One father, sitting two rows in front of us, had what Win and I had nicknamed "Spectator Tourette's," spending the entire game seemingly unable to stop himself from berating everyone around him out loud.

My perspective on this is clearer than most. I had been that rare commodity-the truly gifted athlete. This came as a shock to my entire family since the greatest Bolitar athletic accomplishment before I came around was my uncle Saul winning a shuffleboard tournament on a Princess Cruise in 1974. I graduated from Livingston High School as a Parade All-American. I was a star guard for Duke, where I captained two NCAA championship teams. I had been a first-round draft pick of the Boston Celtics.

And then, kaboom, it was all gone.

Someone yelled, "Substitution."

Jack adjusted his goggles and ran onto the court.

The coach of the opposing team pointed at Jack and shouted, "Yo, Connor! You got the new man. He's big and slow. Drive around him."

Tourette's Dad bemoaned, "It's a close game. Why are they putting him in now?"

Big and slow? Had I heard right?

I stared at the Kasselton head coach. He had highlight-filled, mousse-spiked hair and a dark goatee neatly trimmed so that he resembled an aging boy-band bass. He was tall-I'm six four and this guy had two inches on me, plus, I would guess, twenty to thirty pounds.

" ' He's big and slow'?" I repeated to Win. "Can you believe the coach just yelled that out loud?"

Win shrugged.

I tried to shake it off too. Heat of the game. Let it go.

The score was tied at twenty-four when disaster struck. It was right after a time-out and Jack's team was inbounding the ball under the opposing team's hoop. Kasselton decided to throw a surprise press at them. Jack was free. The ball was passed to him, but for a moment, with the defense on him, Jack got confused. It happens.