Читать книгу Don't Let The Lipstick Fool You: - Lisa Leslie - Страница 10

That first year at Morningside was extremely busy for me. Besides playing basketball and taking care of Tiffany, I somehow also found time to play on the Lady Monarchs’ volleyball team and compete in track and field, too. I was hoping that those activities would help improve my speed and jumping ability for basketball, but I still cannot believe that I went out for track after the terrible experience I had with that sport back in seventh grade. What was I thinking?

My track coach at Whaley Junior High decided that my long legs were best suited for the 400-meter run, which I believe is the hardest race in the world. In one particular meet, I was running really well. I had the lead with one hundred meters to go, so I kept driving with my legs, pumping my arms, and pushing hard. But I started to tire. My heart was pounding, and my lungs were on fire. I looked straight ahead for the finish line, but I did not see one. I could not find it. The people in the crowd were cheering and yelling, “Come on! Come on! Come on!” As usual, no one from my family was there, but I gave it everything I had just the same. Just for pride. Just for me.

I ran as fast and hard as I could, and then, all of a sudden, I fell down on the track. I just collapsed. I could not believe it. There I was, sprawled in the dirt, all sore and sweaty. I could see my lead disappearing as I lay on the ground. And I could also see a strand of red yarn up ahead of me. It was stretched low across the track. The finish line. It was right in front of me. It was so close, but I could not reach it! I had to get up. I had to finish. I could hear and feel runners breezing by me as I struggled to get to that yarn. My muscles ached, my tracksuit was filthy, and my ego was more than a little bit bruised. But I finished the race. What an ordeal! I knew right then and there that I was finished with running track forever. At least I thought I was.

The track coach at Morningside already knew about me. Coach Ron Tatum had seen me run during basketball season. Coach Tatum kept telling me that running track would improve my physical skills for basketball and also give me more stamina. I knew all that, but I told him, “I do not want to run track.”

Coach Tatum was persistent, though, and, just my luck, he wanted me to run the dreaded 400 meters. He thought I would be good at running hurdles as well. The way he put it to me was, “Lisa, with your long legs, you will be able to just glide over those hurdles. You will never hit one.”

Of course, the first time I practiced running hurdles, I crashed right into one and went down face-first. The hurdles were made of metal and wood, and they hurt. There I was, sprawled on a track all over again. I told anyone who would listen, “I will never come back out here if you make me run hurdles.”

I guess the coach felt really bad, because he agreed that I would have to compete only in the 400 meters, plus three jumping events, and that was fine with me. In the long jump and the triple jump, I would be landing in the sand. That seemed safe enough, but the high jump was a different story. I used the Fosbury Flop method for high jumping, which meant that I would run up, lift off, and go over the bar with my chest facing the sky and my back closest to the bar. Then I would kick and arch my way over. Essentially, I was going over the bar upside down, and I was getting pretty good at it until one painful attempt. I went up just fine and I cleared the bar, but on the way down, I just barely skimmed the edge of the mat on my landing, and I flopped to the ground with a thud. Fortunately, I was not injured badly, and I was able to continue jumping, but after that crash landing, I was never really the same mentally when it came to high jumping. On a good day, I could get up and over a bar set at five foot eight. That was pretty high for me. I knew it was definitely a long way to fall, and everybody who knew me knew that I hated to fall down.

But I did not give up on high jumping, and I am glad that I stuck with it, because I got good enough to compete in the state championships. I cleared the bar at five feet six inches and managed to improve my personal best in the triple jump to thirty-eight feet nine inches. I was so proud to qualify for state, especially since track was just something that I did to help me improve in basketball. I have always wondered just how good I might have been if I had practiced the sport all year long.

