This week's song - Lose Yourself - by Eminem. No particular meaning here, except for the fact that every time I hear it I'm transported to an SUV driving boys to basketball games.
“Time-Out!” I yelled as I ran toward the referee at mid-court. The Shockers had just scored to take the lead. I needed to calm my team down and draw up a big play. The Bandits were down three with only 6 seconds remaining in the Championship game. AAU travel basketball gets intense. My players gathered around me as they always had, each of their expectant faces looking up, trusting I would come up with something that would lead them to victory. No one in the Powell gym that night expected us to compete with The Shockers, much less lead the entire game. Their faster and more athletic players had annihilated the rest of the field on their march to the championship. We had played an incredible game. Everyone played. Everyone contributed. Now, we were seemingly yielding to our fate, relinquishing our hard-fought lead with seconds to go. I was so proud. I told them. We’d played a great tournament. We’d made it to the finals. The rosy cheeks and excited eyes of the 11-year-old boys gazed up at me. The gym was on fire with excitement and expectation. Connor, the tallest of the kids, circled the huddle nervously. “Connor! sit still! What are you doing?” I asked. “I’m just so excited, Coach! This is awesome!” It was awesome. I grabbed my dry-erase clipboard. There was still fight in this team. It was the spring of 2009.
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| The Bandits |
Those little boys are now young men, most of them Seniors in high school. Connor Arnold is 6 feet 7 inches tall and an All-State forward at Grace Christian Academy. Caden Harbin is Mr. Everything at Halls High - an All-District and All-State football player. Isaiah Sulack broke the Arby’s Classic (a nationally recognized tournament) three-point record earlier this year, scoring 39 points in a single game for CAK High School. The kids, most of whom played for me for the better part of a decade (more than half of their lives) are scattered across the city. Griffin Hicks and Ryan Lee are at Webb. Tyler Parker is a talented golfer at Catholic. Haydn Tanner is a two-sport star at CAK, and Tyler Young, aka Big Mac, is also a Senior at CAK. Alex Majoras, the quietest kid I’ve ever known, is at Bearden. Shawn McKay, who I held as a newborn, will graduate from Farragut in May. Then there is my baby boy, Andy Pryor, who is a Junior at CAK and my all-time favorite Bandit. Most still play basketball, but not all. Dozens of other boys have played for me at one time or another over the years - too many to list here. All of them are great kids with wonderful, loving parents. Several have earned athletic honors, but very few, if any, will go on to play basketball in college. The core group has been with me since they were eight years old.
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| Coaching |
We’ve burned up the roads of this state, singing rap and pop songs and talking about the finer things in life - video games, Krispy Kreme donuts, and girls. We’ve eaten a lot of pizza in hotels, where boys with boundless energy took over indoor pools while parents washed uniforms in bathroom sinks and dried socks on hotel-room air conditioners. The Bandits have spent many a night at my house and my son has been welcomed in each of their homes. When I started coaching them, I thought I was simply coaching a game I loved and bonding with my son. When I hung it up, I realized that I’d made my own friends for life. I am the beneficiary of a gift I inadvertently gave myself. Coaching these kids has been one of the great privileges and honors of my life. One of my players wrote a school essay about how I influenced his life. Another said I would be one of his 8 invitees on NBA draft night when he would be taken in the first round. I text them after their wonderful high school performances and, more importantly, after the poor ones. They text me to give me a hard time when they see my commercial on television or an appearance on Legal Lowdown. I sometimes just text to check in. Andy and I go to their high school games. They often come to his. They tell me they love me. They hug me whenever I see them in public. Even though it has been over a year since I put down the clipboard, they still call me “Coach” or “Pryor.”
On that night in March of 2009, the Shockers thought they had us. They didn’t know what a good play I had drawn up. I knew the shot was good before it left Parker’s hands. He was a great shooter. They all were. When the three-pointer passed through the net as the buzzer rang out, the gym erupted. Tie game. We were going to overtime. A few minutes later, after Connor slid down the baseline and drained a three pointer two minutes into overtime, the game was over. We were the Champions. As Connor said, “It was awesome.” There are few better things in life than watching 11-year-old boys celebrate an unexpected and hard fought championship. I became one of those 11-year-old boys.
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| My boys |
All good things come to an end. Boys turn into men and seasons conclude despite our begging. I miss it all, but more than anything I miss the sideline huddle with the excitement of a game hanging in the balance. Should I one day be granted the gift of reflection during my final hours on this planet, I shall consider the many blessings in my life. Included among them will be my years with the Bandits. I will reach for memories of my precious time in the company of such fine boys and smile gratefully for our days together. I shall immerse myself in the echoes of shoes squeaking on gym floors beneath the hum of fluorescent lights and intermittent whistles, and desperately grasp for the vision of their youthful faces encircling me on sidelines. And, should anyone ask who I would like to carry me to my final resting place, I will without hesitation say “The Bandits.”
