It's been a long time since I wrote about this coaching thing that I've gotten really great at. The last time I did write about the team, we had just lost our first game by thirty big ones.
Oh how the tables–the kind that are fitted with wheels and go out for thrill rides on the roadway, hit a well-placed rock, and complete an improbable change of course onto an adjacent street–have turned.
In 2014, we are undefeated. I repeat: In 2014, we are undefeated.
The team that not two months before I gently teased here for their lack of any skill whatsoever when it comes to basketball, is now tops in the nation in winning percentage this year.
And as much as I'd like to say it's been a direct result of my inspiring coaching–oh hell, that's exactly what's got us to this coveted and insurmountable position atop the country, and even the world. Don't believe me? Believe this: At our most recent game, K., who's an eighth-grade baller on the guys team, said this to me from the bleachers, "Heyo Mr. Londberg, you're like Phil Jackson. You got that zen, ya know?"
Bang-bang, in the words of one of my students.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's start at that first game in January.
It had been a long and peaceful winter break, and I was welcomed back to school by a light snow that threatened to cancel school–and our scheduled game. The prospect of a full day at school plus an hour tacked on to coach a basketball game had me in dire straits, so when the snow (that the entire staff was abuzz over) came through by canceling school, I can't say that I was too disappointed that I didn't have to trot my girls out onto the hardwood after two weeks without practice.
So, bang-bang, we were through our first game of 2014 without a loss.
The second game was canceled due to the other team's inability to attain referees for the game.
Bang-bang, through two games of 2014 without a loss.
Oh how the tables–the kind that are fitted with wheels and go out for thrill rides on the roadway, hit a well-placed rock, and complete an improbable change of course onto an adjacent street–have turned.
In 2014, we are undefeated. I repeat: In 2014, we are undefeated.
The team that not two months before I gently teased here for their lack of any skill whatsoever when it comes to basketball, is now tops in the nation in winning percentage this year.
And as much as I'd like to say it's been a direct result of my inspiring coaching–oh hell, that's exactly what's got us to this coveted and insurmountable position atop the country, and even the world. Don't believe me? Believe this: At our most recent game, K., who's an eighth-grade baller on the guys team, said this to me from the bleachers, "Heyo Mr. Londberg, you're like Phil Jackson. You got that zen, ya know?"
Bang-bang, in the words of one of my students.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's start at that first game in January.
It had been a long and peaceful winter break, and I was welcomed back to school by a light snow that threatened to cancel school–and our scheduled game. The prospect of a full day at school plus an hour tacked on to coach a basketball game had me in dire straits, so when the snow (that the entire staff was abuzz over) came through by canceling school, I can't say that I was too disappointed that I didn't have to trot my girls out onto the hardwood after two weeks without practice.
So, bang-bang, we were through our first game of 2014 without a loss.
The second game was canceled due to the other team's inability to attain referees for the game.
Bang-bang, through two games of 2014 without a loss.
The third game was actually played. We started off slow, falling behind by four points (which is more like ten or even fifteen points in girls middle school basketball). But the other team was beatable, I knew that much. So after the first quarter, I delivered what quite possibly was the greatest speech of all time. (I basically just pulled lines from this video, making for a hodgepodge of cheesy one-liners that went something like this: You got a dream, you gotta protect it. But you gotta be willin' to take the hits, and not pointin' fingers and sayin' you ain't where ya wanna be because of him or her or ANYBODY. Cowards do that and THAT AIN'T YOU! We're in hell right now, ladies. We can climb outta hell, one inch at a time; inch by inch, play by play, until we're finished. On this team, we claw with our fingernails for that inch! Never give in. Never, never, never. Never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy. You want something, go get it, PERIOD.)
As you might imagine after that spine-tingling deliverance of pure inspiration, my team came out with fire in their eyes. But unfortunately they were also a little confused by my wordy and mismatched speech, and so they ended up going scoreless in the quarter, so we found ourselves down six at halftime.
But then, in the second half, something clicked. A., who's transformed into a ferocious defender and solid ball-handler, took over the game. She started hounding the opponent's point guard. She was everywhere–like Starbucks. She had about eight steals in the third quarter alone, all of which led to fastbreaks, and although those breaks led to point-blank layups, we only converted about two of them. But that meant the lead was cut in half going into the fourth quarter (that is, we were down by four, for those keeping track at home).
