FRONT-PORCH GOSPEL: This life story begins in 1973 (kind of) part 71

Sometimes, Cheyenne would put all the pieces together and pose a question that would make me think. After the drama from all the Y scenes, he brought up a key question:

“Popman,” he said, contemplating it all, as always, “you’ve traveled so much on that Georgia red clay – Alabama, too – We’ve gone to the brick job, on those dates with Corrina, to church, maybe most importantly to those moments with you and my Grandma Louise at home, with Corrina, too, and even through the songs of the period and books of the centuries. But of all that, I thought the Y stories were interesting in a different way.”

He never posed a question, but I saw what it was.

“For one thing,” I said, pondering it, “this was somethin’ that Corrina and I needed to share. I think she needed to see me in an element where, at least to some degree, I shined.

“I sure wasn’t shinin’ out on the brick job. Of all the things I could do back then was play ball.

“But more than that, it was part of me, and if she was goin’ to understand fully everythin’ goin’ on, she would need to understand that.

“In a real sense, the basketball – I would say the orange sphere, but in those days it was more of a dark, black sphere because of the real leather – was an extension of me. She needed to be an extension of that herself in a way.

“I think she saw that. And she probably saw that the summer wouldn’t last forever, that we had to squeeze everythin’ we could out of it.

“I guess, Cheyenne, it’s like … say, you should meet a girl you’re pretty crazy about later, you’re gonna have to break  it to her at some point that while she is pretty special, she’ll need to understand that ‘The Lord of the Rings’ is your first love and she’ll have to take the second-place trophy.”

We laughed but knew it was partially true.

“Another important thing about takin’ our detour to the Y was that it comes in the early days of July; and July is about to heat up for everyone involved in this saga, and it’s not jus’ the weather. But all the conflicts – lookin’ at our story like a novel – are goin’ to intensify. Goin’ to the Y that day, for three underdogs to fight and scratch, push and shove, elbow and claw our way to three hours of wins against bigger, older, and even better players; well, that was ‘bout as symbolic of an event as you could have.

“And maybe it goes even further. You remember what Tommy said, ‘There’s no pressure on us; we’re not supposed to win.’ Maybe I internalized that optimism more than I realized – not only for the summer and for the events that lay in wait jus’ around the corner, but for a lifetime. Maybe in a way that quotation could be our epitaph. The way the devil jumped in and put all those obstacles in front of me, Maybe ‘I wasn’t supposed to win anyway.’

“I’ve always embraced the underdog role. It has always motivated me. When you look at the summer of ’73, everything pretty much was stacked against us, and there really wasn’t any way to defeat all the adversaries, but we wouldn’t have to. 

“As long as I had Doocy, Corrina, and Mama in the summer of ’73, there really wasn’t a way I was goin’ to lose. It is as if all three of them joined together to push me over into manhood, to make sure I got there.

“Askin’ for the ball there on that last play, and makin’ somethin’ happen yet not pushin’ it so far that I felt I had to get that last shot off, havin’ enough faith in those around me that I could dish off to Grant for the game-winner. That felt better than hittin’ the shot myself.

“It energized him, too, and together we accomplished somethin’ that even impressed Tommy as he stood in the corner lookin’ on. He knew he had brought us to that point, and I know it had to be fulfillin’ to him to see us put the finishin’ touches on that day while he served merely as a decoy in the corner. I knew Tommy for a long time but never had a day on the court that was anythin’ like that day. I think that day changed him, too. It changed all of us.”

“And Corrina?” Cheyenne said.

“Oh, I know it did,” I responded quickly. “As soon as I showered and changed and came back out to her in the TV room, and, since I was clean and non-sweaty, she jumped up when I walked back in the gym and gave me the biggest hug, one that said, ‘Where’ve you been so long?’ I didn’t understand it all then because I was jus’ out playin’ a game the way I did about every other night, the big difference bein’ that I had ‘my girl’ there with me.

“Once we got to the car, Corrina turned toward me in her seat, as she always did when she wanted either to hear me or tell me somethin’, and she said, ‘Pup, I’ve never seen you so focused and intense. Usually, you’re so laid back and cool – well, you were still cool, just in a different way – but on the basketball court, it was as if you were taking on the world, and you were determined that you were going to win. I think you almost forgot I was there you got so wrapped up in something you needed to do.”

“Oh, I knew you were there,” I said, smiling, “but you’re right; for the first time all summer, you did have to play a little second fiddle,” I said, raising my voice to a higher pitch to show I was teasing.

“That’s all right,” Corrina Belle said, then added quickly, “this time. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Oh, trust me, it won’t, at least until next Sunday afternoon.”

That wisecrack earned me a punch in the right shoulder, but it was worth it, because I discovered something at that moment. Playing second fiddle never was in the cards in the Summer of ‘73, not with Corrina Belle being one of the fiddlers.

Coach Steven Ray Bowen served as a teacher and basketball coach at Red Oak High from 1998-2012 and recently spent two years teaching and coaching at Ferris. He and his wife Marilyn (the “amazin’ blonde”) served many years with the Church of Christ of Red Oak at Uhl/Ovilla Roads, but now spend time evangelizing in several states in addition to Coach’s work as a writer and author, including the writing of the ongoing novel/memoir here in the Press. Call or text (972) 824-5197, or email coachbowen1984@gmail.com, or see frontporchgospel.com.