Time Out
The score was 45 to 43. I stood on the sideline switching my attention from the score clock back to my players, a group of eighth-grade boys at Danville Middle School, who were now playing man-to-man defense against one of our county rivals, Avon Middle School. With 16 seconds to go, the whistle blew and the official signaled a shooting foul against us. Before the referee handed the kid the ball for two attempts from the free-throw line, I signaled a time out. I wanted to both ice the shooter and also talk with my players.
My players hustled over to the bench. Their energy and nervousness poured out of them as they huddled around me to hear my words of wisdom. I quickly quieted down their nervous chatter and asked them to focus. I explained the strategy as carefully as possible. “Be sure to block on the shots to get the rebound.” I also stared into their faces dripping with sweat making sure I had their attention and then added, “If he hits both free throws, quickly take the ball out of bounds, get it in and push the ball across half court just like we’ve practiced this week. After you get the ball past half court, call time-out.” I paused for a moment, looked again at the players, then extended my fist for our ritual chant. As the hands stacked on top of my fist, I said with a fierceness in my voice. “Let’s finish this!” And, then counted down… “3 - 2 -1.” The team screamed in unison “Warriors” - which was both our team mascot, but more importantly, our battle cry.
I watched the players find their place around the free-throw line. The referee handed the boy the ball. He took a few dribbles and shot. The ball landed softly over the front of the rim, vibrated for a moment around the rim and then fell safely through the net. The opposing fans howled seeing their deficit cut to only 1 point. The kid stepped back up to the line, received the ball, dribbled a few times, shot. Nothing but net. Tie game.
Our players grabbed the ball, scurried out of bounds and tossed it in quickly just as instructed. The other team remained in their full-court press. After a few passes we managed to get the ball across half court. The Avon players rotated their defense and our guard found himself being trapped just across the half-court line. The clock showed 10 seconds.
I started shouting as loud as possible to my players - “Time Out! Time Out! Time Out!” The noise of the gym drained out my voice. The boy being trapped managed to get around one defender and passed it to one of our players standing in the center of the court - just barely on our side of the line. “Time Out! Time Out! Time Out!” I screamed again.
The clocked ticked down, 5, 4, 3, 2… And at the very last moment, one of our players hurled the ball from half court towards the goal. The ball arched through the air in complete silence - as if it was a particle floating peacefully in space - with everyone in the gym following its gravitational pull to the rim. The ball buried itself into the bottom of the net and an immediate roar of cheers filled the gymnasium! The Danville student fans began charging onto the court with exhilaration and to embrace the hero that hit the half-court shot.
I stood still watching the celebration begin to unfold. Before I let my emotions shift into celebration, I looked back at the referee. He stood at half court - waving his hands outward repeatedly with his whistle in his mouth, which I now heard, but only barely above the roar of the crowd. He was waving the shot off -- signaling it did not count.
Bewilderment and anger gushed into every ounce of my body. The shot was clearly released before the horn signaling the end of the game. How in the world could he be waving off the shot?!! I paced towards him. But before I even got to him, his waving arms stopped for a moment - with only one hand in the air and the other pointed squarely at our bench. And as I got only a few feet from him, I heard him just flatly repeating, “Time out, Red.”
Apparently, as one of our players was dribbling to escape his defenders, one of our other players had finally caught the attention of the referee signaling a “time out” -- just as I had requested on the bench, just as I had been screaming. In the commotion and noise, no one heard his whistle, including the person running the clock. But, he insisted that he had been signaling the timeout with two seconds remaining. The shot did not count. It didn’t count because some stupid coach - me - called a time out right before the shot.
It took a few minutes to clear the court and get all the fans settled back into the bleachers. Our players came to the sideline deflated. I tried to feign confidence. I put out the small whiteboard, called out our inbound play, and drew it out again - trying to make sure we were focused on the next shot, rather than the shot that had just been erased from the scoreboard. The team left the huddle again after our ritual chant. On the sound of the whistle, our team executed the play perfectly. One of our players had a wide open look from about 10 feet from the goal, releasing it just before the buzzer. The ball struck the front of the rim and spun forward, rolled around the rim. And dropped out.
The game went to overtime. We ended up losing.