I really did feel faster and stronger after track season, and I knew that was going to help me on the basketball court. Any doubts I might have had in that regard were eliminated on a rainy afternoon at Morningside when track practice had to be moved inside, to the gym. I was focusing on my high jump technique, which involved footwork, pushing off, body control, and lift, but we were really limited indoors as to how much practicing we could actually do. My coach said, “Lisa, why don’t you work on your approach to that basketball rim over there? It will give you a chance to use a lot of the same skills as the high jump.”

I followed his instructions and measured my approach from about sixty feet out. I got my running start, took off, and touched my fingers on the rim. I had never done that before. I was excited, and so were my teammates. Somebody found a tennis ball. I ran in, took my steps, went up, and dunked it. Now everybody in the gym was into it. They found a volleyball, and I dunked it, too. I tried to dunk a basketball that day, but my hands were too small to palm the ball, and I could not get good control. Oh well. But I knew that my time would come. That might have been my most enjoyable track practice ever.

Running track paid dividends for me, but I gave it up after my freshman year because my heart just was not in it. I realized that I spent way too much of my time trying to find excuses not to go to practice. I told the coach, “I dread coming out here because of all the running. It makes me so nervous. When I get to fifth period and I know that track is coming up next, I get sick to my stomach.”

It takes a lot to run track. It really does. I think track athletes have more heart than athletes in any other sport. Jackie Joyner-Kersee, a track-and-field legend, is one of my “sheroes” and has all my respect in the world. It takes a lot of heart and a lot of discipline to get on the track every day and to be successful at it. I knew I did not have that kind of heart or desire for track, especially for the running. I told Coach Tatum, “I know what it takes to play basketball. It is hard work, but I never dread going to basketball practice. But this is literally making me sick.” That was the end of my track career.

That summer of 1987, I played AAU basketball, and I also played with Morningside’s off-season team. When I went back to high school in the fall, I was no longer the “new kid.” In fact, my good grades, sense of humor, and success on the basketball court had earned me a lot of respect and had made me pretty popular. I was thrilled when I was elected sophomore class president.

That season our basketball team lost only two of thirty-five games, and despite being one of the smaller schools, we won the CIF Division 5AA title, captured the Division I Regional, and advanced to the California state championship game. Our Morningside squad had a date with Oakland’s Fremont High School for the big showdown at the Oakland Coliseum.

That game was hard fought. We should have put Fremont away, but Morningside could not manage to score a single point in the final seven minutes of the contest. Still, we found ourselves trailing just 53–52 with seconds left to play. Coach Scott called a time-out. He huddled us together and said, “This is the play we are going to run.” It was an inbounds play from the baseline that we had run ever since I got to Morningside. Our guard, JoJo Witherspoon, would handle the ball and lob it to me at the front of the block. I’d catch it and hit a bank shot. It was nothing complicated and nothing new to us. I make the shot, we win the game, and Morningside wins state. It was as simple as that.

Coach Scott made sure that everybody knew their responsibilities and had the play fresh in their minds. “I want you here,” he told each of us as he pointed to the play board and calmly looked around our huddle. “I want you over here. You are going to break this way. Just lob it up there to Lisa, and that will be the game.” He never said anything to me. I am sure he figured that I knew exactly what I needed to do on the play and was well aware of the importance of the final shot.

We broke our huddle and stepped onto the court. The play was designed perfectly. JoJo lobbed the ball in. I jumped up to grab it, came down, turned, and put up my shot as time was running out. But it was short. The ball barely hit the rim. What happened? I choked. That was my shot. I made it all the time, but as I turned to make the shot, I could not decide whether to bank it off the glass or try to swish the ball straight in, and I wound up shooting the ball too softly to accomplish either one. My shot was not high enough to kiss the rim, bounce around, and have a chance to drop, and it was too weak to reach the backboard and carom in. If I had just used the glass, I probably would have scored. At least the ball would have had a chance to go in, but the wimpy way I shot it, NO CHANCE. I had choked. I had a triple-double in the game, thirteen points, twelve rebounds, and ten blocked shots, but we lost by one point, and Morningside’s season ended on a terribly sour note.

