Top 5 Pick

"Projected top 5 pick in the NBA draft." All my life I have strived for this. My dream, and it was all coming to fruition. Teams salivated over my skillset. A 38-inch vertical, an elite three-point stroke, and quick feet laterally, I was something of a dream prospect.

All those years I spent playing basketball with my father. Waking up early for practice. Standing around waiting for a game on the local courts, well, at least I used to. Now when I show up, everybody clears the court. This isn't football, nobody is wearing a helmet on the court, so when you can hoop, everyone knows your face.

That makes it even funnier when you win the game, and they want to fight you. Brother, what did you expect to happen? I was just that good. When people knew I was around, they would come from all over the city just to watch me play, or take a crack at kicking me off my court. All day I would take on any and all challengers, and I can't remember the last time I failed.

What I can remember, is when my body failed me. The NCAA Finals. 76-61 game with 4 minutes remaining in the last period. I hadn't sat a minute of the game, against Coaches wishes. 33 points under my belt, it was only fitting an unceremonious career ending injury akin to Larry Bird before me would strike while his jersey number adorned the jumbotron below my face.

In the biggest game of the season, the biggest game of my life, I went down. I had skied into the air for a huge dunk. I exploded from the ground and glided through the air gracefully, straight into the 7'0, 275 pound center. I could have easily gone for a simple layup, or hell, I could have just dribbled the clock out and saved some time at this point. But that wasn't who I was.

I had always been a ruthless competitor. I didn't want to beat you, I wanted to embarrass you. A character trait I picked up studying the greatness of players like Michael Jordan, Kobe Bryant, and Allen Iverson. That killer mentality made me many enemies in all of my time playing basketball, but it won me more games than it burned bridges. I didn't just want to win the NCAA Championship, that wasn't enough for me. I wanted to put their starting center on my highlight reel and give the sports media something to talk about for days.

The behemoth took an ill-fated swipe at the ball. His arm, the size of a tree trunk, whipped my shoulder down with such great force that it dislocated instantly. At the same time, I had turned completely horizontal to the ground. When I landed, I landed directly onto a point of my spine. Immediately I felt the bone smash and cave in, as a sudden jolt of energy overcame and jerked my entire body, and then, nothing.

I wanted to turn to call out the giant for the hard foul, but I found I could not feel at all from my waist down, and had great trouble moving anything beyond my mouth and fingers. Live on TV with hundreds of thousands watching, I lie on the ground, sobbing in pain, unable to move, completely humiliated. It turns out that night, I was the one embarrassed.

As they carted me off the field, and I heard the eruption of applause that typically accompanies a career-ending injury when the stretcher rolls safely off the court, I knew that there was a possibility things would never be the same. I didn't cry in the ambulance, I was far too hopped up on adrenaline for that. In my delirium with all the chemicals coursing through my body to ease my pain, I thought just maybe this was all a dream. But when I awoke the next day and realized this was no dream, I cried for days.

It didn't take long for my draft stock to plummet. That very same night every talking head in the nation was talking about the end of my career. I guess in a way I did give them something to talk about for days. They never even gave me a chance of coming back. The sad part is, they were right not to.

I never was the same. The NBA draft was out of the question. Shooting a basketball ever again was out of the question in fact. I retained most of my motor skills above the waist, but from the waist down, I am lucky to experience even the fleeting moments of feeling, or perceived feeling, that strike me on occasion. I was paralyzed completely from the waist down.

The first few weeks were really hard. All of the "friends" I had made on my ascent to the top, one by one all began to grow distant if not disappear completely. All the deals I had lined up to feed me and my family, gone in the snap of a finger. All the women I thought I could trust? Well, they disappeared faster than the friends did. The very thing I had worked my whole life for, built the entire essence of my being around, all gone. The very content of my character had been ripped from me, and I had to build anew.

The worst part was seeing the pain on the faces of those who did care about me. In a way, it was almost easier on me to be abandoned than to face the reality of my situation with those who loved and depended on me. When my mother came to my room, tears in her eyes, and told me everything was going to be okay and that I will always be her All-Star, there was nothing I could do but weep. So selfless as always, she wasn't worried about the loss of the future I promised her, she was only worried about the future I lost for myself.

For so long, I didn't know who to blame, so I blamed everybody. I blamed the center for his hard foul, his unnecessary bone-crushing contact that ruined the very trajectory of my life and confined me helplessly to a steel prison on wheels. Then I blamed the coach, the man who didn't rest me for a single minute that game. Perhaps with just a minute of rest things would have gone differently, my body would have taken the shot better.

But I have come to realize, there is nobody to blame if not myself. I went for an aggressive showboat move in the biggest game of my life, and I paid the ultimate price. Coach didn't demand I stay in the game, I did. I had something to prove even though my future was laid out for me on a silver platter. I just had to be the hero, the best player on the court, I had to be the man.

I used to regret all of the time I dedicated to the game, but I don't anymore. The game taught me many things. It taught me humility, the dangers of hubris. It instilled in me the values of hard work and dedication that made me the man I am today. It taught me to never take anything for granted, and that in a moment's notice, everything can change before you.

I'm doing alright now. The very team I got injured on graciously offered me a position on the roster as an assistant coach. Was it a pity job offer? Perhaps. But all that matters to me is that I can still be involved in the game I love, and I can inspire the next generation of players, and teach them not to fall victim to the hubris that put me where I am today.

I see the twinkle in their eyes, their love of the game. I see myself in them, all of them. They show me a level of respect as if I had made the NBA. They listen to my word as if it is gospel. The most important thing I tell them? One on the court is better than two in the mock draft. Play the game the right way, and prioritize your health over climbing any draft rankings or making any highlight reel.