Fouled Out: Freshman, Sophomore Year

My classmates David Long, Harry Speicher, and Scott St. Clair were football players that brought the game to the basketball court. They called them the “Hatchet Squad.” They played a high impact and contact game of basketball. They were physical. Now Coach Ewart reminded us that even dancing was a contact sport, so we should expect a little contact in basketball. That’s why they were the second string and when they checked in to play, the tempo and wildness went up three notches. We had a lot of fun even when we lost a game at that stage in life.

Ninth grade was tough. My lower back hurt and limited my ability to run, shoot, and play, but I got to start because of my ball handling skills and playing experience. I was told that those were growing pains. I was 15 years old and was probably trying to lift more than I should or could on the farm to keep up with my brother and Dad. I could have strained it just playing basketball, but more than likely barn basketball. Whatever the reason, I wasn’t in great shape that season. It wasn’t just me though – the team as a whole had problems. My junior high basketball team, coached by Mr. Ewart lost every game we played against another school. Now that is depressing and disappointing. You talk about being lower than a snake’s belly in a wagon wheel rut in the spring time. We had no joy as the season continued. Try as we might, we could not end with the higher score at the end of the game that year. The high school varsity team that year did well and won the District Five Title. So there was great joy in the high school. Mr. Ewart closed the season with the line, “There will always be next year.”

My brother, received his varsity jacket for playing basketball and baseball that spring. He teased me and told me that I would never have a varsity jacket. He was just teasing but that meant a lot to me. I guess I also feared that his statement was true. That I would never be good enough, for I had taken sports quite seriously. I was bitten by the bug and was totally infected. Dan and Daryl were my heroes, the guys I wanted to be like. They both had varsity jackets for lettering in sports. What they did I wanted to do and yes, I wanted to do better and prove to them that I was as good as they were. I wanted to be their equal, not their little brother or little cousin. I had that desire. I just didn’t have size, the skills, or the confidence.

During the summer, my parents scraped up enough money to send my brother and me to a basketball camp at Juniata College in Huntingdon. Petar “Press” Maravich had organized a one week basketball camp and besides other coaches and professional players. He brought his son, “Pistol” Pete Maravich to play with us. Pistol Pete was a great basketball player in high school; he could handle the ball and even spin it on his fingers like the Harlem Globe Trotters. Even when double or tripled teamed he could dribble his way out and shoot to make a basket. He was amazing. He was an inspiration. He gave me a higher goal to shoot for. In the final game of the week of the all-star game, I was double teamed and tried to pass the ball. I was successful but my arms entangled with the other players and I fell face first on the maple hardwood. I was injured and taken out of the game.

Tenth grade was much better. My back didn’t hurt! Mr. Ewart was moved up to be the JV basketball coach. I knew him and what he expected. Oh, the junior varsity team won a few games, and I got to play in a few games. The eleventh graders were mostly played to gain experience.

I fondly recall a JV game at home against Hyndman. At half-time, we were down about 20 points. Mr. Ewart was not happy. He told us that he didn’t know what to say. He told us to “Just sit there and think how you can change this.”

We sat there in the quiet of the locker room very awkwardly for a while. Then Fud Grace said let’s go play ball and we ran out to warm up. Well, I was the point guard and I was able to steal the ball a number of times and even score a few points. I remember scoring the two points that put us in the lead and then intercepting an incoming pass and scoring another two points before the buzzer. My coach and team loved me. I was the hero! That was our best comeback! That was the first time I had ever shown like a star.

Editor’s Note: This is the third installment in Ritchey’s recollections. The Herald will publish the rest over the next few editions.