1000 Words...The emotions of intramurals

Any other night you couldn’t get a dude on campus to wear a Lady Aggies jersey but this cold January evening in a musty gym with a new floor, there are seven guys doing just that.

They are playing intramural basketball. The teams are made up of a blend of childhood friends, old dorm roommates, people from the same hometown and just people you meet from around the way.

The fans are a mix of girlfriends, waiting players, bored students and old A&T basketball players.

On the court, a close game is turning into a blowout. The Blue Chips are tired. A couple of them are walking up the floor. One player calls a timeout but with no real coaches, they have to the problem out themselves.

The timeout does nothing. The Wildcats, in their own custom jerseys, come in after the timeout and score two easy baskets.

I’m sure Moore Gym has probably seen more entertaining games.

On the other end of the floor, people with huge coats take jumpers and shoot the breeze.

The Blue Chips are down but not out. They’re still hustling. A couple of free throws and jumpers later that still down 17.

Students are decked out as referees and calling phantom fouls.

The Blue Chips have a layup that had the makings of something Jordanesque is blocked. Must not be the shoes money. The crowd laughs at his disappointment.

He makes up for it with a long jumper the next time down but one in the stands is studying Economics, another girl is texting and others are on the phone.

Another jumper later and the lead is 13 but the Wildcats are a well oiled machine and answer right back.

A player on the side stretches his legs ready to go back in the game but its halftime.

The score is 32-16.

The Wildcats are bigger, faster and stronger. They don’t regroup at halftime to go over strategy or take jumpers to stay loose. They chill on the court and patiently wait for the Blue Chips to get it together; The Blue Chips are doing a free throw line and trying to sort out their problems.

The second half begins with the Wildcats missing a breakaway dunk but two offensive rebounds later the lead is 19.

A dude in the a Nikes, straight leg jeans, a vest and hooded sweatshirt paces up and down the sideline, clapping and shouting encouragement.

I ask him is he the coach. He answers with a quiet, “something like that.”

Then he goes back to coach mode and gets on the scorekeeper about not having the score right, shifting his focus back to the team. “That’s what we needed in the first half, we got to drive to the hole.”

The student coach continues, “we got plenty of time boys,” the Blue Chips are down 16…wait make that 18 and he is still living and dying with every blow of the whistle.

They are down 20 now. Hecklers are asking, “What’s up with those tucked in shirts and pulled up shorts, this ain’t boxing!”

The Blue Chips on the bench ignore the clearly audible taunt and call a 3-2 zone on defense. If they are going to lose, they are going to lose with class.

The Wildcats are like machines. One of them gets hit in the groin and eats it.

“Get your shorts out your throat,” yells another heckler from the side, the Wildcats are showboating now. They thrown an alley off the backboard and miss but they the rebound and end up getting an and one. This is just their night.

I asked the coach what he thought was going wrong tonight. “Everybody wasn’t here at the beginning and they not playing physical.”

A ref calls traveling on the Blue Chips after shadow boxing with one of the people on the sidelines. The lead is 26 and the Wildcats aren’t letting up.

Ironically, the Blue Chips haven’t admitted defeat and if they have it doesn’t show. “Push It! Push it!” yells the coach. The lead is down to 22 with a little over five minutes to play.

“Their D ain’t that good,” says one Blue Chip player who is checking his cell phone.

The same hecklers from before ask what the score is…”that’s game!” The “coach” asks what the mercy rule is and the hecklers don’t miss an opportunity to get jokes in. “Keep fighting, don’t give up,” they say holding back smiles.

Less than two minutes to play and down 21, one Blue Chips player still screams, “Man up” which works but they turn the ball over on the other end. A possession later a block and fast break attempt is botched but they do score, then score again, then score once more. A 6-0 run. Maybe it was the new quartet of girls to walk in and mark themselves on the front bleachers.

The Wildcats make subs and misses an alley, the Blue Chips score again. 39-52. “No more passing, no alleys” yells a Wildcat supporter.

Somebody from the sideline yells, “that’s game!” but actually the clock had just messed up. The girl keeping stats tries to explain the situation but the referee just says, “They’re losing anyway.”

Too little, too late for the Blue Chips.

The teams don’t shake hands; they just go to their sidelines and pack up.

Before they go I stop one of the players to ask about the game. “ They were better than us,” says the exhausted player. “Turnovers and rebounds too but it was the first game, everybody was nervous.” “Next game we’ll be straight,” he explains.

The Blue Chips will be back and so will the Wildcats, ready to go through the emotions of an intramural game again. Five minutes later both teams are leaving and two more teams are shooting around, ready to jump into the fire of the game. On a cold Wednesday evening, what else do you have to do?