Derailed

The complex stood looming in the middle of the summer heat like it always had. Even though it isn’t tall, it is the most intimidating structure that I have ever had the privilege to see. Although everyone goes in with a smile, some smiles to cover overwhelming nervousness, while others are of genuine excitement, (in most cases it is some of both) by the end of the week the complex churns out 95% of the people that enter devastated, many in tears. Only about 5% that enter leave with a smile on their face.

As we say these days, ball is life. For me in the months of April to June, free throws and pushups and long speeches about life from my coach were life. Nationals had always been something I worked as hard as I possibly could for, because making it big on the big stage was a dream of mine. But it had yet to be fulfilled. I had been part of that 95% twice now, churned out by the impersonal merciless tournament that nationals were. They only were personal if you made it to the top. A championship game. Other than that, everyone was a meaningless player that meant more money for the business. Winning is what gets you to the top in AAU and that’s just how it is.

Walking in to registration was all too familiar. I saw the same guys, but just with even more facial hair. Bigger, stronger, and taller than I was. But I had prepared. All of the miles I had run, all of the free throws I had shot and all of the sweat that had dripped from me onto the floor that made it impossible to not slip and fall flat on my face while we did pushups until we air-balled every shot, were so I could play with these guys. But I was scared. Just like every other year I had been there, I couldn’t help it.

But this year, something was different. I had confidence. Our team had confidence. And even though we heard how stupid we were and how we were a bunch of hopeless kids all the time from coach, he believed in us too. The last two years of nationals flew by as a train goes by in the station that you just barely miss. You want to on the train so bad and be on the ride to the destination, but instead miss it and watch the train roll by on the tracks set for it. Just like the passenger that just misses the train, I sat on the bench, wanting to get on and help propel my team to its destination, but instead I was stuck on the platform.

As the first game came around, all of the adrenaline came rushing in like a wave running in through every extremity in my body and converged in my chest as all the waves crashed against each other from every direction. This year I was on the train from the start, and I wanted to make sure that we could propel it as far as we could go and as far as the tracks had been laid out for us. Checking into the game for the first time at nationals is like stepping into school for the first time, except there is no happy introduction from anyone. I played a good game, did what I needed to do, and most importantly we got the win. The next morning we were up again and we had another solid game. Two and 0. Next was our wake-up call. Highflying dunks out of nowhere, kids that our center couldn’t hope to rebound against and kids who literally could not miss a shot. That was when we remembered what nationals was all about. When you thought you could play, there was a team that could really play. A team that was just better. More talented, more athletic and with more confidence.

However, we moved on quickly and the next game we dominated, boosting our self-confidence. I was anything but normal, and played the best game of my life. I was finally feeling like my dreams of making it big on the biggest stage were going to materialize. The train was on schedule and heading to the right station. We won two more games and were riding high into the semifinals. Our confidence could not have been shaken if Michael Jordan had stood on the other side of the court. Then we saw our opponent. The one team that gave every single one of us the jitters, even if we did not want to admit it. The same faces that couldn’t miss a shot the first time we played them were there again. The same faces that had dunked on us and flew in the air as long as I do when I’m on a trampoline were eagerly warming up. They were sure they could blow us out again. And they were spot on.

Our dreams were crushed again. It seemed like an endless cycle. After all of the work we had put into it, there was always going to be a better team. When you go to nationals, you can’t expect to win. Even if you outworked everyone, the complex will most likely turn you around and wipe all of the happiness off your face and replace it with disappointment. It turned out that the train that I had ridden that year had suddenly derailed and fell off the tracks to destruction. The complex is the derailleur. If you are not strong enough to run through it, or athletic enough to jump over it, and if you are not experienced enough at the subtleties of the business to get around it, you will be thrown off sooner or later. It is only a matter of time before the derailleur pushes you off your desired path and leaves you with only one thing: fuel. To try it all again.