On buzzer beaters

By Lyndsie Kiebert-Carey
Reader Staff

It was like the climax of a sports movie, only less probable.

I was volunteering to help coach a girls’ junior high basketball game when a divine combination of hard work and dumb luck graced the gym in what I can only describe as the most exhilarating moment of several pre-teens’ lives — and, quite possibly, my own. 

The first thing to know about junior high basketball is that to find success is to accept and thrive in chaos. This is true of most rural schools that draw from a pool of a few dozen sixth-, seventh- and eighth-grade girls, but particularly true in this case. 

This season, fresh off the graduation of last year’s sizable and athletically inclined eighth-grade class, our team has had no choice but to undergo exponential growth since its first game in December. To us adults, that was only a few weeks ago. To a tween who has since learned to shoot a left-handed lay-in, that was last lifetime.

On this particular Wednesday night, the girls were playing a hard-fought game against a team with arguably more basketball know-how. Lucky for us, our intensity on defense kept us within five points, then three, then back to five all game long. The head coach and I kept exchanging glances each time the girls would hustle particularly well, earning an extra possession and scoring more consistently than they had all season. With each glance we seemed to say, “Well, this is a win so far. Can you believe this is the team we assembled a couple of months ago?”

To win in junior high basketball is to see improvement and make sure all the players still like the sport — and each other — once the final buzzer sounds. Our most important stats are the attempted shots that are equal parts smart and brave, steals and rebounds by the most timid athletes, and how many high fives or words of encouragement are freely offered between players.

Of course, to have that win reflected on the scoreboard feels good, too.

With seconds left in the game, we came within three points, and I let the most hopeful corner of my Hoosiers-loving brain start to take over. For everything the girls have yet to learn about basketball, how to apply a full-court press has been pretty far down the list compared to basic shooting and ball-handling skills.

“Press!” I screamed anyway.

The opposing team threw the ball in, off a teammate’s foot, and we had possession under our own basket with 1.8 seconds left. Professional basketball leagues have it calculated that a player needs at least 0.3 seconds to get a shot off once the ball touches their hands. Taking into consideration the kind of full-body wind-up required for a pre-teen girl to shoot a three-pointer and tie up the game, I figured 1.8 seconds would be cutting it a little close.

We called a timeout, and with eyes as big as saucers, the players listened intently while I outlined an elaborate play to get our most confident shooter — a sixth-grader, no less — open for a three-point attempt.

As it turned out, after walking onto the court and seeing the other team’s laid-back defense, we didn’t need the play. With a perfectly placed one-handed baseball throw to the top of the arc, the ball hit the sixth-grader’s hands and, like a small springboard, she launched it into the air. The buzzer sounded halfway through its flight path, and the net barely moved as the ball dropped through the hoop.

Like I said: a sports movie, but less probable.

I don’t need to describe the energy in the gym immediately following that shot. I don’t think I can capture it except to say it was absolute pandemonium. Imagine seven 11- to 14-year-old girls overwhelmed by disbelief and joy, some sobbing and all hugging. Then imagine getting their attention and telling them to breathe because they needed to play overtime.

All of the credit goes to their coach, Lindsey, and the girls’ willingness to trust that practice can and will pay off. Sometimes those results aren’t so evident on the scoreboard, and sometimes they are. That night, the team was able to seal the deal by scoring the only basket in overtime. 

“Good luck following that act,” I told the boys’ coach as his team began warmups following our game. 

He smiled and shook his head in the way we do when hard work and dumb luck combine to remind us that anything is possible.

I’m still shaking mine.