Fremont’s players were cheering and jumping for joy in the middle of the court. Their fans were jubilant. Our fans were shocked. Our team was stunned and silent. I know some fans were probably thinking that our senior, Shaunda Green, should have taken the last shot instead of me. Hey. Our play worked. I just could not put the ball in the hole.

That was a major turning point in my life. When I missed that shot, we lost out on a state championship. My miss kept us from getting the title for Shaunda in her last season at Morningside. That was a lot of weight on my shoulders.

Looking back now, I think I needed Coach Scott to say something to me in that final huddle. I needed reassurance that I could do it. Maybe if he had said, “Just shoot it like you normally shoot it, Lisa.” Or, “You have made this shot a hundred times. Just use the glass.” But I know I should have made the shot.

The whole team cried after the game, and I apologized a lot for letting them down. I cried through the entire flight back to Los Angeles, and I could not stop crying after we got home. I was sick to my stomach and felt terrible, but before I went to bed, I wrote down my goal for next season. I wanted to win the state championship in 1989.

I could not get that loss or that missed shot out of my mind. Maybe that was good in a way, because it motivated me to work even harder on my game. During the off-season, I sprouted to my full height of six foot five, and I was really driven to succeed. In my junior year, I averaged twenty-five points, fourteen rebounds, and six blocked shots per game. Both USA Today and Parade magazine named me to their first-team high school All-America squad. That was all great, but most importantly, I helped lead the Morningside Lady Monarchs to a 33–1 record and a trip back to the California state championship game.

We played at the Oakland Coliseum again, and fittingly, we got a rematch with Fremont High School, the defending champs. I put up a double-double, and we won the game 60–50 to capture the 1989 California state championship. This time we were the ones jumping and cheering at the final buzzer. That win was extremely important to me. I had to erase the memory of my miss in the previous year’s final game loss, but it was also critical for me because I had set a goal, had focused on achieving that goal, and with the help of my teammates, had accomplished that goal. Winning state did wonders for my confidence, my self-esteem, and my ability to believe in myself.

After my junior season, I received a great honor. I was invited to try out for USA Basketball’s Junior World Championship squad. They flew me to Colorado Springs, and when I got there, I saw the best women’s basketball players in the country. They were all in college. I was sixteen years old, the only high school player in the group.

I blocked Katrina McClain’s shot during those tryouts, and everybody told me that was quite an accomplishment. Truthfully, I did not know one player from the other, and I was too young at that time to know who I was supposed to be afraid of.

When we were eating lunch after that practice session, Dawn Staley said, “Oh my God! Do you know you blocked Katrina McClain’s shot?” I asked her, “Who is Katrina McClain?” I had no idea at the time, but I came to find out that Katrina was a two-time All-American at the University of Georgia, and she was college basketball’s player of the year in 1987 and USA Basketball’s Female Athlete of the Year in 1988. I was in very elite company, and looking back, I can tell you that Katrina was one of the greatest players that I ever competed against.

I made the junior national team that year, and we flew off to Bilbao, Spain, for the tournament. I was going to get my first taste of representing my country in international competition. I was really psyched to travel abroad for the first time. My family was really supportive, which made me feel even better about going. Mom was back in L.A. for good now, and Tiffany was with her. They were so excited about my travels.

Debbie Ryan, from the University of Virginia, was our head coach, and future WNBA players Lady Hardmon and Sonja Henning were on our squad. Dawn Staley was my roommate, and she turned out to be my complete opposite. I was six foot five. Dawn was five foot six. I loved bright colors and tie-dye. She loved black and white. I was a California girl, soft-spoken and carefree. She was a Philly girl, tough and edgy. One thing we had in common, though, was passion and heart. We both truly loved to compete and to win. Dawn Staley became my best friend in basketball.

