You remember your high-school basketball team, right? If not, here’s a helpful reminder of the types (i.e. archetypes) who traditionally make up the squad.
The Practice Superstar
This guy goes from Ray Allen in the layup line to Woody Allen at tipoff. In practice he will make impossible shots with ease. He will fill his teammates with confidence, with the belief that ‘hey, this guy is really good, maybe we’re deeper than we thought! Maybe we could make a run at Districts this year!’ But alas, no.
While he is an all-star in the reversible practice jerseys, there is something about the thick fabric of the game jerseys that is his kryptonite. He will seize up with fear and cower on the end of the bench, slumping his shoulders and trying to disappear into the chair. If sent on the court, he will hot-potato the ball to the nearest teammate like it is a passing drill and he is not allowed to shoot.
TRUE STORY: One year when I was on JV, there was a guy on varsity who was sort of odd. Quiet guy, kind of mumbly, and he squinted a lot. But he was also 6-foot-5, impossibly muscled, and could fly up and down the court. Practice Superstar in every sense of the word. Coaches fell in love with him. They were convinced he was the missing piece. Only problem was, he wouldn’t shoot in games. At all. Wouldn’t even look at the rim when he had the ball. I think he played an entire half of a season and only attempted one jumper, which he banked in. The other teams eventually learned to just sag off him and clog the lane, which monkeywrenched our entire offense. Come to find out, he had a vision problem and literally couldn’t see the rim. That was a weird year.
The Tall Kid With No Apparent Basketball Skills
He has no discernable muscles.
He has gone his entire career without once playing in crunch time.
He has never caught a bounce pass that was thrown below his kneecaps.
The family members of other players constantly shout instructions to him from the bleachers during games.
Every point, i.e. 100 percent of the points he scores, are a direct result of him being the tallest person around the basket.
It is unclear if he can successfully dribble.
During practice your coach will stare at him for minutes at a time, as if looking at a priceless diamond inside a locked glass case, then run his fingers through his hair and sigh.
Despite all this, he will still get minutes. He will score 6 points in tonight’s game, all on putbacks, and he will block a bunch of shots and fumble entry passes and trip over his own feet twice. Then he will go on to play for a Christian college no one has ever heard of and one day he will write occasional features for Uproxx and YOU LEAVE ME ALONE, EVERY ONE OF YOU!
The Interloper
He’s about that basketball life until the moment something goes wrong. At the first sign of trouble he will loudly remind everyone that he only plays basketball to keep in shape for football season. Or that he only plays basketball “for fun,” or that he is simply “on loan” from football.
Listen buddy. The “keeping in shape” thing doesn’t even make sense. Basketball season comes AFTER football season. How about you box your man out and we won’t even need excuses?
TRUE STORY: In 1999, I went with some of my teammates to watch St. Charles West (MO) play Fort Zumwalt South. SCW’s starting point guard was an interloper who was the star of the football team. Anyway, that dude disappears after halftime. Doesn’t come back out with the rest of the SCW team. He quit in the locker room because the coach looked at him the wrong way or something. Actually we thought it was pretty cool, because this was 1999 and Varsity Blues had everyone all hyped up to fight the system. Whatever, it was the ’90s, you had to be there.
The Gear Master
I mean how does this dude even afford all these accessories? Armbands, wristbands, knee bands, head bands, shooting sleeves, all in different colors for home games and away games. High socks, mid-socks, low socks, a different pair of shoes for every game of the season. He is a Christmas tree. He is a blank canvas. And the canvas must always adorn itself with pieces of Nike flair.
And he takes that stuff seriously. Don’t mess with his accessories, man. Don’t suggest that he needs to spend less time at Foot Locker and more time in the gym. I mean, it’s 100 percent true, but he’ll yell at you.
Beard Guy
Okay, this is why this list is only of high-school boys: I have no idea what the high-school girl equivalent of Beard Guy is. Also, how do you grow a full beard at 16? I was coloring in my sideburns with my mom’s mascara at 16. Beard Guy has to shave at halftime or they’re going to check his birth certificate again.
In strictly basketball terms, Beard Guy isn’t really that good. He sort of plays like…well…an old guy. This is what happens when you enter *and* exit puberty in middle school. But he can buy beer for you after the game, if that’s your thing.
The 6-Foot-Tall Post Player
This guy is the worst. He is shaped like a tree stump; he likes to wear arm bands and a crooked headband; he is the master of frantic and spastic arm motions, to the degree that he has fooled the coaches into thinking he is a hustler. He is not a hustler; he is a fouler. He will hack your arms, he will grab your jersey, he will hip-check you into that foam pad that hangs on the gym wall behind the basket, and the moment he is called for a foul he will throw his T-Rex arms into the air and marvel as if a great injustice has occurred.
In different classifications he comes in different sizes: In larger schools he might be as tall as 6-foot-3. In tiny Christian schools, he has been observed as short as 5-foot-10. In any case, his relative shortness is the root of his angst: he is forever angry at players who are taller than him, and will chastise his taller teammates and opponents for not “taking advantage” of their height.
Look, man, it’s not their fault you’re too slow to play guard.
