Inspirations From the Bench. Kelly MDiv Scott
Elgin Baylor or Rick Berry, imagining the game clock winding down to the last few seconds as I twisted and turned and shot the championship winning point:
He takes the shot…will he make it? Will it go in? And…it’s in! It’s good! The Lakers win the championship! The Lakers win the championship!
All of the hours, the sweat, playing in 90 degree heat or bone chilling temperatures, the rhythm of the ball bouncing off the pavement, the sound of it hitting the white wood backboard, the feel of the rubber grooves on my fingertips, the aches, the ragged breaths, the feel of my body running, jumping, thighs trembling, calves burning, dreams of glory—the hoop—my worst enemy and my best friend—the hoop. Someone was trying to take away my life?
“What did the neighbors say to you?” My voice shook.
“Well, I thought it a bit odd, but they said they are going to come down here to take the basketball hoop.” She finally looked at me, searching my face for understanding. “Did you offer them the basketball hoop at some point? Because they seem to think it is theirs now.”
I swallowed hard, trying to calm down, trying to get a hold of my frustration. No good.
“Mom! What’s the chance that I’d offer our family’s most important possession to a… to a neighbor! Of course not! I would never offer it to anyone! Anyone!”
“Well, I don’t know how this confusion came about, but they’re coming here, so you’ll have to deal with it.”
I could not, simply could not grasp how anyone would just assume that my HOOP was available to take. What sort of neighbors were these people? Did they call up other neighbors and say, “Hi! Just calling to let you know that I’m coming to take your mailbox?” or “Just ringing to tell you I’m coming to take your flowerpots.” This was not normal, good neighborly behavior. So what was I to do? Mom said I had to handle this. Should I run up to the attic and get the 4/10 shot gun? Stand my ground in a shootout? Should I call the police?
I ran out to the driveway and looked down the alley, and yep, sure enough, there they were just leaving their house to head down to ours, with tools in their hands. The knot that had been forming in my stomach was out of anger and confusion. It was my hoop. Mine. But I decided to take the high road and deal with these nefarious neighbors with maturity.
“Hello!” I called as they approached. “How are you doing today?”
“Oh, Kelly! It’s so nice of you to offer your basketball hoop to the neighborhood! We’re so excited to take you up on this!”
The woman had obviously no idea what she was saying.
“Um… I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I never said I was giving away my basketball hoop.”
She looked at me for a confused moment. “But it says it right there on the backboard!”
I froze. I turned and looked at the backboard and there, written in blue paint, were the words—my motivational words—“DO YOU WANT IT?”
Do ...an action word that fits with want and asks the question of me every time I stepped on that court, at what price are you willing to work?
You ...there was no one else out there in the summer heat and winter cold in the morning, midday, and late evening perfecting skills to take on all others to fight for that position on the team.
Want ...this too is a strong action word that comes with the desire to be great and the willingness to do what it takes to develop skills at the highest level possible.
It ...the position on the University of Minnesota Basketball team in ‘the barn” that opposing teams hate to come into and leave having been handed another devastating loss, that is why it is so highly coveted by so many in this state.
Understanding finally dawned upon me. So, with slight embarrassment, but much relief, I told her that I actually wrote those words to motivate myself, that it was my goal to start for the University of Minnesota basketball team next year, and every time I thought it was too hard, that I was too tired or just felt like giving up, I looked at those words and thought to myself, “Yes, I want it!” and no matter how tough or hard it got, I wanted it and I would make the extreme sacrifice to get it.
Photo: FamilyArchive
Where it all began and the phrase that almost cost me my basketball hoop
She was a little disappointed that her grandchildren wouldn’t have a hoop to play on, but she wished me luck and told me to say hello to my Mother and Dad. Boy, was I happy that the “family heirloom” was safely guarded and would remain in the family, and on the garage where all good hoops belong.
Speaking of the family heirloom (ha ha), I was born on April 10th, 1961, the youngest of seven children to Marge and Vern Scott. We lived in Minneapolis, Minnesota and sports ruled our lives. My father was 52 when I was born and my oldest brother was eighteen. My father was a stern and slightly intimidating man, but he had a good heart and he loved us very much. He grew up in a very unstructured household, and he sometimes tried a little too hard to make up for the short comings of his own childhood, and in turn was very structured with us. My father loved sports, especially basketball, and as a result, almost all of us kids were involved in sports in some way. My oldest brother, Mike, was involved in football and swimming. My next oldest brother, Robb, swam throughout high school and for the University of Minnesota, and he even made the tryouts for the Olympic team. My brother, Terry, in all of his 5’4” glory, played high school basketball. My sister, Sharon, didn’t play official sports in high school, but later in her “career” helped us win a University of Minnesota co-rec softball championship. My brother Casey played grade school basketball, and then in high school became the basketball team’s student manager. My sister, Trish, played high school basketball and track. And yours truly, played high school basketball, tennis and cross country.
Photo: FamilyArchive
Robb, Sharon, Casey, Tricia, and me (others not pictured) won Co-Rec Softball Championship at the U of M
“Spirit and Sport” was how our family grew up with backyard sports each day and a church and school a half block away where much was learned about “Do You Want It?” and “Don’t Give Up, Never Ever Give Up.” As the youngest, I still remember getting the ‘Spirit’ of daily 8am mass with my mom, brother and sister, and then the ‘Sport” of racing out of church to the playground to jump into a game of soccer or football, maybe even some baseball or keep away. Today, with 21st century technology, Spirit & Sport can be a facility where youth are developed in heart, mind, and body while giving back to seniors and those in need. These youth can be taught different athletic skills while also pursuing development in the moral senses all in ‘the JPII tradition of Spirit & Sport.’ The vision for this facility is to be a place where Spirit & Sport meet to lift up young and old and ask the vital question of how to become the very best we can be, never giving in, and never, ever giving up. This facility and its reach into the community, state, and nation will be unmatched and unprecedented in its extension of good will, outstanding service, and tremendous skill development. This love of sport meets love of spirit and building up of each person wholly to transform that love into something more than self-getting; but truly into that which is self-giving!
Speaking of love, as a child, I wrote two sermons for priests that both ended up being read from the pulpit at Sunday mass. One was on love and the other was on sunshine. I used the same technique of breaking up the word to represent each letter found in that word. Here are the excerpts from the sermon on love, from the perspective of a ten-year-old.
“Love one another. What does that mean to you? The Webster’s definition of love is: Strong affection, warm attachment. God commanded us to love our neighbor as we love ourselves. This was one of the two greatest commandments. How often do you really love your friend or your enemy? It is