'Life is a funny thing.'
That is the first line of a chapter in my 'lifetime' book.
I think the reason I wanted to revisit that memory is that by the time you read this, a particular longtime columnist you know will have had another birthday, one of those that end in a '0,' which are the ones that shock you the most. So, naturally, nostalgia is in the air.
When I get nostalgic, basketball always seems to come up.
'Life looks far different looking at it from up in the stands than when you’re in the cage,' I wrote in that chapter, and as sure as I write that, it’s invariable that I share with you a fullfledged comparison of life to basketball.
You noticed I say 'cage,' because in the beginning of basketball – before the turn of the century — players were called cagers because they played in what was essentially a cage.
My years as a cager don’t go back that far, but they do go back to maybe when I was three.
By the time I got lost shooting those baskets in the snow down at the Whatley house when I was maybe seven, I was already a seasoned veteran — even as I guess I am now — I mean, in life.
You understand.
From that moment onward, I learned that sometimes you could be amid a scrimmage as we were hundreds of times down at the Y or in a LaGrange High game.
You would exhaust every ounce of energy in you, sweat pouring down on you like the falling water of Amicalola Falls up in Dahlonega, Georgia — which is Georgia’s tallest fall that plunges majestically over seven hundred feet.
On the hardwood, you can realize on the spot when something bigger than life is happening in some of those intense, sweat-soaked moments.
Some days I grew up by leaps and bounds from the time I walked into the Y and the time I staggered out to my '65 red Nova bloody and bruised.
We're not just discussing basketball here.
No, the young years as a cager are probably the best comparison I have to describing what it takes to make it through life somewhat unscathed.
One thing's for sure: In life, there's a big difference in watching from the sidelines than when you're 'mixing it up' on the court.
Yes, life is a funny thing.
You always know when something bigger than life is happening even before you walk out of the cage.
I guess turning seventy — that's 'seven' followed by a zero, threescore years and ten — reminds me that it's good to have been in the cage this long and still asking for the ball when somebody has to take the last shot.
You can't ask the Lord to give you much more than that.
Coach Steven Ray Bowen served as a teacher and basketball coach at Red Oak High from 1998-2012 and recently came out of retirement twice for teaching tours at Ferris and Waxahachie High Schools.
He and his wife Marilyn (the “amazin’ blonde”) have slowed down some of their travels and reconvened in their evangelistic work with the Church of Christ of Red Oak at Uhl/Ovilla Roads, in addition to Coach’s work as a writer and author, including the working to publish “Crossing The Georgia Line” that ran in the Ellis County Press.
Call or text (972) 8245197, email coachbowen1984@ gmail.com, and see frontporchgospel.com.