I was born on August 27,1951 and was officially adopted in late October. I have some basketball genes in my DNA thanks to a birthfather who apparently played high school ball for North Vernon. However, it was the man that I called “dad” who introduced me to the game as a fan. He must have taken me to several high school games when I was a kid, but one was particularly memorable when he embarrassed me by yelling loudly, “You Hamburger” after a referee’s questionable call. 

I made the Rice Elementary grade school basketball team in fourth grade but was a better dribbler than shooter. I would practice in our basement in the winter months, maneuvering around chairs. The low ceilings would only accommodate a round Quaker Oats container with the bottom removed to serve as a basket, mounted on a cardboard backstop. The “ball” was a wad of tin foil formed in a round shape that would fit in my hand. This is how I would reenact the annual Indiana High School basketball tournament, alternating between dribbling the real ball and shooting with the fake one.  Remember, there were no video games to keep me entertained back then. At the same time, I would listen to the game broadcasts on WTRC, the local radio station where I would eventually work. By the time spring came along, I could dribble with the best of them, but “couldn’t hit the side of a barn.”

My mom and dad did send me to a skills camp every year, but they also moved me to Beardsley School in the sixth grade, where the kids on the team were much taller. It was the end of my basketball career, although I still loved to watch. “Junior Basketball Camp at Taylor University, the biggest, bestest, camp of all, with plenty of versatility. Bounce the ball down the floor, in the hoop for a score,” were the words of the camp song to the best of my recollection. All my Rice Krispie teammates were there, along with the bigger Beardsley Bomber bullies. In fact, every kid in Indiana that had dreams of winning a high school state championship was a fellow camper. However, four years was apparently not enough for me to ever start a game. 

March was a special time in Indiana growing up, but there was always still the threat of snow. The tourney usually started in late February, and I would make a bracket to hang on the wall, filling in the teams around the state that would win their respective Sectional. As time went on, the Peter Eckrich Company would print special posters of the bracket in limited quantities, and I would scheme to get one. The unique thing about this elimination tournament was that all schools were part of a single-class system of competition regardless of size. The Elkhart High School Sectional was played in my North Side Junior High gym, one of the largest in the state seating 7,373. It opened in 1954, the year that the movie Hoosiers took place and tiny Milan High won the big prize. Adding to my love of the game, when the tourney took place at our school, the classrooms were closed. It was even better than a “Snow Day.”

I’ve always wondered how my love of this game evolved. I can only guess that it started with my parents, who as Indiana University grads, cheered on the 1953 Hoosiers who won the NCAA Championship, now known as the “Big Dance.” It was the second time that they won all the marbles and I’m seen in baby pictures wearing an Indiana t-shirt. Maybe this is where it all started. I also have the same temperament as my dad when it comes to watching the game as a fan but have never called a referee a “Hamburger.” 

Despite not living in Indiana for nearly three decades, I still follow the tourney every year and continue to dream of making that last second shot to win it all. My high school has never won this state championship, even after it’s now been divided into classes by size of the school. However, it’s still the David vs. Goliath matches of the past that command all the attention. With an enrollment of only 161, the 1954 Milan Indians beat the giant, Muncie Central, to claim the coveted trophy. In their drive to the title that year, Milan nearly lost in the “Sweet Sixteen” to a school with only 14 students, seven boys and seven girls, from Montezuma High, who didn’t even have a gym. The Aztecs practiced in a basement with a low ceiling just like I did as a kid, but I doubt they used foil. Milan proved to be impossible to beat when they went into their famous cat-and-mouse stall game, long before the shot-clock became a factor. 

I love this kind of history when it comes to Indiana High School Basketball and tried to pass that on to my son. He was scared of the Blue Blazer that was my high school mascot and instead rooted for our opponent’s furry Tiger. His claim to fame with the sport was two runners-up team trophies in the local Gus Macker Basketball competition. He was also the unofficial barber for his future high school’s state championship team, the Lawrence North Wildcats of 1989. My eighth-grade son volunteered our bathroom for the head shaving ceremonial ritual and left a mess of hair and blood for us to clean up. It’s Tourney Time!