To Practice Against The Girls: A WNBA Tryout

I stood, hunched over, on the baseline.  The rain of sweat from my forehead patterned the floor like a Jackson Pollack painting.

My legs and lungs were afire, and no amount of Gatorade could save me.  My feet, like two spurned friends, had ceased to have anything to do with me, and ignored any request I sent their way.  Now, I was in decent physical shape, but I was in real trouble here.  And I was not alone.  Around me stood thirty-five other dudes, all sweating, all panting, most of them with their hands on their knees and pained looks on their faces.  In the shadow of the Lakers championship banners and retired jerseys above us, we had been beaten mercilessly.  

After a long and thorough two-hour basketball practice session, we had just completed two full set of wind sprints.  This was more running than I had done since, well…ever.  And the strong-voiced gentleman before us just assured our crew that we were about to do them again.  And again.  Because that is what it took to become champions.

And to think, we had not only volunteered for this treatment, but we had paid good money for it.  

My brethren and I were taking part in a try-out for the Los Angeles Sparks, the southland’s professional women’s basketball team.  Of the thirty-five men, seven would be hand-selected to practice regularly against the Sparks.  For the basketball fan, this was true hollowed ground: battling with a professional team, amongst championship banners.  And in order to make them play their best, we had to prove our worth.

Now, none of us knew what to expect when we arrived at the Toyota Sports Center that day.  We were welcomed with locked gates and tightened security, like true pros.  I mean, this was the everyday practice court for the current NBA Champions.  I was so star-struck by the purple-and-gold emblems and insignias that I had no idea what waivers I signed.  Regardless, they booted me to the court with my #32 jersey and a ladies regulation-sized basketball, and told me to get loose.

To be honest, most of us were past our peak athletic years, if we had peaked at all.  We ranged in age from the spry and jumpy 19-year-old to the traveled 55-year-old, a gentleman I called “Winter” who found his backside on the floor more than once.  There was a 6’9”, 300-pounder who got lost on his way to football practice, and a hefty 5’6” Latino fellow with 90% of his body covered in tattoos.  (Thank goodness, one tattoo was the Lakers logo.)  And there was me, a 28-year-old white dude with shaggy hair and zero hops.

We looked like a circus freak show in sneakers.  And our game play was about as pretty.  Maybe half of us had any high school basketball experience, and what we remembered of 3-2 zones and half-court traps had left us long ago.  If not for the strong guidance of Assistant Coach Steve Smith, the situation could have descended into a glorified pick-up game in no time.  But Coach was not having it.  

Most of us started sweating mid-way through our stretching routine.  I know I did.  And after the transition drill sets, any hope of having legs on your jumpers was lost.  (And, for one fellow, so was his lunch.)  No one was converting lay-ups, and turnovers abounded.  We were fatigued, play was getting sloppy, and we knew we had a long way to go.

But, as often happens in basketball, one situation brought everyone together.  We were running a five-man weave, a drill new to many of us.  After a few practice runs, the third set of five screwed up the drill, and Coach Smith made them start anew.  Once again, someone was out of position, and the crew of five had to redo the drill.  This repeated a third, fourth, and a fifth time.  But with each mistake, the sideline players began to encourage the fellows on the court with more enthusiasm.  After the sixth mistake, the entire section of remaining players were clapping their encouragement, cheering on the tired crew for one more try.

Finally, they succeeded at the drill, and received hearty high-fives and applause on their way back up the court.  Though they were all strangers two hours ago, the entire gym came together to celebrate the eventual success of these five.  They were tired, and they got run hard, but there were smiles on every one of their faces.  From then on, everyone was on the same page, and we rallied through the rest of the drills and scrimmages, finishing the practice winded but fulfilled. 

And that’s what the try-out was all about.  When we entered the Toyota Sports Center that day, we knew we weren’t pro ballers.  But we also knew we had the opportunity to test ourselves on the same floor that those very pro ballers practiced upon.  Most of us came to showcase our skills, to have a good run, and to come away with a good workout and a good story.  And I think we all accomplished that.

If I were to eventually be selected to battle Candace Parker, Tina Thompson and the rest of the L.A. Sparks, so be it.  It would be a privilege and an honor.  But I will always remember that Tuesday night in El Segundo, when thirty-five strangers came together under the same lights as the stars.  

The Sparks will tip-off their season on Friday, May 28th at 7:30pm vs. the Washington Mystics at STAPLES Center.