I relived that play for several days after that game. I was playfully harassed by the varsity coaches who found great joy not only in the story, but in seeing my misery of recounting the play. Being a relatively new coach, I genuinely sought the advice of the more seasoned coaches. Should I have instructed the players to just take it to the goal from the beginning? Was a timeout the right strategy? There really wasn’t consensus on the strategy itself. I was informed that even among a room full of talented, seasoned coaches, about half would approach it the way I did. With 15 or more seconds left, many like the idea of getting the ball across half court but then calling a timeout for a set play for a better shot. Other coaches thought it’s better to push the ball to the goal for a shot without the time out - in hopes of catching the defense more by surprise.
I took solace in knowing my approach at least had its merit. I also tried to convince myself that we had a much higher percentage shot after the timeout. But, regardless what I told myself, there was no denying one simple truth: my timeout cost us the game.
Play on or take a timeout? That is also the question that I have often asked myself about the circumstances and situations that I have faced in life. On many things, I tend to be a planner. For example, when I buy a car, I have to read Consumer Reports, test drive at least three cars, and read reviews and other facts online. I can drag out the process literally for months. But, I also love being flexible, adaptable, and spontaneous at times - reacting to the moments that life presents me. Some of my best memories of trips have been when we didn’t have a hotel or itinerary planned. We had a rough idea of what we wanted to accomplish and let each moment drive the next decision - even if that meant we got lost on a hike in Bali or stranded on an island in Thailand (both of which happened).
Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to wait and do nothing. As part of my treatment for cat sores, I had an exploratory surgery recently performed. The surgeon went in laparoscopically through my abdomen and excised one of the lymph nodes that showed a lot of activity on the most recent PET scan. He also used the scope to assess the original gastric cancer - uh, I mean cat sores - in an attempt to better understand its growth. The overall purpose of the procedure was to better understand whether or not my treatment is working. So, I was sent home and told that I should receive results from the pathology report sometime in the coming days. So, I waited. I waited wondering if the cancer is continuing to chew threw my body. I waited to be told that there is nothing more they can do or waited to hear that miraculously the immunotherapy appears to be working. I waited to be told whether it makes sense to continue with my treatment. I waited to be told if I am just another patient at the mercy of the spread of an unstoppable metastatic gastric cancer or whether I am a beneficiary of the latest advances in cancer research and treatment. I waited. Two days turned into seven days. And I waited.
As I waited, I did find peace in remembering that by definition a timeout, waiting, means that I still have time. Afterall, no timeout in basketball or any other sport has ever been called after the final buzzer sounded. I decided that I may not know the news that I will be given tomorrow, but I know the gifts that I’ve been given today. And what I do know is that despite having surgery, I woke up feeling strong. I was able to take a shower, go to work, help my kids with homework, take Anna Mae to a friend’s house, watch Lizzie’s soccer game, empty and load the dishwasher, enjoy a cup of coffee, watch the beauty of snow and ice cling to the trees outside, and spend some time writing. Perhaps not knowing was better than knowing a fate that I wasn’t ready to accept.
While waiting, I also recognized that I’m not alone in the juggling act of “playing on” and “taking a timeout” in the events that fill all our lives. I watched Lizzie play on in her soccer game - using her competitive spirit and courage to not back down from the opposing team that had a boy that was nearly twice her size. I also watched her enjoy a timeout - talking and laughing with friends at lunch. I watched Anna Mae play on by going to a friend’s house to help her organize her room. I watched her take a timeout to still give me a hug when she came back home. I watched Tonya play on by managing to direct the family through the commotion of each day - somehow putting her own emotions to the side - just so we all could get to the places we needed to be. But, I also saw her take a timeout by warmly grabbing my hand when I joined her under the covers at night. Ultimately, life remains a balance between playing on - taking action, facing our fears, choosing to make each day great - and timeouts - reflecting on the day, being grateful for our blessings, and soaking in the joy of each moment.
I finally did hear back from my oncologist with a copy of the pathology report. It was good news! The tests showed the tissue samples from my lymph nodes were all benign. Although the original tumor is still present, it had not spread as badly as they had thought based on the PET/CT scan. Immunotherapy may be in fact doing its job! Although I know that I still have a fight ahead of me, this news was definitely great news to me - if for no other reason it wasn’t bad news. It gave me more hope and more options. So, today I will take a timeout. I will take time to give thanks once again for my blessings - especially for those thinking and praying for me during this journey.
I continued with my next round of immunotherapy - my 12th round. Tomorrow, I will play on. In doing so, I will try to remember that playing on is about recognizing regardless what life brings me, I will have the courage to face it, embrace it, and do my very best to make the most of it.