Our team was very young. We averaged nineteen years of age. I was the youngest and the only high school player on our roster, which featured just three players who had any international experience. We lost the first game of the junior world championships, in overtime, to South Korea, then dropped our next game by two points to Australia. We finally got our first victory when I put up twenty-two points and nine rebounds against Bulgaria. Our U.S. squad was in every game, but we finished in seventh place, with a 3–4 record. To this day, that is the only time that Dawn and I competed together and did not win a medal.

Playing for the U.S. junior national team in Spain was an awesome experience. I learned how a group of total strangers could pull together into a team in a very short period of time. I learned about international travel, and I was able to test my talents against some of America’s top college athletes and against some of the world’s best young players as well. I led the U.S. team in scoring and rebounding at the junior world championships, and I came back to California with improved skills and even greater confidence in my game.

I was definitely ready for my senior season to tip off at Morningside, and the college recruiters were ready for me. They came out of the woodwork. I got letters and phone calls from them every day. I was getting national media attention as the Lady Monarchs prepared to defend our state championship in what would turn out to be an amazing senior season for a number of reasons.

Early in the 1989–90 season, our game with Centennial High School turned into a brawl. One second we were playing, and the next second, four girls were fighting. I watched the skirmish and then saw three Centennial players coming after me. They cornered me against the wall, so I started swinging, and I kept on swinging. I know I hit some of them in the head. One of their players hit me in the face and scratched some skin off my nose. I just kept fighting back. I had to defend myself until one of the parents saw that I was in trouble. He came over, moved the Centennial girls away, and picked me up out of the corner. I did not even know why we were fighting, but that brawl turned out to have a major impact on me later in the season.

That senior season, I posted the best numbers of my high school career. I averaged twenty-seven points, fifteen rebounds, and seven blocks per game. Those stats could have easily been much higher, but when Morningside had commanding leads in games, Coach Scott would take me out early. He did not want to run up the score and embarrass the other teams. Our Lady Monarchs had lost only three times all season as we headed into our final home game against South Torrance High.

Now, the tradition at Morningside High School called for the team’s top senior to try to break the school scoring record in the last home game of the regular season. In my freshman year, Tia Thomas was our senior, and she scored fifty-two points. The next year, Shaunda totaled sixty-one points, and in my junior season, JoJo Witherspoon set a new Morningside scoring record with sixty-nine points.

That was the number I was trying to beat when we took the court against the Spartans of South Torrance High on Tiffany’s tenth birthday, February 7, 1990. We were originally scheduled to finish the home season against Centennial High, but because of our brawl with them earlier in the season, that schedule was changed. The fear was that Centennial might try to hurt me, especially if I was shooting for the record against them. So, we played Centennial High in our next-to-last home game and faced South Torrance in our season finale. Truthfully, Centennial would have been a much tougher opponent for us, and I would have preferred that.

Coach Scott held a team meeting before the final game. He asked everyone on our squad if they were okay with me going after the record. My teammates said, “Let’s go for it.” That made Coach Scott’s pregame instructions pretty easy. He told us, “Get the ball to Lisa.”

My job was to shoot the basketball and score as many points as possible. If I missed a shot, my teammates were supposed to grab the rebound and get the ball back to me so I could shoot again. Morningside put on a full-court press from the opening tip to try to force South Torrance into turning the ball over. That strategy worked really well for us. I stayed at half-court, and when one of our players would steal the ball, they would throw it to me. I would dribble into the frontcourt, take it down the middle, and hit a jump shot. Or I would drive the lane and nail a jumper from the side. South Torrance would get the ball back and do their thing. Even if they scored, once Morningside got the basketball back, we would bring it up the court, call a play for me, and I would shoot and score. A lot of times I would go in, score, get fouled, and shoot free throws. I was on fire!

