A basketball. They gave her a lousy basketball.

And the presentation -- if you could call it that -- was inexcusably lame.

I hadn’t been to a high school girls’ basketball game in 30 years, so I thought it might be fun. And, except for the award snafu, it was even better than I remembered.

I’d forgotten the combination of bold aggression, agility and politeness required to reach a bleacher seat without falling over a purse or mussing too many hair-dos. The scab-like sea of heavy coats tossed into the foot trough or stacked like cordwood between people. The humidity of a gymnasium in winter and the unique aroma of tight-packed humans, sweat socks and high school perfume. The mild uneasiness of looking up at a hinged basketball goal, swung to the ceiling and cabled to an oil-and-dust topped winch mounted on the wall.

I’d forgotten the slender bodies and white smiles of hair-ribboned adolescent girls. The agitated, perpetual motion of the boys -- their feet, legs, arms and hands in futile search of a resting place. Proud parents with worried eyes, their own unresolved childhood tensions playing out before them. Younger siblings watching in admiration. Other children too young to be there -- bored, squirming and annoying everyone.

I’d forgotten how young athletes strut in their varsity jackets. How cheerleaders coax chants from the crowd with engaging, tribal rhythms, then return to the bleachers to worry their bra straps back under the shoulders of awkwardly styled uniforms.

I’d forgotten the squawk of shoes on the court amid hollow-drum poundings of a dribbled ball. The sproing of a rimshot, the swish of the net. The staccato chirp of a referee’s whistle and the oddly comforting intrusion of the buzzer. The individual cries that somehow break from the crowd -- audible and clear, yet unfindable along the rows of faces, colors and movement.

But much has changed as well.

In my day, cheerleaders were chosen for strong voices and ability to keep a beat. Today they’re acrobats and gymnasts. In one cheer on my side of the court, the entire squad leaped into the air and touched their outstretched toes. And working in groups, they could put three teammates high in the air for a pose, then drop-catch them gracefully, adding on the bounce a 360-degree rollover for good measure.

The game itself is now played more sensibly.

My older sister Susan used to play under the two-court system -- each team’s forwards and guards never setting foot on the same end of the court. An arcane three-dribble rule made movement halting, forcing a midcourt handoff that was more scramble than skill. The one-handed set shot was still taught and preferred.

But the game has always been hard fought. I’ll never forget the night Susan embarrassed her arch rival, a talented but ruthless athlete who played for Sugar Grove. They simultaneously lunged for and caught a loose ball, but my sister’s snap-twist flung the other girl face down toward the sideline in a prolonged home-base slide.

The game I saw Friday night proved just as aggressive, but much faster and more innovative, with quick breaks, daring long shots, spread and conquer, and distract, set and feed.

It may surprise some people to know that basketball has been a girls’ sport since 1892, the year after Dr. James Naismith, a college PE teacher, invented it to placate his boss, Dr. Luther Gulick. Gulick had ordered Naismith to find a wintertime “athletic distraction” for a group of unruly New England men.

Of course, the truth about women’s physical stamina was not known (or believed) at the time, so the girls played a three-court game in Victorian garb, making team selection easy: Just pick the ladies who can move around without tripping over the hem of a floor-length dress. Injuries alone may have prompted introduction of bloomers to the sport a few years later.

It took 46 years to move from three courts to two, and a total of 79 to adopt the five-player, full-court game. Women’s rules have permitted the continuous, unlimited dribble only since 1966.

And it was but 23 years ago, in 1978, that women formed a professional league -- no doubt because no one would pay to watch a slow-moving, two-court, three-dribble game of one-handed set shots.

These dramatic advancements have been made because of the contributions of dedicated athletes like the young woman I saw only semi-acknowledged on Friday.

She had, in four years of high school, scored over a thousand points. And, in a game dominated by the long-legged, she did this as one of the shortest players in the league.

When my friend Stafford (a tall, lanky sort) scored his thousandth college point, the school paused the game for an award ceremony with photographers, plaques and the whole bit. Of course, Stafford was a boy.

But on Friday night, the athlete was not the only one disrespected.

A near-capacity crowd witnessed her thousandth point, but which goal was it? And no one would have known about it at all if the announcer hadn’t at game’s end contained most of us with a terse “Don’t leave yet.”

School officials took Stafford to midcourt, where everyone could see him and applaud his accomplishment. Friday’s people walked this girl a few steps out in front of her own bench, her back to half the gymnasium.

The coach should have addressed the crowd, lauding her contribution to the team and demonstration of character. The athlete should have been allowed to express whatever she felt for the game, her teammates, and the fans.

Nope.

Amid audience conversations and people milling around, the announcer stated rather undramatically that she had in this game scored her bell ringer and was being given a basketball for all her teammates to sign.

She deserved a long and thunderous standing ovation. But the way things were handled, she received only polite applause.

Subtle insult: Oh yeah, by the way ... this little girl did something pretty good tonight. We gave her a ball to keep.

And whether it was even the ball she scored her point with, the fans weren’t told.

While I have no reason to believe that school or athletic officials intentionally belittled this young woman’s accomplishment, I cannot help but observe how pitifully our region celebrates the lives and contributions of its women.

And for that outstanding young athlete, I sure hope the school has more in mind for her than a lousy basketball.

(Lew Garnett lives in Maggie Valley. He can be reached by email at lgar@brinet.com)

 

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