by Hap Rocketto
Leah, my youngest daughter, is a student at Syracuse University’s S.I. Newhouse School of Communication majoring in Magazine Journalism. I say this both as a proud parent and to set the stage for the following story. Syracuse is well known for its basketball program. My limited understanding of the sport is that ten guys run back and forth trying to toss a ball through a hoop. This goes on for 40 minutes while the teams swap points like they run, back and forth. As far as I can determine one only need watch the last minute or so of a game as that is when the winner is decided.
My daughter’s uncle and cousins are big fans of Providence College basketball and, under the guise of visiting Leah, conned me into driving the bunch to Syracuse to watch a Division One game between The Orange and the Friars. Beer drinking and sports talk took up most of the time otherwise unoccupied by driving, eating, and visiting with Leah and I, as the designated driver, wisely retreated from such plebian pursuits.
I prepared by bringing a book keeping with the theme of the weekend, John Feinsteins’s The Last Amateurs: Playing for Glory and Honor in Division I College Basketball. It covers the 1999-2000 basketball season in the Patriot League, the smallest basketball conference NCAA Division One; Annapolis, Bucknell, Colgate, Holy Cross, Lafayette, Lehigh and West Point.
Feinstein accurately touts the Patriot League as an example of “what college sports are supposed to be about.” These schools can call their players ‘student-athletes’ with a straight face as they undergo the same rigorous entrance and academic standards as everyone else. They seldom miss class because they are smart enough to know that it is unlikely that a professional athletic career is in their future. They play for the love of the game.
One poignant passage relates how Holy Cross’ Chris Spitler, reading a basketball magazine on a bus trip, found that the Patriot League was ranked the 31st league out of the 31 in Division One. At the time The Cross was the Patriot League’s last place team. The young man, regarded as the worst player on the team realized that this made him the worst player on the worst team in the worst league in Division One basketball. Surprisingly he was not depressed but, rather, it cheered him up as he realized that he now had the best pick up line on the East coast.
Seven years later I found myself in somewhat the same situation. A phone call from Jeff Doerschler brought with it a message that the Black Hawk Rifle Club was fielding a team in the NRA Four Position Indoor National Championship and would be shooting it in Connecticut. “Would you be interested in being the fourth along with Vinnie Pestilli, Erik, Hoskins, and me?” his disembodied voice asked. I accepted in a heartbeat even though I would shoot the individual match earlier in Rhode Island
Usually a solid four position shooter on the A-17 “bucket bull” I had a poor showing in the individuals in Rhode Island, not even breaking 790X800. I was growing concerned that I might not be the fourth the team needed, but it was too late to replace me. Needing confidence and support my wife Margaret agreed to accompany me and so I promised her a fancy après match dinner.
Setting up I noted that Vinnie had shot a 798X800 with iron sights-a score that would come to win the national individual title. Jeff had done nearly as well as had Erik. We cleaned prone and went into off hand well sighted in. Jeff dropped a point Erik went for three, and Vinnie, exhausted after his solo tour de force lost five. The well rested Rocketto shot three tens and seven nines standing. We all went clean in sitting and kneeling. I was aghast for I had dropped almost as many points as the other three combined. Had I even shot my average I would have tied Erik and given us a significant boost.
I was downhearted for I knew I had dropped the ball big time and probably cost us the national title, but the guys were very upbeat and understanding. To things worse, the match ran late and every decent restaurant between the range and home boasted hours long waiting lines. Margaret’s fancy dinner turned into sandwiches late that evening at home. Fortunately she was as understanding of my failing to find fine dining as my fellow team mates were of my inept shooting.
A month later Vinnie called to congratulate me, we had won the 2007 NRA Four Position Indoor Smallbore Rifle National Championship by an amazingly huge six point margin. When all of the results were in the Black Hawks had a hat trick, winning all three of the indoor smallbore championships. I was overjoyed to find that my poor performance did not doom my teammates efforts. The match bulletin revealed that our score that was the lowest winning score ever fired in the match’s history, and I had the lowest score on the team.
My consolation was that while Spitler and I both play for the love of the game, unlike him, I was the worst of the best. But, then again, unlike Spitler, I didn’t need a great pick up line, I already have Margaret.