It was almost like I could not miss. I was making shots from everywhere on the court. With the help of my teammates, I scored forty-nine points in the first quarter and another fifty-two points in the second quarter. It was crazy. I made twenty-seven of thirty-five free throw attempts before intermission, and Morningside was winning 102 to 24. When the horn sounded to end the first half, our fans went crazy. They were shouting and cheering as we headed off to the locker room for a team huddle. I took a second to glance up at the scoreboard and was stunned by what I saw. “Dang,” I said out loud. “All those points but one are mine!” (Sherrell Young was the player who scored the only other point. She missed her first free throw attempt on purpose, mistakenly thinking that I was supposed to score every point for our team. Coach Scott chided her, and Sherrell sank her second free throw try.)

The Monarchs’ fans were anxious for the second half to get started. There was a buzz swirling round the gym. Everybody knew that I was closing in on Cheryl Miller’s national high school record. Back in the 1981–82 season, she scored 105 points for Riverside Poly High School in a game against Norte Vista. I was only four points away from tying, and five points away from breaking, the U.S. record, and we still had another half of basketball to play. I figured, No problem. At the rate I was going, I felt like I could have scored two hundred points that night.

Coach Scott looked at me at halftime and said, “Lisa, we are beating this team pretty badly. I want you to break Cheryl’s record, but after you score one hundred six points, I’ll take you out.”

I said, “Okay, but why, Coach Scott?”

He said, “Enough is enough! Just break the record, and you’ll sit out the rest of the game.”

I told him, “Okay.” I figured that must be the right thing to do.

Our Morningside squad walked back onto the court for the second half, but the South Torrance team was packing up and getting ready to leave. Some of them were already walking out the door. One of the Spartans’ players had fouled out in the first half, and the word in the gym was that one other player did not want to play anymore, because the game was so far out of reach. South Torrance High was going to forfeit the game. They were not going to play the second half.

Wait! What about my shot at the record?

I walked across the court to where their coach, Mr. Gilbert Ramirez, was getting ready to leave. I asked him, “Sir, would you please put your team back on the court to finish the game?”

He was obviously frustrated by the situation and more than a little upset, but Coach Ramirez kindly answered, “No, Lisa. You are a great player. I wish you a lot of luck. I am going to cheer for you when you get to college, but we are going to leave.”

I was really disappointed, but I told him, “Okay.”

When the South Torrance team left the gym, the referee assessed them two technical fouls. One “T” went against Coach Ramirez, and the other “T” went against the Spartans’ team for leaving the gym before the game was over. Two technical fouls equaled four free throw attempts for Morningside, and I just happened to need four points to tie Cheryl Miller’s record. Coach Scott sent me onto the court to shoot the free throws.

So with the opposing team no longer in the building and the game essentially over, I had four free throws to take to tie the record, and I had to make them all. I was all alone on the basketball court. My teammates were on the sideline. The fans were on their feet, and everyone was watching me.

To say the least, I was very nervous when I stepped up to the free throw stripe. The packed gym went completely silent as I went into my usual routine. I flipped the ball, dribbled it three times, launched my shot, and made sure that I followed through. My first attempt swished in. Cheers rang out through the gym. Then, quickly, everybody went, “Sshhh! Sshhh!” They wanted quiet so I could concentrate.

The second attempt was good, and the crowd roared once again. I needed two more points to reach 105. My third free throw had everybody on edge. The shot was a little bit off line as it flew toward the rim. It did not feel right when the ball left my hand, and when it bounced on the iron, I could sense the crowd leaning with me, rooting for me, and trying to will that basketball into the bucket. Whatever they did, it worked, and when the ball dropped in, a relieved cheer went up from the stands. I was at 104 points and counting.

Just one more to go. Did I feel the pressure on my final attempt? Of course, I did. Did I know the significance of the moment? Absolutely. The cheers faded to a nervous buzz and then to complete silence again as I stepped to the line for the potential record-tying free throw.

Flip…

Dribble, dribble, dribble…

Shoot…

Follow through…

Swish!

HISTORY!

