A year ago, I spent my summer in Spencer Gymnasium putting up shots, preparing for my sophomore season. I would have never imagined being in the bleachers the following year.
For the first two years of high school, I poured hours of sweat, frustration, and grit into basketball. It was my passion, my therapy and everything in between.
Yet this year, I find myself on the baseline with a camera in hand, experiencing the season as a fan, spectator and most importantly: a manager.
As junior year kicked into gear, I slowly realized that my commitment to the sport I loved was fading.
I had Community Service Board meetings and St. Mark’s Upper School Rock Band practices on Mondays.
Tuesdays were Blues Club.
Wednesdays and Thursdays were for guitar lessons.
My schedule was filled, giving little to no room for basketball.
A month before the season, Varsity Coach Greg Guiler sent out his annual preseason email, and I couldn’t shake the infamous saying:
“There comes a time when winter asks what you did all summer.”
Those words gnawed at me. I knew I neglected the sport that once meant too much. I felt like, although I had a chance to make the team, I didn’t deserve to.
With my hectic schedule making the thought of playing seem unfathomable, I searched for a middle ground.
I emailed Coach Guiler asking to meet with him regarding the upcoming season. Naturally, he feared that I would be asking for last-minute advice on how to make the team, but instead, I presented myself with vulnerability and honesty: I shared my concerns and asked to become the team manager.
Despite his surprise, he understood and told me how I could help the team with that role. We discussed different areas for improvement: social media prescence, watching film, etc.
A week later, I walked into the second day of tryouts in school shorts, school shoes, and a sweatshirt.
People asked me, “Are you injured?” and “Why aren’t you playing?” Each time I responded that I was the manager, the words stung a little.
The next day, I watched the final day of tryouts with a camera from the jounralism department in hand, ready to capture moments from the team that I won’t be playing on.
I stood watching the same teammates I had played with for five years get called outside to find out whether or not they made the team.
I watched them return to the gym with a smile and a thumbs up. I had felt that same feeling before, and it was bittersweet seeing the moment from the outside.
But I’ve always been a role player.
And now, I am more than happy to play this role.
