We had been experiencing a long stretch of cold winter weather and it seemed every weekday morning started in the same way.

There I was, waiting for the bus with my hands in my pockets, my boots firmly planted in the squeeky snow, with thoughts of the upcoming long day stirring in my head.

As a senior at the Town of Webb School and member of the basketball team, I was mentally preparing myself for the big game that evening.

I began to reflect on the countless hours my teammates and I had spent since childhood shooting baskets and absorbing every bit of knowledge of the game we could get from our coaches, parents and peers.

All of my thoughts revolved around that night’s game.

Though I have a vague memory of spending much of my day in Al Stripp’s art room painting a piece for the Spring Fling Art Show, for the most part I remember having butterflies in my stomach in anticipation of the game.

During lunch the team sat together and tried to stave off uneasiness by laughing at just about anything we could think of.

The dried-out hamburgers and Tater tots we were served hardly seemed a fitting meal for a group ready to make a go for a sectional championship.

Back in the art room I created a mental list of the folks who had made my basketball experience good and qualitative over the years.

Don Hodel, who drove us to play ball at the Raquette Lake School gym when we were in elementary school, was the first to come to mind.

Then there were the owners of the Albedor who let us shoot baskets in the gym above the boathouse when we were in the sixth grade.

At the age of 13, Mr. and Mrs. Kalil would let the whole gang chop the ice off their driveway and shoot baskets among drifting snowflakes in the month of March. Continue reading →