Why Johnny Can't Shoot

     Like many of the high school basketball players I've coached over the last 17 years, Drew is as enjoyable a kid as I've ever been around.  He's smart, athletic, and has a terrific work ethic.  He's a player who's always eager to learn and improve; who doesn't shy away from criticism or pout when receiving a tongue lashing for not playing up to his physical and mental capabilities.  That Drew is also a lacrosse player, and from all reports a stud of a player, automatically solidifies him as someone worthy of my extra attention.

     Drew's not loquacious by any means.  If anything, he's more on the shy side, which may seemingly clash up against his athletic 6'5” frame.  Physically he's got an uncanny look and build similar to center Rony Seikaly of old Syracuse fame, masking a personality likened more to genius nerd Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory. But when Drew does open his mouth, his words usually blend a unique mix of self-deprecation, unpredictability, and subtle sarcasm, like there's a good chance he's only a fraternity pledge away from turning into a John Belushi from Animal House.

     But like nearly every high schooler I've coached on the basketball court, Drew drives me nuts on almost a daily basis.  He has made an art form out of being consistently inconsistent.  One day he'll pull down rebounds like Dwight Howard and on the next day like Howard the Duck.  On Monday he'll finish shots going to his right and his left, high side and baseline, and on Tuesday he'll throw up more bricks than a masonry worker on any given day.  And his free throw shooting is no different.
     When Drew steps to the line, it's always an adventure in inconsistency.  God himself can't predict what's going to happen on his next free throw.  Sometimes the ball comes off his fingertips slowly and smoothly, with a nice soft rotation, resulting in a perfect swish.  Most of the time, however, I'm just glad the backboard is made of a thick plexiglass, otherwise replacement costs would put the team's Athletic Department deep in the red.  Drew has more hitches in his free throw technique than Charles Barkley has in his golf swing.  Recently we worked on correcting his mechanics.  Several things needed to be changed:  His release point, his grip on the ball, the trajectory of the shot, and of course the hitches.  After these corrections were made, He took a few more shots.  Clank...thud...brick. After awhile, Drew became frustrated. 
    
     “I don't know about this, Coach” he says about the corrections I had made for him.  “It feels weird.  It's not real comfortable.”
     “Damnit, Drew” I say, transferring his frustration to my own.  “Everything you do that's new or different will feel weird and uncomfortable the first time you do it.  Especially if you've never done it correctly to begin with.” 
     My irritation with Drew's obstinance continued:  “It's like kissing a girl.  Drew, when you finally kiss a girl for the first time, it's gonna feel weird, it's gonna feel strange or awkward.  It's probably gonna be uncomfortable.  Hell, you may not even like it.  But damnit, Drew, when you finally master the technique it's gonna feel awesome, trust me on that!”
     He changes his focus from the ball in his hand to me, and in a perfect Sheldon-like, deadpan response says, “Thank you, Coach.  I will keep that in mind whenever that opportunity comes up.”  

     The funniest moment of the season for me thus far.
     Chalk another point up for Drew in my personal scorecard of reasons why I like the kid.  And reasons why I want to help him become a better player than he is. 
     
     I drove home after practice that night obsessing over why Drew can't shoot free throws.  And like most coaches do, I tried to think up different ways to try to correct the problem.  Proper mechanics and repetition are a must, but there's gotta' be something else I can do.  I laughed out loud in my car for the umpteenth time replaying Drew's response to my girl-kissing analogy.  Then it actually crossed my mind.  Had Drew in fact not kissed a girl yet?  What if what I thought was a perfectly worded and timely comeback on his part not a joke at all?  Did it matter? Is it common in this generation for an 18-year-old to not have had at least a first kissing partner yet?  Especially for an athletic, tall, and handsome kid like Drew?  I wondered.  He did, however, have that modest and quiet personality that may limit his confidence and contact with the young ladies.

     I thought back to when I was Drew's age.  Like Drew, I played both basketball and lacrosse.  Suffice it to say that what I considered my third high school sport was kissing—serial (G-rated) kissing.  Like any high school, there is always a share of long-term class couples.  But for me and my buddies in the 1980's, changing girlfriends each week was about as common as changing your knee-high basketball socks.  Although the hotness of Beth eluded my checklist of girls on my must-kiss list, my memory and exaggerated legend still placed me as team leader in returns and pickups.
     If my high school basketball career leaves much to be desired, certainly my legacy for dating cheerleaders is well documented.  There was Michelle, Meredith, Janice, Stephanie, and Paula (pictured: kneeling, second from left), just to name a few.  And besides the kissing going on in the hallways after school, dating a cheerleader provided benefits on the court as well.  Having a cute girl in a sweater and skirt cheering for you while doing cartwheels on the sideline definitely can motivate and enhance your play.  And when you scored a basket or made your free throws, your girlfriend-of-the-week would stand up and give you a personal cheer:

“John Funaro...John-yay...Funaro-yay...John Funaro, yay-yay!”  Complete with a cartwheel and a back handspring.  

 
     Sometimes poor planning on my part would lead to girlfriends-of-the-week, plural.  Catching a glimpse of two cheerleaders positioning themselves to be the first to jump up to shout out your name is certainly a motivator for playing better, and also does wonders for the ego of a teenage male.  Hell, even today, decades later, whenever I see Paula I sometimes cajole her into giving me one more cheer for old times sake. Ever the good sport, she humors me...most of the time (pictured right).
 
     My thoughts about Drew's poor free throw shooting preoccupied my thoughts on my drive home and throughout the night, as I watched two college basketball games on ESPN and had to endure a barrage of more missed free throws.  When I walked into the school for the next day's practice, I turned off my cell phone just in time to overhear a female student talking with a friend about a book, or a quiz about the book she had taken that day.  She explained the reasoning behind her answer, that the character's actions in question were actually a metaphor for something else.  Impressed by her intelligent speaking, I quickly and inconspicuously glanced over at her.  She's attractive, obviously smart (what teen uses the word “metaphor” in conversation?), and at least 5'9”, maybe taller.  
     In an immediate two seconds, I enter into coach-mode, thinking I've potentially found a solution to Drew's shooting dilemma.  Either that, or I've instantly transformed into an overly concerned mother hoping her chess club member son has a date for the prom. 
     I pause and think about approaching this girl to ask If she knows who Drew is.  If she doesn't, I'll introduce them.  They'll have lots in common.  Their height, and their..., and then there's... Well--their height, that should be a start.  Then one day, hopefully soon, they'll kiss.  And then Drew will finally understand.  He'll get it.  It will all become so clear:  that through proper form, and repetition, uncomfortable kissing magically becomes pretty darn comfortable.  And he'll see that mastering the art of kissing has the same direct correlations as mastering the art of the free throw.  Bam!  There it is! How simple is that? Problem solved!

     My well-conceived, can't miss, perfect plan engulfs my basketball brain and pats me on the back—metaphorically speaking of course-- and congratulates me for coming up with it.
     I regain my focus.  Then turn away from the young lady and shake my head like an Etch-O-Sketch, erasing the insane contents I just overloaded it with.  I continue walking down the hallway and into the gym.  I see Drew over against the wall stretching.  I pause and watch him for a brief moment.  I shake my head once more.  Kissed or unkissed, the free throw dilemma continues.