Amateurs Can Play Basketball (Of Sorts)

Unless you've been hiding under a rock or something, you're probably aware the 1988 Summer Olympics being tonight in Seoul, South Korea.

Nineteen days of the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat, and the red eyes of trying to watch nearly 180 hours of NBC programming while studying, writing term papers, or doing other extracurricular activities - like, for example, breathing.

For many of us, the event with the most significance is men's basketball. That's primarily because of Dan Majerle, who has gotten so much media notice recently that it's almost a case of overkill - not that he doesn't deserve it, because he does, and I'm proud of him for that. I have never had the ability to play the game as well as he, and I respect his talent, commitment, and poise. He deserves all the positive attention he gets.

Now, then. A long, long time ago - before VCRs and Walkmans, before my grey hairs began to outnumber the others on my head, before the three-point shot, back when I was in high school I used to play basketball. Or, at least, try. My friends and I quickly discovered we were not made of the material stars such as Dan Majerle are made of.

In fact, we weren't made of the material Bob Marley was made of. When we shot all-netters, it was the bottom of the net we hit, not the hoop section. We also found out there's a difference between junior varsity and pick-up varsity - we being of the latter.

We pick-up varsity players never wore letters on our jackets. We wore numbers. We never won awards like "Most Likely To Wind Up In Drug Rehab," or "Most Athletic Scholarships Rejected." Girls didn't flock to us in awe, although the cheerleaders would chant, "Aw-ful! Aw-ful!" while we played.

So, instead of "going for the gold," we hammed it up on the court. We invented Commando Basketball.

Commando Basketball is different from the more conventional style which professionals and hopeful-pros play. Commando Basketball is more wide-open. It shows the lack of grace many of us non-sports types have hidden in us. Or, in some cases, not so hidden.

Despite being an expert in the "Sky-Sinker" (my favorite shot), I never dreamt - not for one moment - of landing a show contract. AIR GABA doesn't have that flow, that style, that ring of money being dropped into a bank vault from overly-kind bosses (also known as "owners" or "general managers").

There were usually 10 of us battling on the court. The sides, no matter how chosen or divided up, always were fairly equal in un-talent. Myself, Oly, T.D. Big Jon and Lummox were the "Tighter Than Grandma's Knitting" team. Our logo was a ball of yarn. Biffer, Scum, Cheesehead, D.J. and Dewey were our opponents, "The Generics." They wore nothing on their uniforms. (Fortunately for the fans - all eight of them - they did wear clothes.)

The list of rules we played by in Commando Basketball was limited. It looked something like this:

RULE ONE - BLOOD COUNTS, as long as you bleed with honor.

In high school, too many times when blood is drawn, the victim cries in pain while the instigator laughs his lungs to Milwaukee. We didn't allow that. Instead, we were much more civilized. We would laugh to the basket while missing yet another lay-up shot.

RULE TWO - YOU CAN BE TRADED during a game. You can announce free agency during a game. You can steal the ball from your teammate and drive toward the other basket. Basically, you can do whatever you want, as long as it's performed with taste and fairly liberal judgment.

What this says, in a nutshell, is that a game of 5-on-5 could suddenly become 1-on-9, with you (i.e., "Paul") being the "one."

Of course, then I could switch sides, too, so it became a 0-on-10 game, which made for some interesting defensive play.

RULE THREE - SHOW WHAT YOU CAN'T DO, and show it well.

It was pretty cool, all in all. I couldn't run, so I'd pass. I couldn't shoot, so I'd pass. I couldn't pass very well, either, so I got hammered while my teammates would try to run, shoot or pass. Basically, I couldn't do anything, so I fit right in with the style we perfected.

In one game, I scored a basket, though, The fact that it was an errant pass that got tipped by an opponent doesn't matter - I was credited with the points.

And boy, was I proud.

So when I'm watching the Olympics the next three weeks, I'll be watching Dan Majerle and the rest of the U.S. Olympic Basketball team, wondering what could have been, had I been blessed with the talent to shoot a ball into a net.

And maybe I'll work on my Sky-Sinker.

This article originally appeared in Central Michigan Life.