The Rise and Fall of Isner the Barbarian

In the summer of 1985, my friends and I spent countless hours playing basketball in my driveway.  My gang was ultra competitive; the accepted rule among us was that the winner was a “better person”.  Summer eventually turned to fall, and when the school basketball team started, I grudgingly joined.  I was forced to because my friends had, and I didn’t want to destroy my chances of winning.

Admittedly, I wasn’t the best player on the team – I barely made the final cut.  Still, I enjoyed playing and diligently went to all the practices.  We drilled, and ran, and sweated through three weeks of intense training.  The experience resembled boot camp.

Finally, our first exhibition game came up.  It was against our school’s traditional arch rival – Sutherland Secondary.  On the day of the game I was completely distracted.  When the final bell rang I practically leaped out of my desk to run to the change rooms.  The game had been hyped up by the school administration and quite a large crowd showed – mostly screaming girls.

After yelling, swearing and hurling obscenities at Sutherland in the locker room my team gathered for a pep talk and listened to the coach yell, swear, and hurl obscenities at Sutherland.  We disbanded our buddle feeling confident that we were part of something greater than ourselves.  I boldly marched to the position I would occupy for most of the game – the bench.

The whistle blew.  Tall, skinny giants leapt into the air, struggling for possession of  a bouncy orange sphere – the game began.  The crowd was tense.  Their voices crescendo into a wild frenzy of screaming bliss when we scored a basket, and booed and hissed when the enemy violated our hoop.  Soon the score was tied at 16-16 and I sat motionless, watching the game with clenched fists, wishing I was out there.

The tension in the air exponentially increased my thirst as the game progressed.  I was beginning to reach the point of dehydration, so I darted into the hall, and sprinted to the nearest water fountain.  I drank in huge, grasping gulps, my lips to glued to the fountain like an over-inflated water bed.  My thirst quenched, I waddled back towards the game, oblivious to the fact I had missed half-time, and that the teams had switched sides.

I opened the door just in time to witness one of our star players, Trevor Short twist, contort and then drop to the floor with an anguished expression on his face.  He was hurt.

“Shit!” yelled our coach, crouching, his eyes desperately darting from side to side looking at Trevor gimace and curse on the court in front of him.  He paused, his gaze falling on me, locked frozen holding the door, just feet away from the accident.

Isner, get in there,” he growled.

Finally it was my turn.  Sutherland would now feel the wrath of Isner the Barbarian.

I leaped out onto the court with a mighty bound.  Reality had taken on a sharp visual clarity.  I was pure concentration.  The ball was quickly rifled towards me.  I caught it, turned in a tight pivot, aimed, and fired with unheard of precision.  The ball traveled in slow motion, following a parabolic arch over the 12 feet lying between me and the basket.  Swoosh!  The ball cleanly penetrated the net, dropping to the floor below.

The crowd went wild!  My hands flew towards the sky, embracing the world.  Adrenalin pumped through my veins.  A summer of nothing but basketball had payed off.  I showed them for keeping me on the bench.  The crowd was screaming, cheering, laughing…. Laughing?

Why were they laughing?  Why were they laughing?

My team-mate looked over at me and screamed, “Isner, you idiot!  You scored on the wrong basket! You scored on the wrong fucking basket”.

My outstretched hands fell from the sky and covered my face.  A deafening wall of sound pushed against me.  Inside there was silence like a blow to the head.  I wanted to escape, to crawl into the ground below my feet.  How could my hope, my enthusiasm, all my dreams and practice have betrayed my so badly?  The world was a blur, I darted of the court and out the door and the sound of the laughing audience grew louder, even as I stumbled down the hallway. 

And it still echo in my soul today as lesson in humility.