From that point on, I’d use every chance I got to practice and perfect my shooting. The moment I fell in love with basketball. I jumped with exhilaration. A shy, reserved kid who was used to keeping his emotions in check, I couldn’t restrain myself.Īnd that was it.
#GAMEFACE TORMENTOR TRIAL#
It would evolve into a methodology that carried me through high school, college, and my entire professional career.ĭriven to make a basket, I kept trying each day after lunch, learning through trial and error, processing it all. But on some level, I was developing a studied, analytical approach to the game. That meant getting a feel for the ball in my hands, then figuring how much upward thrust I needed to cover the height and distance between me and the basket. I finally realized the begin-point was touch. I’d always been proficient at math, and I started to approach my objective almost as I would my homework assignments.ĭo I aim for the backboard? Or for the center of the rim? Do I need to throw it high? How do I shoot the ball into that basket? I was single-mindedly focused on my goal. After a few tries, they all walked away in discouragement. They either couldn’t throw the ball up as high as the hoop or couldn’t get it to go in. I was drawn to that rim, and kept returning with my classmates. One by one, they took turns trying to make a shot. I would heave it up underhanded, mustering all my strength. The hoop was a good five feet above me, the ball large and heavy for someone my age.
#GAMEFACE TORMENTOR HOW TO#
But before I could do it, I realized I needed to figure out how to put the ball inside the rim. You just needed a ball, a blacktop court, and a hoop. You didn’t need expensive football or baseball gear to play. Basketball was an inner-city game, the one athletic outlet that kids could afford. Those teenagers controlled the courts, and there was no room for younger kids unless one of them was empty. Nothing else mattered.Įarly in my childhood, I’d seen the older boys on the basketball courts at the front and rear of my building. When the ball was in my hands, I just wanted to make a basket. And it originated at home.īut I didn’t think about those things when I stood beneath the cafeteria’s backboard. Didn’t think about the teasing and feelings of shame. I carried a hidden darkness, a secret pain that was both emotional and physical. And it showed.Īs shy and nervous as I was at school, those feelings weren’t caused by my young tormentors. It didn’t help that my mother cut my hair, but with six children, five of us boys, and barely enough money to pay the bills, she couldn’t afford to send us to the barbershop. I was also awkward and swaybacked, with a high waist and rear end.Įach day I went to school knowing I’d be mercilessly teased by the class bullies. Even the girls got into the act, calling me Blueberry Hill, after the Fats Domino song, because of my large, wide-browed head. I was eight years old but tall for my age. I can see it clearly in my mind’s eye. After eating my lunch, I would go over to it with some of the other kids and try to make shots. But we could use this one winter or summer, rain or shine. We had other baskets out in the schoolyard. Fixed on a stanchion, it rose ten feet above the floor. The backboard and hoop were at one end of the cafeteria-a large space that doubled as a gym when they pushed the tables against the wall. 67 in Fort Greene, Brooklyn, when love struck me. No matter how many other loves you have as time goes on, that memory, that euphoric joy, occupies a special, untouchable place in your heart. A world where paths merge in an unexpected journey, and you are made anew, soaring so high you can kiss the moonlight over the mountaintops. You never forget the first time you fall in love, the feeling of being swept up into a lofty realm you never knew existed. Available from Da Capo Press, an imprint of Perseus Books, LLC, a subsidiary of Hachette Book Group, Inc. Excerpted from Game Face: A Lifetime of Hard-Earned Lessons On and Off the Basketball Court by Bernard King with Jerome Preisler.