WNBA Tryout

Last year I went to a Phoenix Mercury game, which I hella enjoyed, and as a result I am on their email list. I get notices of upcoming games and offers to purchase tickets.

In March I got an invite to tryout for the team's Male Practice Squad. I assume this was a mass email, spam if you will, because the Mercury have no idea of my basketball prowess or my lack of hoops talent.

I've played basketball in organized leagues. A younger DPC, 13ish, played in the Rincon Valley Christian Church League for a season and was the seventh option on a nine-man roster. I had flashes of glory but those moments have been lost to time.

After one-season of church league I continued to play pick up games at Rincon Valley Junior High. I considered myself a Pistol Pete clone but I didn't survive the first round of cuts from the RVJH basketball squad in 9th grade.

In my early 20's my friends and I started a rec league basketball team. Shaft won a single game its first season and peaked 4-7 by the second season. After three-seasons we disbanded and I retired. I'd like to say I matured as player during the Shaft era but I sort of evolved.

I limited my behind the back passes to a couple per game and essentially evolved into Steve Kerr. A Steve Kerr that smoked two packs of Winston Lights per day and never practiced. My highest offensive output was nine-points and that explosion included my Sky Hook. Every short guard needs a Sky Hook and to chain smoke before a game.

After Shaft I rarely, if ever, played basketball but with a 16-year hiatus I was well rested.

Despite being out of shape and out of practice I was definitely going to the Mercury Male Practice Squad tryouts. It was on my 38th birthday. You got a free T-shirt for going and it would make an interesting anecdote or blog post. Within reason, I'll do most things for a free shirt. Hence my disjointed fashion sense.

On Saturday morning I cruised to Talking Stick Arena, home of your Phoenix Suns, Phoenix Mercury and Arizona Rattlers. I parked behind the arena where I noticed a line of folks congregating and made my way to the line. Like any moderately competitive guy, I sized up the competition and realized I may not be the worst player around, which was my main goal. I knew going in that I would not be the best player there, nor make the practice squad, but by the same token I didn't want to the worst player there. By my early stereotype of my brethren, I was at the bottom of the heap but not the lowest of the lousy lot.

Eventually a team rep came to the back door and made us form a line. We checked in and were given our free shirt, with a number on the back and I was 14. A positive number for baseball, Pete Rose and Ernie Banks, off hand I couldn't think of any basketball jerseys with the number 14. (Some later research determined that Bob Cousy and Jeff Hornacek wore 14 but I had no idea at the time).

After given out shirts and signing waivers we made our way to the practice court. I was hoping the tryouts would be held on the Mercury/Suns court, it would enhance my anecdote of being cut by a pro basketball team, but like usual my dreams were squashed.

I took off my glasses, I have 20-150 eyesight and can't see clearly 5-feet past my nose, and made my way to the court to get warmed up with 75 other folks. Poor eyesight, lack of talent and being out of shape is a nasty combination for anyone looking to excel at basketball or any endeavor for that matter and I generally looked terrible trying to hit a 10-foot jumper. No airballs but a of iron unkind.

After 10-15 minutes of warm ups an assistant coach huddled us up and gave a short speech on the practice squad role. I was too tired to pay attention, pathetically I was gassed after shooting jumpers.

We ran the three man weave initially and I was nervous. Simply put I didn't look like a punk during my time on court plus I forgot how to run the drill. After watching ten-teams run it I remembered my positioning and made the lay up. It was the last shot I made that morning.

After the three man weave we were broken up into six man squads and were given five-minutes of scrimmage I came off the bench and attempted to do my best Vinnie Johnson impersonation but time and talent were against me. My teammates were cool and let me shoot once but a 20-footer from the top of the key was wide left but grazed the rim. Knowing that poor eyesight would limit my offensive skills I focused on

defense and hustle and in the process of attempting to knock down a pass I wrenched my left knee.

I pointed to our bench and signaled that I needed a sub and ambled off the court. In the back of my head I knew my career was done, so I grabbed my stuff and made my way out of the gym and to the car.  One swollen knee for one shirt.