Jared Woytasczyk

The Way It Should Be

The bus ride was long and quiet. I slept most of the way. When I wasnπt sleeping I was thinking. I was thinking about my life: past, present, and future. I wondered how I got to where I was at that moment. Basketball had been my life since I was twelve years old and I couldnπt see myself without it. I never doubted my ability until the night before. What was I going to do with my life? I didnπt have a clue. I had to talk to someone. I was in a fragile state of mind. Good thing my girlfriend was there.

* * * * *

I had always been very athletic for my age. I was always taller than everyone else and a lot faster. I could beat anyone my age at any athletic event. Heck, I could even beat kids three or four years older than I was. I was also a smart kid. I had my head on straight and stayed out of trouble. I knew what was right and what was wrong, and I knew which decisions were good ones and which decisions were bad. I knew that sports were in my future.

I didnπt play any organized sports until junior high when a lot of the other kids had caught up and surpassed me in athletic ability. My dream had always been to play football. I wanted to be a wide receiver for the Dallas Cowboys. Basketball was just sort of a given. My mother and brother had played in high school. I had been to camps and knew I had the talent. I had a nice shot for a young guy and was still taller than the majority of people my age. When I found out that I was exactly fast enough to play wide receiver, I turned my full attention to basketball. In a way it was my choice, because I decided not to play football anymore. But I could always feel the pressure of my parents and my family. I was the last chance to succeed.

High school was moderately successful for me, statistically speaking. I wasnπt having as much fun as I expected. Perhaps this is when my first resentment toward basketball surfaced. I had never run so much in my life. And since my recent growth spurts shot my up to 6π8≤ by my junior year, I wasnπt much of a runner anymore. Injuries were never a problem; I just hated to run. I dreaded every fall when we had to run cross-country. I eventually got used to it and knew that I wanted to continue to ball through college and possibly overseas. It was a very real possibility. I decided play for a small Division III college so I could play and not sit on the bench my first couple of years. With what the next few years would bring me, it turned out to be a good decision.

I thought there was a lot of running in high school basketball. Boy, was I wrong. From the first day of the college pre season I knew I was in for my own personal hell. I struggled through the first few weeks with minimal progress. I didnπt want to be at this school. It seemed as if I didnπt fit in. For the first time in my life I wanted to quit. Donπt get me wrong, I still loved the game. Or did I? My parents paid a lot of money for me to come to this small school instead of going to a bigger school on a full ride. It was about the education, and the chance to play. Every time I thought about quitting, I thought about how proud my parents were. I couldnπt let them down.

The first season of my college career began. I loved it. I knew that I still loved the game. I was at this school to play basketball. I didnπt have any idea of what I wanted to be when I grew up. I didnπt even have a major. I was a just a happy freshman living his dream of playing college basketball. I started not to doubt myself about loving the game. I knew I wanted to play basketball for as long as I could. Nothing could go wrong. I was on top of the world. Until one word changed the game for me.

Tendonitis. At first I thought it was a slight tear of my ACL. That was the best I could have hoped for. If it had been, I would have been on the shelf for three, four weeks tops. But, lucky me, I had what wouldnπt go away. Ultrasound. Stem treatment. It was all the same to me. They didnπt work. It was something I had to live with. ≥Play through the pain,≤ my coach would tell me. ≥Itπs not going to go away,≤ the trainer would say. None of this surprised me. Thatπs what theyπre supposed to say. The notion of quitting once again crept into my mind. But I didnπt want to be known as a quitter; I just wanted an excuse. What surprised me was my mom. I told her I was thinking about transferring after my sophomore year.

≥No. We spent a lot of money to send you to this school. I donπt want these past two years to be a waste,≤ was her response.

What? My mom wasnπt supporting me in my decision? Talk about being blindsided. So I decided to talk to my dad about it.

≥Where are you going to transfer to?≤ he asked.

≥Probably Sam Houston,≤ I told him. I didnπt have the heart to tell him I wasnπt planning on playing.

≥Well that sounds good. A lot cheaper than your school, too. And youπll get to bang around with the big boys next season. Youπre gonna have to work a lot harder next season.≤ Well, there goes that idea of telling him I wasnπt playing.

As my sophomore year started, I decided I wanted to play again. I was actually excited for conference to begin. I wasnπt the skinny freshman I was the past year. I was bigger, stronger, and a little more experienced. I had a few bones to pick with other teams. They were gonna pay. I had my mind made up. I had all these hopes and dreams for the season running through my head, day and night. Nothing was going to stop me this time. My love for the game returned.

The beginning of the season was great. We won some, we lost some. But most importantly I was having fun. The first half of the year passed quickly. My tendonitis had all but cleared up. I was healthy and in pretty good shape. I was having a pretty good year. Once again I thought everything was going my way. Conference had started and we were off to a pretty good start. It was going to be a great season for me. I was excited about my cousins coming to watch me play. I wanted to make them as proud as my parents were. However, luck is not one of my virtues.

