quite sure how it happened, but by the time I was 10-years-old, the game of basketball was my entire life. I played on every team at school, and travelled the continent every weekend. I always knew I wasn’t the best on the team, but I also knew I wasn’t the worst. They didn’t miss me all that much if I had to sit out for a game, but I was always welcomed back with open arms.

When you’re ten-years-old and playing on a competitive team, you can get away with a few mistakes, and even an outburst of laughter in the middle of a game. But the older we got, the more serious everyone became, and sudden giggles –even during practice– were no longer funny. Nothing had changed for me, though: I showed up at every practice, every game and every tournament, to have fun and kick some basketball butt with my best buds.

But, when we were twelve-years-old, everything really changed.

We had entered a new league and would be playing against girls a whole year older than us. We were a Canadian team, right on the US border, so most of the teams we played were American. We always joked that they must put something in the water there, because no matter their age, the American girls always towered over us. We made a name for ourselves though, as the most valiant little Canadians they had ever seen.

Our first tournament that year was truly an eye-opener. The year was 2008, the location was Detroit Michigan, we were 12-years-old, and every team we played looked to be about 14. We could have won the first game with our eyes closed, so we were riding pretty high when we went into our second one.

We were still in the first half of our second game when the referee made a call, “White, Number 14, Technical Foul!” I burst into tears, in the middle of the court. I was White 14, but I knew I didn’t do anything wrong. I was guarding a girl on the other team, who was easily a foot taller than me. She managed to hold my arm in hers and made it look like I was holding her! “I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” I shouted.

I was already embarrassed that I was crying in the middle of the game, but I refused to pull myself out of it. I insisted that I wasn’t holding her, but the ref. handed her the ball for two free foul shots. My coach was trying to call me back over to the bench, but I pretended I didn’t hear him and anchored my heels into the lines on the court. I was ready to pounce the moment the second shot hit the backboard, and I was determined to take this girl down.

We managed to win that game as well, and afterwards, no one talked about how I had a temper tantrum on the court. Even when I tried to apologize to my coach, he brushed it off and told me to focus on resting before the next game. I wasn’t the first one to receive a technical foul –in fact, our coach had gotten one the year before for yelling at a ref. Everyone was willing to look past my mistake, but we also knew that if anyone got one more technical foul, we’d be disqualified from the entire tournament!

We had a whole night to rest before our third game, and an evening spent watching movies in the hotel with my best friends had calmed me down. I was walking onto the court, dribbling a ball and getting ready to warm up before the game when I came face-to-face with the same ref. from the day before –we were stuck with him, again! He looked at me like he didn’t even remember slapping an undeserved foul on me; and chances are, he didn’t remember, but my anger was starting to cloud my judgment.

We made it through that game without any more fouls, but it wasn’t without shock. The game was tied with only 30 seconds left on the clock, and we were on the offense. Watching the clock tick into the last 5 seconds, the ball made its way to me. I was too far to shoot, but not too far to pass to the best shooter on our team. She was our shortest player, but still the best point-guard and shooter.

Her toes were a foot from the three-point-line when she took the shot. The buzzer went off with the ball still in midair, and everyone held their breath as we watched it fall back down, making the most satisfying swish sound as it glided through the net. As we were all watching the ball and hearing it swish, what we didn’t hear was the snap of our best player’s ankle as she landed from that game-winning shot. That three-pointer as the buzzer sounded won us the game, but it took our best player from us, at least for the rest of the tournament.

It almost didn’t seem worth it to continue the tournament without her. She wasn’t a ball-hog, by any means, but she typically made at least half of the points for us, every game. I knew I wouldn’t be asked to take her place for the last game of the tournament, but I felt a sense of duty to step up and try harder than I ever had. I went from being the 6th best player on a team of 12, to the 5th best –which placed me on the starting line-up.

Watching our best player ice her ankle on the sidelines, we readied ourselves to win the game, and the tournament, without our MVP; without our Number 1. We each gave her a pat on the shoulder as we made our way onto the court. I took my position as right-wing, and looked up to the American girls who were tall and strong enough to be called women. I focused my eyes on the ball, and then realized who was holding it. It was that damn ref, again!

I felt a wave of defeat rush over me as I realized we’d be playing our first game without Number 1, and with a ref who seemed to have it out for us! But, by the second half of the game, my doubt was completely gone and I was back to riding that high of winning.

Number 1 was cheering us on from the sidelines, and the ref hadn’t made any bad calls the whole game. We were finally heading into the last minute of the game, and we were ahead by one point. The ball was literally in our court, so as long as we just kept passing it around, it’d be next to impossible for them to get a shot in before the buzzer sounded.

We didn’t have to say anything to each other, or even call a play –we all knew that it was time to keep the ball away from the other team, long enough to win the game. My mind knew these unspoken words, and I knew what was expected of me. I’m not quite sure what happened, to this day, but for some reason, I did the exact opposite.

The ball made its way into my hands, and everything I thought I knew was gone. I heard the slap of the leather wedging between my hands. I heard the sounds of shoes squeaking on the hardwood floors. I heard parents cheering from the stands and coaches yelling from the benches. I heard my own feet running, and then my teammates, coaches and parents shouting my name, beckoning me back.

I was running. I was running the wrong direction! The ball slapped into my hands, and instead of passing it to my open teammate next to me, I started running. The ball was bouncing up and down next to me, dribbling alongside my running feet. I could hear them all yelling, and in that moment, all I could hear was, “WAY TO GO! TAKE IT ALL THE WAY!” The court was open in front of me, not even the referee within my sights. I had a clear path to the basket, and I ran at full speed, setting up the best layup I’d ever done. Those two steps banged against the floor, the ball rose up with my hand, tapped the line on the backboard and twirled along the rim before it fell through the net.

Time slowed down as I watched the ball fall through the net and crash back down onto the hardwood floor. I could feel a smile on my face, and even tears in my eyes at the thought of making such a great shot and winning the game for my team. But when I turned around, my tears of joy turned into tears of shame.

My whole team was staring at me with disbelief. Those on the bench starting walking onto the court, with their mouths gapping open in awe. I found my mom’s face in the stands, and saw her mouth the words, “It’s okay, honey.” The other team was laughing, and then I heard someone shush them.

Instead of making an easy pass to a teammate, I took a shot… on the wrong net. We lost the game, and placed second in the tournament. I was horrified, and twelve years later, I still cringe at the thought of it.

I used to think this was one of the most embarrassing things that happened to me, but I am able to look back now and see that it lead me to one of my biggest regrets… quitting the game of basketball. I always knew I wasn’t the best on the team, and that moment made me feel like I didn’t even have a shot. Everyone was growing up; getting stronger and better, and I was still shooting on the wrong net. So, I didn't tryout for the team the next year, and now I am a woman who longs to be back on the court.

Number 1 continued her career in basketball, playing for the same team all throughout high school, until they eventually retired her jersey. She played all throughout college, as well, and was being scouted for national teams when her ankle gave out, again. In all honestly, we lost touch when I stopped playing all those years ago, and coupled with my regret for quitting basketball is sadness for the friendships I lost.

I often wonder what my life would be like today if I had continued playing basketball. There is no way to know for sure, but it will always bring me joy to look back at that time in my life, when I was Number 14.