It’s over before you know it

Gene Steinmeyer

Basketball is one of those funny sports. It seems to start early and looks like it will go on forever. Then, suddenly it’s over.

You calculate all the practices, all the games, all the scouting reports, all the miles getting to the games and all the late-night homework assignments. Inevitably, the season will come to a screeching halt.

The calendar has flipped to February and the home stretch of the basketball season is upon us. I want to give you a view of what three different groups of people are seeing; the coaches, the players and the parents.

The basketball postseason always finds a Cinderella. Every coach hopes the glass sneaker fits their team. It doesn’t matter the team’s record, there’s not a coach alive that doesn’t believe their team will magically come together and win it all.

Except for the Northwest men’s team that is in the hunt for a championship, the other teams from Maryville hope for that type of finish. Coaches have to believe there’s a magic switch that will change the fortunes of their team.

It doesn’t happen often, but once in a while, the clock doesn’t strike midnight. I had a team at Northwest that fit that description. The team had high hopes — a senior-laden group, but things just didn’t click.

About this time of the year, the team went to Central Missouri and got pounded by the Mules 96-54. The sad thing is it wasn’t that close. I was speechless in the locker room after the game. I couldn’t even muster the anger to yell at my team.

I told my assistant, Lori Hopkins, to make sure I didn’t try to sleep under the bus tires. I was pretty sure I had lost the team.

We recovered enough to beat Truman at home, but then got beat badly at Fort Hays. The Fort Hays team was so disorganized, they fired the coach the next day.

Was the axe headed for me?

Lori and I talked it over. The coaches had two choices. We could work them like dogs trying to turn things around or we could have short practices, ending the season on a gentle note and hit the recruiting trail. We chose door No. 2.

After a simple week of 50-minute practices, we took on Missouri Southern in the MIAA Tournament in Kansas City. We were the fifth seed. Our poor late-season play continued.

With about 10 minutes left, we trailed by nine points. I still don’t know what happened, but something happened to that team. They decided to fight back.

Northwest tied the game in regulation and won it going away in overtime. I was amazed but not near as amazed as when we beat Washburn, a top-10 team, two days later in the semifinals. Southwest Baptist didn’t have a chance in the championship game as we won by 23 points.

To this day, I have no idea what turned the season around. If I knew, I’d bottle it and be a rich man.

That team even went on to beat the No. 1 seed in the region on a last second, half-court shot from Meghan Brue. At that point, I was sure we would make the Elite Eight, but Brue got hurt the next game and the glass slipper broke.

Every February, I would make the same speech to my players. I told them there were two types of players. One type couldn’t wait to get the season over and the second couldn’t wait to get to postseason. The first type would fail miserably and the second type might just succeed beyond their dreams.

That’s an easy speech, but its not easy to convince players they should be anxious for March. Their life has been dictated by a sport. Thanksgiving meals had to be timed for practices and Christmas by getting back to action. Spring was just around the corner and the winter routine is still grinding away. Who would want this to continue for an extra month?

You know you had a great bunch of players when they would show up at your office the Monday after the season, ready to get back into the gym. It was over and the players were depressed, not celebrating the end of the season, and anxious to have a better ending the next year.

I once had a team ranked third in the nation, but the players couldn’t wait to get the season over. Our record was 30-1 and we only had one game and the conference tournament left. Of course, we lost both games and didn’t even play into March. Even winning didn’t make this bunch want to play until St. Patrick’s Day.

I am now a parent in the stands and not a coach on the bench. I drive Sam, my 15-year-old son, to all his practices and attend all his games. I’ve put a lot of miles on my car and had a lot of sleepless nights. All this and Sam is only a freshman.

The funny thing is I don’t want it to end. The athletic life of all our kids is very hectic. It’s expensive and tiring. I know I shouldn’t be this way, but I’ll be really depressed when it’s over.

I know how it feels to see your team lose, your son or daughter not play and being a dictator at night making sure the homework is completed.

I wouldn’t want it any other way.