Another year quickly rolls by, and suddenly it’s time to think about a return to the Carlisle 3-on-3 outdoor basketball tournament. After our inconspicuous exit in the prior year’s tournament — at the hands of local legend Rich Henninger’s team, my thoughts turned to the definition of insanity — doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. We had to do something different this year if we wanted a chance to win this tournament. We needed a “big” man!

A week or so before the tournament’s start I was, as usual on a Thursday night, getting a spirited “run” in at the Salvation Army Gym, under the watchful eye of now the late Dave Sechler, when in walks 6’6”, 275 lb. Greg Odell, or “Odie” as he was known to the “in” b-ball crowd. The light bulb went off in my head, and I immediately asked Odie what he was doing this weekend. When he said nothing special, I said, you are now; you’re going to Carlisle with me for the 3-on-3 tournament. At last, a really big man!

Just when I thought things were looking up, however, a slight mishap occurred. The Friday night before the Saturday Tournament, I was attempting to hitch a small trailer to the back of my Jeep when the trailer rolled forward and pinned my right hand up against the trailer hitch. I heard the snap and immediately knew it was a broken hand. Thoughts of dropping out of the weekend tournament were obviously foremost. Still, they were quickly dispelled as I immediately resorted to the Chinese water torture trick — ice water, then hot — in order to keep the swelling to a reasonable level. It was not like with Mike and Kevin Baggett; I was not expected to be called upon to shoot the ball much, so participation was a go. Besides, we now had Odie!

Saturday turned out to be a very rainy day, so the games were moved inside of the Dickinson College gym. Our first opponent was, you guessed it, Rich Henninger’s team. While I was warming up, Rich came flying out on the court towards me in what I was sure was going to be a full take-down body slam to pay back for last year’s broken nose. Instead, he thankfully pulled up short, slapped me on the shoulder, and said, “all is good; that’s what I get for trying to play defense.” We all laughed, and then he told us he was not playing due to some chronically sore knees. The smile on our faces was unmistakable. We might have a chance to win this thing.

As we watched Rich’s team warm up, we noticed a new face — an approximately 6’6” fairly-chiseled body—Rich’s replacement. When the play started, this man stepped out and hit shots beyond the 2-point arc and went inside, muscling to the hole with abandon. All we could say was, “Who is this guy?” Turns out, as we found out later, he had played for Mike Krzyzewski when he was the head coach of the West Point Cadets. The new guy was stationed at the Carlisle War College, so of course, Rich’s team providentially found him and signed him up.

In this initial game, we were in foul trouble early, as the young lady referee was calling all the touch fouls — of which there were admittedly quite a lot. At one point, I called her over and said, you can’t make those calls — this is the 40 and over division, and that’s the way we play — we grab, we push, we hang on to each other’s shorts! She was unimpressed with my argument and said, no, these are high school rules.

At one point, I was taking a water break, and one of the trainers on duty sat next to me, saw my visibly swelled right hand, and said, let me see that-I think it might be broken. I said, “No, it can’t be as it feels fine — besides, my Achilles is killing me so much I don’t even notice it.”

Back into the fray, I went.

Well, the fouls quickly piled up as the new guy lit us up. Once again, we went down to defeat to Rich’s team, even without him! The only hope was to work our way up through the loser’s bracket in the hopes of getting into the finals.

Well, we did just that, and what was our reward — a rematch with Rich’s team! Our thoughts were dire as we remembered the first-round pounding. How were we going to win without resorting to our 40 and over bag of tricks? Thankfully, a different referee called us all together and said, “Now in high school, you can’t do this,” — put your hand on the back of a player, and “In high school, you can’t do this,” — use an armbar on your opponent’s back. I raise my arms up in a sign of frustration, but then he said, “thankfully, we ain’t in high school here!” Oh yeah, let the fun begin.

The game got off, as you can imagine, to a rather aggressive start on both sides — after all, this was the Championship! Elbows were flying, and bodies were banging — man. I love this game! Odie and I took turns working the new guy over. Once he went up for a jumper, and I literally chopped his arm across the elbow and waited for what I was sure would be a foul call — but nothing! He was very good-natured given the abuse Odie, and I heaped upon him. Mike and Kevin Baggett got hot, and after a lengthy brutal struggle, we took the game and finally won the 2003 Carlisle 3-on-3 championship. Both teams retired to the local pub for some well-deserved refreshments and jovial talk of how things would be different next year!