What could be better to an aspiring high school basketball player than going one-on-one against an opponent whose resume includes being a collegiate All-American and NBA Draft choice?
Courtesy: Ebay
And not just one game—we’re talking multiple opportunities to strut my stuff against someone drafted by the Philadelphia 76ers and who also competed against the likes of Dr. J, George McGinnis, Bobby Jones, and Darryl Dawkins—the author of the “Chocolate-Thunder-Flying, Robinzine-Crying, Teeth-Shaking, Glass-Breaking, Rump-Roasting, Bun-Toasting, Wham-Bam, Glass-Breaker-I-Am-Jam” dunk. He was also in training camp with the Phoenix Suns.
Okay, so his resume looked better than mine. So what. A game of hoops was never, ever decided on paper. It was always decided on a sweat-filled floor.
Take a look at Freeman’s photo and then take a gander at mine. Ok, maybe there is some truth to that paper thing.
And the awful, horrible thing about losing mano-y-mano was that the score was always the same. There were three certainties in my life at that time: daily homework, occasional grounding, and a one-point loss of 11-10.
Freeman Blade. Those two words struck fear into my heart when I would see him show up in the gym after our practice. Freeman and his teammates practiced in our gym when our coach was through running us ragged; that is where I met the chap. At the time, Freeman played for the Anchorage Northern Knights, members of the Continental Basketball Association, while I was a member of the ACS Lions varsity basketball team.
The Northern Knights roster was comprised of former college players and NBA Draft picks. A few members made it all the way to the big show—the NBA. The ACS Lions roster, on the other hand, was littered with pimply-faced guys who enjoyed the thrill of a well-placed wedgie.
As a point guard, Freeman had some serious handles and could shoot the rock. Right or left-handed, it didn’t matter; he was skilled in the fundamentals of James Naismith’s creation and proved it consistently against me. Blade could also jump, a skill I never quite mastered, but more on that later.
The “contest” was simple in nature: Blade against Ehm, Freeman against Radar (my basketball nickname due to the fact that I could bomb it from deep, and this was before the three-point line came into existence). The first player to hit 11 by ones would be declared the winner.
There was one other relatively minor, somewhat insignificant alteration to the scoreboard: Blade spotted me ten points before the Wilson was dribbled. Every time. Every Contest.
And I always lost by one.
Courtesy: Freeman Blade
“C’mon, young fella. Let’s see what ya got.” Freeman was such an inquisitive sort. Five minutes into our first “contest” and he had a premonition of what I had to offer.
Not. Very. Much. At. All.
Did I happen to mention that in addition to spotting me ten points in a game to eleven, Blade also gave me the ball first? Oh, I didn’t? My bad.
“You know you’re not scoring today, don’t you?”
Yes, Freeman. We all knew that little factoid.
I dribbled in circles for what seemed like hours, sweat dripping off my nose and puddling on my knee-high tube socks, when I thought my dipsy-doodle move that worked on my teammates had faked him out. So I pivoted and shot.
Bam!
“Back at ya!”
Blade had stuffed me so hard, the ball bounced off my face and back to him in a nanosecond before he promptly dribbled to the hole for an uncontested layup.
“Ha, ha, ha.” Did I happen to mention that instead of leaving the gym and heading home to complete their schoolwork, my teammates hung around to deliriously heckle me? Oh, I didn’t? My bad.
“Is that all you got?”
Silence.
“I said, is that all you got?”
If this was a test, then Professor Blade already possessed the answer. Shoot, the dude not only knew my grade in advance, but he also wrote and proctored the stupid exam.
“Probably.”
“Don’t quit on me.”
“How can I quit when I haven’t done anything?”
“Ha, ha, ha.” At least my teammates hadn’t quit.
“Jumper.” Freeman called it.
Swish.
10-7.
Dribble, dribble, dribble, turn, dribble, dri—steal, layup.
10-8.
“Ha, ha, ha.” My teammates were still there.
“I’m catching up.”
“I’m letting you.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” This time it was Blade’s turn to bust a gut laughing.
Another 25-foot rushed throw at the rim resulted in a long rebound, cross-over, and reverse layup for the man in the goatee.
10-9.
Shot. Miss. Rebound. Layup.
Shampoo. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
10-10.
Here in the narrative, I must admit that I possessed a secret weapon in my ever-dwindling arsenal. One last arrow in my quiver, and it did not involve beans.
The sky-hook.
I was actually half-decent with a left-handed hook. I would back my opponent down, fake to my left, then roll gracefully to my right—left arm extended, and release the rock skyward where it would drop ever so gently into the net.
Did I happen to mention that Freeman already noticed I was left-handed? That my right arm was basically useless on offense? That the main purpose of my right arm was to keep my jersey from sliding down around my belly? That Blade was an anticipatory type of player? Oh, I didn’t? My bad.
The score was tied at ten. The next bucket would send the shooter home as Champion of the World!
It was my ball. I finally had Mr. NBA Draft Pick where I wanted him.
He tossed me the rock. I commenced to slowly, but gradually, back him down. Or so I thought.
In retrospect, he was allowing me to position myself on the court where it benefited him the most.
I faked left, gracefully rolled right and with left arm extended, released the ball skyward.
Swat!
In the excitement of anticipating my first win, I failed to notice that when I pivoted for the sky-hook, there was nobody home. Not a single soul. I could’ve turned and dribbled like crazy to the cup and hoped like heck I could put in a layup before Blade had recovered.
But alas, it was not meant to be. Because even though I hadn’t noticed the empty lane, at least one of us did. Blade and his long arm blocked my sky-hook? He promptly stepped back, squared up, yelled “Ballgame,” and swished the prettiest jumper I’d ever witnessed.
11-10.
And once again, I lost by one.
I saw Freeman play when he was an Anderson College Raven in Anderson, Indiana. He was there as a freshman and sophomore. I was glad he was on the team for two reasons. He was a lot of fun to watch and he should have scored about 25 to 30 a game, but the coach didn’t give him enough minutes. The second reason I was glad he was on the varsity was that meant he couldn’t play in intramurals and I didn’t have to be embarrassed by him there. I didn’t really know Freeman, but I really enjoyed watching him play. I was disappointed when he transferred to Montana State. If the coach had let him play, he could have made the Ravens a pretty good NAIA team back then. Thanks for your great story.
GREAT read! Freeman is one of the BEST around. I was fortunate enough to get private lessons from him along with my sisters when they played. He taught us how to shoot and everything else under the sun. He was a great coach! Thanks for the article, loved reading it.
Thanks for the article. After Freeman’s recent death, I found your article and it put a smile on my face. Freeman started working with my daughter by giving her private lessons when she was just a young girl in 1998. It was the summer before she entered the fourth grade. He worked with her for many years until he left to coach in Europe for a period of time. He was a wonderful coach, teacher, and a man of high character. I know that he touched a lot of young people and that there are many in northeast Ohio that were very saddened to learn of his death.
I came to know Freeman when he came to live with my family while he played for the Wyoming Wildcatters CBA team in Casper, WY. I was only 16 years old at the time. His influence on my life I will never forget. He changed me to always know every day is a blessing and gift from God. He took me to several practices and I got to see him shoot free throws for money after each practice. He never lost! He would say now we got gas money! So let’s travel the town! He loved Jesus! He loved music! And he loved life like no one I had seen before! I completed 22 years in law enforcement, and used his lessons in basketball to get me through! And now work in the medical field. Can’t wait to see you again Freeman Blade! May God bless his family and all he touched.