Coach, ya got two nickels for a dime?

I was a wanna be NBA basketball player. I'd dribble a basketball and my white ass up three blocks virtually every day as a kid to the outdoor Catholic School basketball court - adjacent to the neighborhood predominantly occupied by African-Americans. We didn't know color in that day - unlike the times - and I consider our town lucky. That's a story for another day.

My high school basketball career was that of mediocrity. If you remember, I'd broken my arm being Al Bundy in HS Football - so, I was still "with cast" when practice began my senior year. Sprints, we were running sprints. I was madly in love at the time, and since I couldn't dribble, scrimmage, do what the others were doing - I was extremely bored and wanted to get the hell out of there. Sooo, long about when I thought it was our last length of the court - I continued out the opened doors - did a Ralphy toward the school exit and went and saw my sweety. Hell I forget now who I was dating. Coach was in his 27th year, his handle on team discipline had slipped a couple of notches - I figured no way my absence would be noticed, nor penalized even if I did get caught.

Next morning, I was reading Kansas City paper... Sports, page 4 - BIG picture labeled: "Returning Liberty lettermen".... "Joe Blow, Jim Smith " (not pictured: "Victor whats-his-last name"). Yes, KC Star reporter came right after I left, doing the annual projection for our high school. My timing for departing practice that day was not the greatest.

I continued playing in Junior College - and our team was in it's first-ever season, so, a fitting place for a player of mediocrity. Team pictures from the early 70's look more like women's basketball players - as virtually everyone at least had hair covering their ears. Mine hit my shoulders, and on more than one occasion my female English professor whom I loved/admired deeply would purposely walk up behind me, tap me on the shoulder and say "Excuse me ma'am."

On to the Liberal Arts College I attended... nope, not talented enough to play - but, didn't stop my love of the game. I was what is referred to as a "gym rat." Intramural hellion, connoisseur of the game, eerily in love with basketball, Pete Maravich wanna-be.

"Hey Vic" the women's athletic director called out one day..."C-mere, I wanna talk to you." "Me?" "Yeah... c'mere." I, the gym rat, was being offered the assistant head coaching job of this fine Liberal Art's College FIRST EVER edition of Women's Basketball. Cool!

Sooooooooooooooooo many memories... I did that for seven years - the first as the assistant, and the next six as head coach.... Ulitmately got a wife outta the deal, but that too perhaps a story for another day.

Diddies from that era:

Hey coach, ya got two nickels for a dime?... "Change for a dime? WHY would anyone need change for a dime?"... Embarrassing moment number one. (Do they still have those damn machines in women's restrooms? If so, what's inflation done to the price? hehe)

Basketball games get rather emotional... I'm fairly darn self deprecating, but I gotta say I was a fairly good motivator in my role. They played hard, and on several occasions tears would come out after defeat and more than once I heard "we wanted to win for YOU." (Shit, there's that 'feel' thing again.)

66-65, a homecourt win over our arch rival, Missouri Valley. We always met briefly in the locker room to talk for a short right after the game. I dunno, I guess we became like family - as - as I began the little post game congratulation speech - TWO (not one, but TWO) of them forgot it was me standing there - and their tops came off from all the excitement of the moment. Embarrassing moment number two. There were many.

Cottey College - at that time was a rickety ole junior college - and we played them early every year to prepare for our regular season... We'd womped up on them pretty decently... Had our postgame talk.. I trudged to the van to fill my dual capacity role of van driver. Cottey College is out in the middle of nowhere, a female junior college then - and I ain't real sure how frequently they'd seen a man around. With my eyes covered... Ok, maybe just one of them.. an on-purpose striptease act was performed in the windows of the dorm our van was parked next to... This went on for like fifteen minutes - until the first chicky on the team returned from the lockeroom to the bus.

The wild Cottey women had settled down a bit by now - but still, it was another 15 minutes before the next player emerged... and then the next one - another 15 minutes later... after one full hour, the 4th player walked out. "Burgy, what in the heck is going on in there?"... "well coach, they've only got one outlet in the locker room... and we've each GOT to dry our hair." Shit.

Road trip. My senior year, second year as head coach. We'd won in mid-Missouri on a Friday night - were spending the night in one of the mom & pop motels that was within the means of our budget. Upcoming noon game Saturday in another mid-Missouri town. My assistant was a fraternity brother who'd quit playing basketball the year before. 6'6" tall, skinny as a rail, and one of the nicest guys I'd ever met. Traveling with us on this trip was the assistant coach from the year before - another fraternity brother.

As fraternity brothers do (yes, even a group of Baptist College fraternity brothers) we bought a twelve pack to celebrate the victory - and to hash over the season, school, and who we thought had the nicest butt on campus. Shortly after our second trip to the liquor store.. Joe, the skinny assistant - takes a shower. He sits wrapped in a towel - we're all fairly lit by now... One of us, don't remember who.. say "hey Joe, ya wanna make $5?"...... "Sure, how?" (In spite of this being a fairly expensive college to attend - 90% of us were poor.").. "Well, Mr. Joe, I'm going to place this $5 bill on the windshield wiper of our van.. all you have to do, is walk outside completely naked , get it, and it's yours." "Hell, I'll do that for $5."

Joe drops his towel, jogs out for his easy money, his skinny ass rail of a body shining in the moonlight. CLICK. Motel door locked. Dumbass. Fifteen minutes of begging, pleading, knocking, banging ("Joe cool it, you'll wake the girls") we finally let him in. Moral, if any get rich scheme sounds to good to be true it probably is.

I love basketball, any age, any stage.