In basketball, you are not allowed to call a timeout when you are on defense. Regardless of who has the ball and regardless of what play the team is running, you are challenged to defend it the best you can. It seems that the same is true in life. Sometimes you simply must have the courage and strength to play on. As I continue to defend this terrible disease that is a relentless opponent, I simply must find a way to find my footing and face it head on. I take comfort in knowing that when I stumble at times, my teammates - my family and friends - will slide over to help. And because of that coverage, because of that support from all my fans, I continue to smile and enjoy each moment of this game.
Our players grabbed the ball, scurried out of bounds and tossed it in quickly just as instructed. The other team remained in their full-court press. After a few passes we managed to get the ball across half court. The Avon players rotated their defense and our guard found himself being trapped just across the half-court line. The clock showed 10 seconds.
I started shouting as loud as possible to my players - “Time Out! Time Out! Time Out!” The noise of the gym drained out my voice. The boy being trapped managed to get around one defender and passed it to one of our players standing in the center of the court - just barely on our side of the line. “Time Out! Time Out! Time Out!” I screamed again.
The clocked ticked down, 5, 4, 3, 2… And at the very last moment, one of our players hurled the ball from half court towards the goal. The ball arched through the air in complete silence - as if it was a particle floating peacefully in space - with everyone in the gym following its gravitational pull to the rim. The ball buried itself into the bottom of the net and an immediate roar of cheers filled the gymnasium! The Danville student fans began charging onto the court with exhilaration and to embrace the hero that hit the half-court shot.
I stood still watching the celebration begin to unfold. Before I let my emotions shift into celebration, I looked back at the referee. He stood at half court - waving his hands outward repeatedly with his whistle in his mouth, which I now heard, but only barely above the roar of the crowd. He was waving the shot off -- signaling it did not count.
Bewilderment and anger gushed into every ounce of my body. The shot was clearly released before the horn signaling the end of the game. How in the world could he be waving off the shot?!! I paced towards him. But before I even got to him, his waving arms stopped for a moment - with only one hand in the air and the other pointed squarely at our bench. And as I got only a few feet from him, I heard him just flatly repeating, “Time out, Red.”
Apparently, as one of our players was dribbling to escape his defenders, one of our other players had finally caught the attention of the referee signaling a “time out” -- just as I had requested on the bench, just as I had been screaming. In the commotion and noise, no one heard his whistle, including the person running the clock. But, he insisted that he had been signaling the timeout with two seconds remaining. The shot did not count. It didn’t count because some stupid coach - me - called a time out right before the shot.
It took a few minutes to clear the court and get all the fans settled back into the bleachers. Our players came to the sideline deflated. I tried to feign confidence. I put out the small whiteboard, called out our inbound play, and drew it out again - trying to make sure we were focused on the next shot, rather than the shot that had just been erased from the scoreboard. The team left the huddle again after our ritual chant. On the sound of the whistle, our team executed the play perfectly. One of our players had a wide open look from about 10 feet from the goal, releasing it just before the buzzer. The ball struck the front of the rim and spun forward, rolled around the rim. And dropped out.
The game went to overtime. We ended up losing.
I relived that play for several days after that game. I was playfully harassed by the varsity coaches who found great joy not only in the story, but in seeing my misery of recounting the play. Being a relatively new coach, I genuinely sought the advice of the more seasoned coaches. Should I have instructed the players to just take it to the goal from the beginning? Was a timeout the right strategy? There really wasn’t consensus on the strategy itself. I was informed that even among a room full of talented, seasoned coaches, about half would approach it the way I did. With 15 or more seconds left, many like the idea of getting the ball across half court but then calling a timeout for a set play for a better shot. Other coaches thought it’s better to push the ball to the goal for a shot without the time out - in hopes of catching the defense more by surprise.
I took solace in knowing my approach at least had its merit. I also tried to convince myself that we had a much higher percentage shot after the timeout. But, regardless what I told myself, there was no denying one simple truth: my timeout cost us the game.
