BOB “COREY” ETTINGER of Chick’s Bar speeds up the court at the Westside Shootout on Saturday. WARREN DILLAWAY / Star Beacon
BOB ETTINGER Star Beacon
KIERAN JONES (lower right) of Snap Fitness grapples with Saad Bradley of Brad’s Deli during the annual Westside Shootout on Saturday afternoon. WARREN DILLAWAY / Star Beacon
CHRIS COLTER of Chick’s Bar blocks a shot by Ryan Anderson of Mr. Wash Car Wash. WARREN DILLAWAY / Star Beacon
ANTHONY BUTLER II of Cleveland holds his son, Anthony III, during the West side Shootout on Saturday in Ashtabula. WARREN DILLAWAY / Star Beacon
Published July 04, 2009 11:56 pm - ASHTABULA — In the course of a single day, just about anything can happen. A day that starts out about as bad as possible, can end spectacularly.
A Bob Ettinger column: The write stuff... Playing in the Westside Shootout is a slam dunk
BOB ETTINGER Star Beacon
ASHTABULA — In the course of a single day, just about anything can happen. A day that starts out about as bad as possible, can end spectacularly.
Saturday, I had the privilege of participating in the 2009 Westside Shootout as a player.
As experiences go, it started out to be one of those days I just wished I hadn’t bothered. By the end, I was especially proud to have had the guts to try it as my Chick’s Bar teammates and I finished as the tournament runners-up to the guys from Snap Fitness.
However, as the day began I was wondering what on earth I was thinking when I said I’d become a basketball player for a day.
I’ve chronicled my basketball prowess on the pages before. I’ll sum that up in one sentence — I was a wrestler after I got cut from the seventh-grade basketball team.
So as tournament director Mike Osborne gave the order every kid in gym class hates to hear — “Everybody line up on the wall” — before the captains drafted teams for the tourney, I had a pair of thoughts. I hoped I wasn’t picked last and I hoped I was picked for a team.
By the end of the draft, 10 teams each had five players on board. Four others and I went undrafted. We were given a choice to play as a team or not play at all. Lucky for me, Osborne kept his word and found a team for me.
And boy, did I pity Damien Hunt as he was the captain that elected to allow me to play with his team, consisting of Hunt, Omar Pollard, Marcus Rooks, Mark Hester and Chris Colter. I was to be the sixth man.
Hunt had no idea what kind of player I was, he was just doing an honorable thing. By the end of our 15-4 loss to Mr. Wash in the opening round, my teammates had a good understanding as did the rest of the fans surrounding the West Avenue court.
Since we were being beaten so badly by Adrian Mathers and his teammates, I didn’t get into the game until the waning moments. I entered the action as we were trailing, 13-3.
Ryan Anderson immediately noticed he has a serious advantage in the low post and called for the ball. Lucky for me, his teammates had other ideas. After a bucket from Hester on the end, Anderson made a point of telling Mathers the exact kind of mismatch he had in his favor.
So everybody cleared out of the blocks, or so it seemed, leaving me Anderson, who was calling for the ball. After what seemed like hours — I really just wanted the pain to end quickly — the ball came our way. Anderson caught the pass, executed a nice turnaround baseline jumper over my outstretched arms, which really did nothing because he jumped over them, for the basket and a 14-4 lead.
And the worst was yet to come.
After a teammate missed a jumper and the ball headed in the opposite direction, I turned to chase and made a bigger fool of myself than I ever have — and let me tell you, it’s something I do often.
My mind, working at warp speed, told my body to turn and run as fast as it could. My legs, conditioned for basketball by sitting behind a desk and a computer screen, reacted at roughly the pace a snail might take.