Ol’ Number 22
It had been a dismal few years for the Lady Charger basketball team. Truthfully, it was beyond dismal. Zero wins year after year and it seemed like nary a person, including the Lady Chargers, expected a change anytime soon. In fact, nobody expected a win… ever. When they took to the court, they took it lonely. With the exception of a few parents, the bleachers were empty, the gymnasium eerily quiet and the Lady Chargers would struggle to cross the half-court line.
Backtrack a handful years and it was hard to find an afternoon or evening up county lane 8 that wasn’t saturated with the sounds of a leather ball banking off an unpainted backboard. Weathered and splintered that old piece of plywood was nailed to a power-pole beside the chicken house and bolted to it was a rusty hoop that had lost its orange color decades before. Perfectly, in the mid-front, a three-inch crease toward the center told the story of a bob-tail cattle truck backing into it, decreasing its diameter and the shooters’ ability to hit “nothing but net.” Of course, it was impossible to tape a net to that hoop because it would not allow the ball to fall all the way through, forcing the use of a broom stick to shoot the ball back through the top. Quickly, the idea of having a fancy net on the old hoop was abandoned. And the play went on.
Over the years, a ton of fine dust was kicked up by the swift-moving feet of 4 ranch kids dreaming to be famous basketball stars. Once in a while the hole created by those shuffling feet under the basket would fill up by a stray rain storm but would quickly soak into the dry ground, leaving a mud puddle that couldn’t hold back an evening pick-up game. Nothing a shovel and a bit of dry sand wouldn’t fix. Often the ball would bounce off of the wonky bent rim and roll into the weeds forcing a time out to pick the goat-heads off the ball. And there certainly was no shortage of yelling matches, “you fouled me”, high-fives, a punch or two and really dry hands. Inevitably, no knock-down or drag-out, would cancel a pickup game or practice when time would allow, including a few nights with a 1979 Ford f250 serving as the gym lights. At dusk it wasn’t unusual to hear a holler from the bathroom window, “kids, bring the clothes in off the line when you come in!” The stage was being set for what was to become ol’22 and she made sure that every single day there was a ball in the hands of those four ranch kids on that dirt court. Rain or shine.
Ol’22 was a bit of an introvert by nature. Never one to clammer in groups larger than 2, she was quiet and shy and didn’t say much away from her close friends. She was more of a watcher and evaluator, quick to survey her surroundings. School didn’t come easy for ol’22. She had no outwardly seen God-given talents. She wasn’t an artist, a writer or a reader and she certainly wasn’t a natural athlete. But she was loyal and dedicated, and above all she was a hard-worker. Whatever seed was planted in her from that dusty basketball court 25 miles from the nearest gymnasium grew into a passion for and an uncanny ability to see the game of basketball in a way few others were able to.
The daily practices on that old dirt court never stopped until ol’22 entered seventh grade. It was then that she found herself in basketball heaven. Playing in a real gym, with a wooden floor and perfectly round, netted hoops bolted to fiberglass backboards came easy for her. It fueled her fire for the game and there was no turning back. Ol’22 never even realized, that the junior high gym was 15 feet short of regulation. She never gave a thought that the free-throw circles weren’t supposed to overlap each other across half court. But it didn’t matter, it was solid and level and it wasn’t dirt. Ol’22 had found her true love.
Why she chose the number 22 is a mystery. But ol’22 and her team mates quickly became the talk of the valley in the Junior High basketball doin’s. Winning came easy for them, as they were stacked with athletic ability, grit, basketball savvy and of course, work horses. They were coached by a legend of the game and they went undefeated their seventh and eighth grade year and to be honest, they didn’t expect anything less. But ol’22 and her super star squad of team mates were about to experience some hardship.
Summer on the dirt court came and went quickly between eighth grade and freshman year and before she knew it high school basketball rolled around. Her hard work had paid off and she found herself in the starting five on the varsity squad of seniors, but quickly realized it wasn’t the same game she had been used to. Winning wasn’t expected, much less a requirement. It was ugly. Deep into the season the varsity Charger boys’ team was running a gambling ring, taking bets on how often the Lady Chargers could get the ball over half-court. Game after game was a blow out and to make it worse, the Lady Chargers biggest rival had beaten them by a whopping 100 points, with the help of their High School All-American. None the less, it was a mess and Ol’22 and her freshman cronies were having none of it. The wretched losses, like that dirt court, had rekindled that Jr. High spark and a change of coaching staff came before the season was over. A new era was on the horizon.
With that awful 1982 season behind them and a new coach taking rank, girls’ basketball in Charger country was starting to change. Albeit, slow, coach “G” was a fresh breath of discipline and basketball knowledge and he expected to win. Over the next three years, ol’22 and her team ushered in a change in Lady Charger culture. The days of low expectations were gone and even with the normal tide-turning set-backs, the air in Charger country was crisp and new. Winning became normal, the spectators returned to the gym to watch both squads and Charger country found themselves with two of the best coaches in the state. The Lady Chargers had bought in to the culture of excellence.
The trip to the 1986 State High School Basketball Tournament was long and arduous and was not without disappointment in those years. But, it had finally come and the Lady Chargers had earned a spot at the big show with a perfect regular season record. Although a disappointing loss occurred in the first game of the tournament the Lady Chargers went on to win the next two and end the year with a 22-1 record and the state consolation championship. They had come a long way from a totally defeated season and set the stage for what was to become a tradition of winning at CC. Moreover, it set the stage for a life of basketball for ol’22.
Over the next 37 years ol’22 climbed the ladder in the basketball world. First, playing on the collegiate level, then coaching everything from Jr. High to College and finally settling into High School. Somehow, she found her way to Texas and cemented her coaching legacy with 20, 20 plus win seasons. 22 coach of year honors, including twice, the Red River-22 Coach of the Year and the Big Country Coach of the Year. Ol’22 led dozens of players to All-Star honors on the district, area, region and state levels and her teams to 2 regional tournament appearances. And with all of the accolades it was never about ol’22. It was always about creating life-skills, work ethic, moral character, leadership, team-work and the understanding that buying into her program would bring a lifetime of success. Winning on the court is important, but to ol’22, winning off of the court is essential. It’s about her students and their future.
At the sunset of her coaching career, ol’22 found herself back on the ranch in Colorado due to family obligations, and 3 decades later and an open opportunity on the Lady Charger basketball court called for her return. Not only for the game, but for the students of the game. The Lady Chargers will soon come to understand that a winning culture comes from within. It comes from passion, discipline, and hard-work. And it comes from commitment. Commitment to the process, commitment to their team, commitment to their school, commitment to their community and most of all commitment to themselves. Ol’22 has come full circle.
More than forty years have passed since that dirt court has seen any shots, skinned any knees, or heard the hollow vibration from the ball and the backboard. And yet, it stands as sentinel to a time that created dreams through hard-work and perseverance, commitment and character. A time that said, “if you want it bad enough, you can achieve it.” Welcome home 22. Once a Charger… always a Charger.
Copyright © Shad Sullivan