In the fourth quarter, Angie continued to hound, we continued to make twenty-five percent of wide-open layups, and my sole jump-shooter hit a deep deuce. With four minutes to play, we took the lead and never looked back. I had players dancing after made baskets, after defensive stands, and at maddeningly random times–such as scrums for a loose ball.
No matter, I didn't have the heart to ream out those dancing knuckleheads, as the sweet nectar of first victory was naturally overwhelming their tongues. I called for sportsmanship and for my players to remember what it was like when they were the ones losing, and then I watched the slightly less exuberant dance party continue.
Bang-bang, three games in, zero losses.
The fourth game was canceled due to a snow day. Bang-bang, four games down.
The fifth game had every promise of being played. It was at our school, so my team was warming up in what I now fondly refer to as my third home, the gym (behind my classroom and my bedroom, in that order.)
But ten minutes before the scheduled tip, the opposing team had yet to arrive, and our athletic director started a solemn stroll in my direction. He told me that the other team had forfeited on account of not having enough players at school that day (in other words, fear), so yet another game was lost to cancellation, but that meant my team had now escaped five games without a blemish on their record.
And although it was a disappointment not to have an opponent that day, the referees had already showed up with every intention to ref a game, so they suggested a team scrimmage.
So we split the girls up by age, eighth graders vs. seventh graders, and they played a game memorable for many reasons: the sportsmanship shown was a pleasure to watch (even though it was because they were playing against friends and teammates); the joy on so many faces at so many points in the scrimmage could almost make a pug smile; and the improvement from just a month ago was evident in so many of the players that I couldn't help but smile.
And, like I said, a student called me Phil Jackson. That's one lofty comment. That's one knowledgeable student.
As you might imagine after that spine-tingling deliverance of pure inspiration, my team came out with fire in their eyes. But unfortunately they were also a little confused by my wordy and mismatched speech, and so they ended up going scoreless in the quarter, so we found ourselves down six at halftime.
But then, in the second half, something clicked. A., who's transformed into a ferocious defender and solid ball-handler, took over the game. She started hounding the opponent's point guard. She was everywhere–like Starbucks. She had about eight steals in the third quarter alone, all of which led to fastbreaks, and although those breaks led to point-blank layups, we only converted about two of them. But that meant the lead was cut in half going into the fourth quarter (that is, we were down by four, for those keeping track at home).
In the fourth quarter, Angie continued to hound, we continued to make twenty-five percent of wide-open layups, and my sole jump-shooter hit a deep deuce. With four minutes to play, we took the lead and never looked back. I had players dancing after made baskets, after defensive stands, and at maddeningly random times–such as scrums for a loose ball.
No matter, I didn't have the heart to ream out those dancing knuckleheads, as the sweet nectar of first victory was naturally overwhelming their tongues. I called for sportsmanship and for my players to remember what it was like when they were the ones losing, and then I watched the slightly less exuberant dance party continue.
Bang-bang, three games in, zero losses.
The fourth game was canceled due to a snow day. Bang-bang, four games down.
The fifth game had every promise of being played. It was at our school, so my team was warming up in what I now fondly refer to as my third home, the gym (behind my classroom and my bedroom, in that order.)
But ten minutes before the scheduled tip, the opposing team had yet to arrive, and our athletic director started a solemn stroll in my direction. He told me that the other team had forfeited on account of not having enough players at school that day (in other words, fear), so yet another game was lost to cancellation, but that meant my team had now escaped five games without a blemish on their record.
And although it was a disappointment not to have an opponent that day, the referees had already showed up with every intention to ref a game, so they suggested a team scrimmage.
So we split the girls up by age, eighth graders vs. seventh graders, and they played a game memorable for many reasons: the sportsmanship shown was a pleasure to watch (even though it was because they were playing against friends and teammates); the joy on so many faces at so many points in the scrimmage could almost make a pug smile; and the improvement from just a month ago was evident in so many of the players that I couldn't help but smile.
And, like I said, a student called me Phil Jackson. That's one lofty comment. That's one knowledgeable student.