A twisted left ankle kept me out of a couple practices before the big game with all my fans. I healed as quickly as I could, and was ready for the game. I saw my family in the stands. I smiled. I smiled because they were there to see me. The smile faded quickly. They werenπt there to see me. They were there to see me play. Would they have been there if I werenπt playing basketball? No. I had seen at least of dozen people at my games that I hadnπt seen in years. They came to see my game, not to see me. They never hung out after the game. Half the time they were gone before I got out of the locker room at the end of the game. Oh well, thatπs the way itπs got to be, I suppose. I played hard anyway. Sprained my right ankle. I didnπt care. I kept playing. Iπm not one to let people down. Five minutes later I sprained my left ankle and had to be helped off the court. Hey, I tried. Like I said, Iπm not a lucky guy.

The team demeanor had taken a serious downfall. Moral was low. Team unity wasnπt existent. Why? Because we werenπt winning. Losing is not fun. We needed to win the last two games to salvage something from the season. I spent the rest of the season rehabbing my ankles and trying to finish strong. Being injured takes a lot of the fun out of the game. I was finally healthy for the last two games of the season. Two games I could dominate in. A road trip to Rhodes and Hendrix sounded good to me, I was healthy.

I always hated the practices the day before a game. They never seemed to go well. I especially hated practicing in the Rhodes gym. I had bad memories from the previous year; I had one of my worst games of the season there. But I wanted to go out with a bang since I hadnπt contributed much the last few games. Once again, I sprain my left ankle during practice. I really hate that gym. Coach thought I was faking. He didnπt even check up on me as I lay on the court. Thatπs ok. He always thought I was faking it. I was still going to start in the game the next day. There was an åogreπ, as coach put it, that would be guarding me. This was my chance to make a killing. I should have at least a double-double (ten points, ten rebounds).

My stat line at the end of the game read: points- 1 (off a free throw), rebounds-1, turnovers-3. Horrible. The åogreπ outscored me by nine points and had a stat line far superior to mine. Unbelievable. After the game coach told me I let the team down. He said injured or not, I should have owned this game. We lost, and it felt like it was all my fault. I had never felt that way in my eight years of organized basketball.

* * * * *

I woke up on the bus with my girlfriend by my side. I sure was glad I was dating the girlπs basketball manager. We were traveling from Memphis to Conway, Arkansas, the next morning. We played that night. I had been thinking about why I was playing basketball. I realized that I wasnπt playing for myself. Jessica saw that I had a lot on my mind.

≥Iπve been playing basketball since I was a kid,≤ I told her. ≥I was supposed to. Iπm 6π9≤. Iπm a freak. What else am I going to do? I never got a chance to not play. I was always too busy making other people proud and happy.≤

≥They are going to love you just as much if you donπt play,≤ she replied.

≥I know, but thatπs not the point. Every time I go to my grandmaπs house for Christmas, all anyone does is ask howπs basketball going. Do you know how disappointed my dad would be if I quit? He is so proud of me playing basketball. Anytime weπre alone, thatπs all we talk about. It would break his heart if I quit.≤ My eyes began to water as I talked. I realized that I truly wasnπt playing for the love of the game. I was playing so my family would be proud.

≥Sometimes you have to do what you want to do,≤ she said. ≥You canπt go through life trying to make other people happy.≤ I knew all this. I just didnπt know what to do. I had never told anyone how I felt about quitting. I had never been so emotional when thinking about this.

We finally decided that I should just play my heart out that night. I wasnπt too sure about it, but Jessica was. So I gave it a go, for her. And for myself. I knew this might be my last game ever. I had the best game of my career that night. It was a blowout win for us. As the time wound down at the end of the game, I had a chance to sit back on the bench and laugh. Just when I had thought my love for he game had gone away forever, it returned with a flourish. At that moment I decided that I was going to play for myself. I was going to have fun. I looked into the crowd and found Jessica. She had the biggest smile on her face. She wasnπt proud that I had a good game. She was happy that I was proud of myself.

All my life I have played basketball. But it wasnπt until one Saturday morning on a charter bus that I realized I have to play the game for myself. Ever since Iπve enjoyed playing, even when I donπt play well. I donπt let the small things get to me. I now know that, despite what my seventh grade tee shirt said, basketball isnπt life. What role will basketball hold in my future? Iπm not quite sure, but it sure as hell will be fun.

Authorπs Afterword

This article was written because it needed to be written. The feelings I have in this article are the feelings that I still have today. Until the day I was able to tell someone about how I felt about basketball, I was struggling with myself inside. It was forcing me to make irrational decisions about what to do. Once I was able to tell someone how I felt, I was able to take a step back and make good, rational decisions.

For me, this was the easiest article for me to write this semester. I was more comfortable writing this paper than I was the others because it was about myself. It is easier to write about myself because I am the one who knows myself the best. This makes me feel comfortable because I donπt have to worry about how the subject of the paper feels about what Iπm writing.