HIGH SCHOOL JOURNALISM: Tale from a 'role player'

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By Charles Cliff, Decorah senior

DECORAH - Practice began the same as always, the dreaded 'Dirty Thirty' - half an hour of pure conditioning hell.I got down in my defensive stance, knees bent, feet shoulder width apart, ready to push. That phrase had been drilled into my mind that season. The buzzer sounded with a flurry of action at its heels, and I shuffled across the lane to pick up my first block of many. Back and forth shuffling, an endless cycle of picking up and dropping blocks on each side of the free throw lane. This drill sucks. How does this make me better? I wish I could be anywhere but here. The buzzer sounded again.'Thirty second break,' yelled Coach Brown.Wonderful. Two straight minutes of shooting pain and a measly 30-second break - seems right. The buzzer cut into my thoughts as it sounded again, and as I continued my shuffling, my thoughts turned to the offensive. I hope the buzzer breaks. I hope someone passes out. This is so pointless.'Switch!' Wonderful, on to the next method of torture.The remaining 25 minutes of the 'Dirty Thirty' blended into a mix of soreness, buzzing, whistles and a few choice thoughts. Finally, the last buzzer sounded, bringing with it a cumulative sigh of relief from the entire team.'Everybody on the line,' yelled Coach.'Are you kidding me?' I whispered, appalled at the notion of running after the excruciating difficulty of the 'Dirty Thirty.' I slowly meandered toward the line, not even attempting to cover up the irritation on my face.'Ready, you've got a 10 in a minute. Go!'I took off for the first of 10 full court sprints. Gasping for breath, each stride seemed more difficult than the last. I then glanced up to see everybody on the team ahead of me. Last again. The thought hit harder than usual. I wasn't surprised, but I hated of the idea of putting forth every ounce of effort I have and yielding nothing in return.It's over - now practice will go well.This thought, although partially correct from a physical standpoint, was far from the truth. We spread apart as usual, varsity on one side of the main gym, the rest of the sophomores - including me - on the other, with the freshmen in the practice gym. Practice commenced with shooting, passing and dribbling drills, moved to running plays and finally to our ending conditioning. My legs and chest still burned from the intensity of the 'Dirty Thirty,' but I pushed through it. Suddenly, Coach Brown yelled to our sophomore coach, Coach Carlson.'Hey, scrimmage time.'My heart skipped a beat.'We never scrimmage,' I said incredulously for anyone to hear. The general consensus was that scrimmaging was the only worthwhile part of practice, a time when you get the chance to just play. As Coach Carlson pulled us in, I could barely contain my excitement. My energy was replenished, the soreness in my lungs and legs disappeared. I felt pure euphoria.'All right. Bryce, Holt, Cole, Kyle, and Nick - you're going to start out against the varsity guys; then we'll get the rest of you in.'I walked to the sideline with a skip in my step, finally it was time to play. The clock started 10:00, 9:59, 9:58 ... The scrimmage had begun. The first group got pounded from the start, to be expected when playing the varsity guys, but I didn't care, that just meant more rotation for me. With 7:20 left to go, Coach sent out the next group of five players. Still standing on the sideline, I knew my time was almost here. I was going in with the next group. The anticipation caused me to start shaking as the clock continued ticking downward 6:45, 6:20, 5:45.'Timeout!' yelled Coach Carlson. 'All right, next group in.'As I stepped towards the court, Coach Carlson stopped me and, with one simple command, ruined all confidence I had in my abilities.'Uhh, C.J.,' he stammered, 'I'm going to have you go practice with the freshman for the rest of the day.'I didn't answer. I knew if I attempted to respond, I would choke up. I hated being separated from groups and singled out. And this order added a masked unspoken insult of 'You're not good enough.'Hopelessness built up inside me as I nodded and turned silently toward the door. With each step the weight of my head pulled increasingly on my neck until I could only see the ground in front of me. I felt like an outcast, a worthless nomad with no purpose who could be tossed aside without a second thought. For the remainder of practice with the freshmen, I didn't speak. I was inside my head thinking and re-thinking what had just occurred. Practice ended with a sudden force. I now had to return to the group, which just an hour prior had shunned me. We did our post-practice break down. Nick Nelson shouted, 'Vikes on 3! 1-2-3''Vikes!'The resounding burst of noise emanated from every member of the team. Every member but me. As I turned to walk to the locker room, Coach Carlson stopped me yet again. This time he was not alone. Coach Brown was standing beside him.'I know you aren't happy that I sent you with the freshmen,' he said, somehow knowing how I felt. 'You're just not ready to play against the varsity.'I didn't respond. I just stared at the ground and prayed for this moment to end. Now it was Coach Brown's turn. 'I really appreciate the time and effort you've put in these past two years, I know it's hard to believe, but that doesn't go unnoticed. You have put in more work than anyone else in the off season, and I couldn't be prouder to have you as a part of my team.'These words seemed to pour life back into me. The anger and sadness replaced with a faint sense of pride and happiness. The weight of my head faded with my anger and brought it up to meet the gaze of my coaches.'Thank you,' I croaked in a nearly inaudible attempt to fight back the tears building in the corners of my eyes.'That's not all,' interrupted Coach Carlson. 'We want you to know that your effort in practice is exemplary for everyone and we believe that this is your role for this team. Lead by example, do the little things right and make your teammates better. Everybody respects the work you put in and if you attach yourself to this role, it would be incredibly beneficial for the team.'I managed to eek out what sounded something like OK. Then I walked past them to the locker room contemplating what I just experienced.As I walked away, I felt a mixture of emotional extremes - gratitude, irritation, pride and anger. It was the summation of my four years of basketball from seventh grade to sophomore year. I had found my role. I wasn't the guy on the floor scoring points. I was the unsung hero that told him, the practice before, that if he changed the motion on his shot he would be able to score easier. I was the guy behind the scenes working to make everybody better. I was the guy in practice keeping people focused, making sure everyone does the little things right.Everybody has their niche, and I finally found mine.I am the role player.