When Saw We Thee…?

“If you score 100 points on these guys, I’ll take you out for pizza.”

November 1992. I’m a freshman in a small-town high school in Washington state, a starter on the Junior Varsity basketball team.

We travel to a nearby Indian reservation to play against their high school team.

The gym is old, dark, cramped, dilapidated.

The Indian boys won’t look us in the eye.

A few minutes into the game, the scoreboard displays our double digits compared to their zero.

The first quarter buzzer sounds, we retire to the bench. My teammates are in high spirits, giggling and clowning around.

I am dumb.

Our mustached coach, thrilled, says, “If you score 100 points on these guys, I’ll take you out for pizza.”

Everyone cheers. Almost everyone.

The game continues. Swish after swish on one side of the court, steal after steal on the other.

We pass the 100-point mark minutes before the closing buzzer. More cheers.

I can’t take my eyes off the floor.

I don’t look up — even though I do not score a single point throughout the entire game.

I’m still haunted by the shame seventeen years later.

I continue pondering: Can just society be attained by animals?