From the time I was an eighth grader at Lakeshore Junior High School in Jacksonville, Florida, until I boldly tried out for the JV team at the University of North Carolina, I played organized basketball.  It was everything to me back then.  But it was kind of unlikely that a shy, self-conscious and insecure young guy like me would go as far as I did.

I was a starter on my ninth grade Lakeshore team.  That’s only because I was taller than anyone else.  I also started my senior year on the high school team.  But the years in between, I usually sat on the bench next to the head cheerleader.  Those years did nothing for my self-esteem, but I enjoyed spending the time next to that cheerleader.  She is still a good friend.

I was never really a “participator.”  I joined a few clubs in high school to pad my college application.  I joined, went to one meeting, signed my name, typed my applications, and never went again.  That was my MO.  I behaved the same way when it came to the girls and even to basketball.  It has certainly been my life’s MO from time to time.

But in high school I met John.  He played on his junior high team, too.  It was a different junior high than Lake Shore. It was the school with the really good players.  And he was really good as well.  In high school, we played junior varsity basketball together before we both made it on the varsity team.

Until I met John, I was pretty much the kind of guy who just sort of hung out on the outside of things.  I was grateful for opportunities, but not really so thankful that I made anything of them.  I just pretty much existed, living in a dream world of Tar Heel basketball and an imagined promise of Carolina greatness.

John was more of a “go for it” guy.  He would have made a great Schlitz ad.  He went for the gusto.  And he took me along for the ride.  He befriended me.  Kind of a puzzling turn of events for such an insecure adolescent.  He introduced me to my high school sweetheart.  An even more puzzling turn of events.  “What the hell did he have against her?” was what I asked myself.

Normally, I would have just settled in on the outskirts of things again.  You know, “thanks for the introduction, but don’t bother me again, okay?”  John wouldn’t stand for that.  He arranged things.  He forced the issue.  He pushed the girl and me together.  To him, it wasn’t enough for me to just get in the game.  He made me play the game as well.  

I have been in contact with John lately.  And with another friend of ours from those high school days.  Almost every time I make contact with those two, they each say the same thing:  “Go in, Moon, but don’t shoot.”  That’s a familiar line to the three of us.  It came from the coach of my junior varsity basketball team at Robert E. Lee High School.  I tried my best back then.  After all, my dream was to play for Dean Smith and the University of North Carolina.  John helped me to be better.  He pushed me.  He encouraged me.  He passed me the ball so many times, giving up shots of his own so that I could score.  He made me play the game.

But on the junior varsity team, I was still looking for playing time.  Every time the coach looked down the bench for a substitute player, I moved off my seat just a bit to make myself noticeable.  So many times, the coach looked right through me, opting for someone else to put in the game.  I sat quietly back down those times, looking at the head cheerleader for any sign of redemption.  She helped, but she couldn’t give me playing time.

Finally, my opportunity arrived.  I have no idea why on that one night, during that one game, the coach decided to choose me to play.  But he did.  And, damn it, I was ready.  He looked at me, hesitated, looked at me again, then said, “Go in, Moon.  But don’t shoot!”  A couple of years before that night, I probably would have said, “Okay, coach.”  And I would have done as I was told.

I don’t remember encountering my friend, John, during that exchange with Coach.  But my attitude was noticeably different than it would have been a couple of years before.  That night, at that moment, it wasn’t enough for me to just “get in the game.”  I needed to play.  I disobeyed Coach.  The first time I touched the ball, I shot it.  I really don’t remember if I scored or not.  That is irrelevant.  I do remember the look on John’s face after I took that shot.  He was like a proud mentor, still cheering me on.

Now is this something I have lived every day since I met John?  Not even close.  There have been other Johns throughout the years.  Maybe I’m just one of those guys who needs folks like him.  But it does trouble me a great deal when folks, even myself, seem to somehow feel that just getting in the game is enough.  It’s not.  We have to play.  We have to shoot.

For more on this inspirational Coach, click HERE to read, “Coach” on More Lunacy.