Joining “Riding the Pine” triggered some memories of a few glorious days of yore and, as sort of an [early] homage to this site, I thought I’d share them:

I’m talking about those days of ‘squeaking it out’ at tryouts amidst that nostalgic smell of sweat, bleacher varnish, and stale Pepsi.

Of sharing the court with the drill team at AM practice and the thrill of “going skins” and showing them just how much a 125-lb frame can stir the soul.

I’m talking about those of us who spend more time quietly planning our seating arrangement during time-outs than squeezing in to pow-wow over the manic scribbles of a coach’s ink-board.

Of perfecting, over countless 3rd quarters, the exact moment to tap a fellow benchwarmer who happened to be looking the wrong direction to falsely alert him his time in the limelight had come (his last name was Earnest, ironically enough), only to yank him back just as he got to the assistant coach and prevent any further humiliation…why we stopped him, to this day, I don’t know.

And I’m talking about that unique feeling of elation to be out there, on the court, the game already long since ended, going through the motions with my fellow 3rd stringers. Did anyone bother to cheer for us? As a matter of fact, yes. Though not cheers of victory so much as the cheers a rodeo clown or bearded lady might receive. Ah yes, that amazing feeling of ‘trying not to look stupid.’ If that ain’t the top of the mountain…?

And of practicing amid shouts of “Hoopty Roll-ahh” – the rallying cry invented by us benchwarmers used whenever we lit it up during scrimmage…

Now those days are gone. All those benchwarmers of my youth have grown up. But I can still spot them. The internet blogger; the guy at the local bar; the random dude sitting in your buddy’s living room; your buddy. That unique, well-timed, je ne sais quoi insight. An insight that comes from being on both sides of the equation: off the game floor but in the locker room.

Some of us benchwarmers have gone a step further and have even given up “being cool” for the sake of adamantly (and astutely) cheering on a team, willing to follow them to hell and back. In their defense I say, ‘What’s so great about being cool anyway?’ Life’s too short to not inject a little emotion (e.g. in the form of a loud, passive-aggressive argument with a stranger) every now and then.  We threw our hats in the ring long ago, and they got thrown back at us.  I say, ‘Let the sparks fly.’

Who made being cool, cool in the first place?…Starters, that’s who. You see, when you get your name called during starting line-ups, your soul dies. Look at Larry Bird – did you ever see him rant on the Pacer side-lines? Lanny Wilkins? I rest my case.

Sports need us “Riding the Pine”-ers, the true interpreters of the games. We’re humbled expertise and focused emotion put together. We may not be the ball, but we’re the pump that puts the air in the ball. We’re the snaps in the 80’s ripaway warm-up pants.

Hoopty Rolla benchwarmers…keep on keeping on.