Play on or take a timeout? That is also the question that I have often asked myself about the circumstances and situations that I have faced in life. On many things, I tend to be a planner. For example, when I buy a car, I have to read Consumer Reports, test drive at least three cars, and read reviews and other facts online. I can drag out the process literally for months. But, I also love being flexible, adaptable, and spontaneous at times - reacting to the moments that life presents me. Some of my best memories of trips have been when we didn’t have a hotel or itinerary planned. We had a rough idea of what we wanted to accomplish and let each moment drive the next decision - even if that meant we got lost on a hike in Bali or stranded on an island in Thailand (both of which happened).
Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to wait and do nothing. As part of my treatment for cat sores, I had an exploratory surgery recently performed. The surgeon went in laparoscopically through my abdomen and excised one of the lymph nodes that showed a lot of activity on the most recent PET scan. He also used the scope to assess the original gastric cancer - uh, I mean cat sores - in an attempt to better understand its growth. The overall purpose of the procedure was to better understand whether or not my treatment is working. So, I was sent home and told that I should receive results from the pathology report sometime in the coming days. So, I waited. I waited wondering if the cancer is continuing to chew threw my body. I waited to be told that there is nothing more they can do or waited to hear that miraculously the immunotherapy appears to be working. I waited to be told whether it makes sense to continue with my treatment. I waited to be told if I am just another patient at the mercy of the spread of an unstoppable metastatic gastric cancer or whether I am a beneficiary of the latest advances in cancer research and treatment. I waited. Two days turned into seven days. And I waited.
As I waited, I did find peace in remembering that by definition a timeout, waiting, means that I still have time. Afterall, no timeout in basketball or any other sport has ever been called after the final buzzer sounded. I decided that I may not know the news that I will be given tomorrow, but I know the gifts that I’ve been given today. And what I do know is that despite having surgery, I woke up feeling strong. I was able to take a shower, go to work, help my kids with homework, take Anna Mae to a friend’s house, watch Lizzie’s soccer game, empty and load the dishwasher, enjoy a cup of coffee, watch the beauty of snow and ice cling to the trees outside, and spend some time writing. Perhaps not knowing was better than knowing a fate that I wasn’t ready to accept.
While waiting, I also recognized that I’m not alone in the juggling act of “playing on” and “taking a timeout” in the events that fill all our lives. I watched Lizzie play on in her soccer game - using her competitive spirit and courage to not back down from the opposing team that had a boy that was nearly twice her size. I also watched her enjoy a timeout - talking and laughing with friends at lunch. I watched Anna Mae play on by going to a friend’s house to help her organize her room. I watched her take a timeout to still give me a hug when she came back home. I watched Tonya play on by managing to direct the family through the commotion of each day - somehow putting her own emotions to the side - just so we all could get to the places we needed to be. But, I also saw her take a timeout by warmly grabbing my hand when I joined her under the covers at night. Ultimately, life remains a balance between playing on - taking action, facing our fears, choosing to make each day great - and timeouts - reflecting on the day, being grateful for our blessings, and soaking in the joy of each moment.
I finally did hear back from my oncologist with a copy of the pathology report. It was good news! The tests showed the tissue samples from my lymph nodes were all benign. Although the original tumor is still present, it had not spread as badly as they had thought based on the PET/CT scan. Immunotherapy may be in fact doing its job! Although I know that I still have a fight ahead of me, this news was definitely great news to me - if for no other reason it wasn’t bad news. It gave me more hope and more options. So, today I will take a timeout. I will take time to give thanks once again for my blessings - especially for those thinking and praying for me during this journey.
I continued with my next round of immunotherapy - my 12th round. Tomorrow, I will play on. In doing so, I will try to remember that playing on is about recognizing regardless what life brings me, I will have the courage to face it, embrace it, and do my very best to make the most of it.
In basketball, you are not allowed to call a timeout when you are on defense. Regardless of who has the ball and regardless of what play the team is running, you are challenged to defend it the best you can. It seems that the same is true in life. Sometimes you simply must have the courage and strength to play on. As I continue to defend this terrible disease that is a relentless opponent, I simply must find a way to find my footing and face it head on. I take comfort in knowing that when I stumble at times, my teammates - my family and friends - will slide over to help. And because of that coverage, because of that support from all my fans, I continue to smile and enjoy each moment of this game.
Play on Brad!!! I am full of hope, joy, and prayers for you.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Candice.
DeleteEnjoyed your literary catharsis this Sunday morning. I like to push through life with a full head of steam, but Sunday morning is frequently a time out to reflect and recharge for the week. Your words are encouraging, and I hope that your disease is soon defeated!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Terry.
Delete