I made it. My final attempt went cleanly through the net. I did it, and I was very happy and very relieved. Coach Scott said to reporters that when the last free throw went in, “It was business as usual for Lisa. Just Lisa being Lisa. It was no big deal to her.”

He was right. I knew I had accomplished something special, but I did not jump or shout or pump my fist to celebrate. I had expected to make those free throws. That was what all the hard work and practice were about. All the drills, repetitions, and extra hours in the gym were designed to prepare me, physically and mentally, to blot out the bad memories of that missed final shot in the 1988 state championship game, and give me the confidence to succeed in any pressure-packed situation.

The Monarchs’ fans thought my accomplishment was a pretty huge deal. The gym went crazy after I scored point number 105. Morningside High was silent no longer, and people stormed onto the court. My sister Dionne led the way with my Mom and Tiffany following onto the floor to give me a hug. I got mobbed. The fans were ecstatic. They had just seen history made. Move over, Cheryl Miller. Make room at the top for Lisa Leslie.

The 101 points that I scored in the first half gave me a U.S. high school record of my own. I did not have to share that one with anybody except my teammates. Without them, I would never have had a chance to reach those milestones.

I made twenty-seven field goal attempts in that game against South Torrance High School, and I earned thirty-one points from the free throw line. Coach Scott still says that of all the great accomplishments that evening, the most impressive was my canning those four technical free throws, with every eye in the building trained on me and the high school record on the line. I will never forget that feeling. I persevered. I shut out the world for a few seconds and got the job done.

It was a great evening, but when it was over for me, it was over. I did not think a whole lot about it. After the game, I went to the movies with my boyfriend of two years, Eric. Eric was an athlete, too. He was on the basketball and baseball teams as a freshman at California State University at Los Angeles. We were a good couple until I found out he was still seeing his ex-girlfriend. Then I had to cut him loose. Still, for years after I dumped him, he cheered for me at my college games…and later dated one of my college teammates.

After Eric dropped me off at home that night, the phone was ringing off the hook. Everybody was calling, including the local television stations. They all wanted to get tape of the game so they could run highlights on the news. I guess I did not know the importance of what I had done or the impact that it would have. It was as if I was in shock. I had no idea what to say, so I told everybody to call Coach Scott.

The next morning, at school, I was summoned to the nurse’s office. I saw Coach Scott when I got there, and he told me, “Lisa, you have a lot of interviews set up. You won’t be going to any more classes today.”

The TV stations were all coming to interview me. News vans were outside the school. Reporters had crowded into the gym and were stationed at various points around the court. There were lights, cameras, and plenty of action in there. I walked in and worked my way around the room, going from radio people to television to newspapers and magazines. I shared my story and gave my account of the game to reporter after reporter. It seemed endless.

While I was in the middle of the media madness, word came down that CIF was not going to recognize my 105 points that had tied the record. According to league officials, when the South Torrance High team left the gym, they forfeited the game. No technical fouls should have been called, and no free throws should have been taken. The game was officially over at that point, with the final score at 102–24. So, instead of getting 105 points, my performance was marked down to 101 points, and I no longer owned a piece of the national record.

Once that news got out, all the reporters wanted to know if I was disappointed or upset about falling short of Cheryl’s mark. I told them that I was happy to set the record for one half and thrilled to be considered in the same company as Cheryl Miller and Wilt Chamberlain, both prominent members of the 100-point club. I thought it was great. I know that I smiled a lot, and tons of photos were taken. Then, when it seemed to be over, I was taken back to the nurse’s office to do more radio interviews. In all, I did twenty-three radio interviews with stations all across the country. I was so busy that they had to bring lunch to me in the nurse’s office.

In less than twenty-four hours, my entire life had changed. I was excited, but I still did not understand why I was getting so much attention over one game. All of a sudden I was on the news every hour, my story was in the newspapers, and Sports Illustrated wanted to visit with my family and me. It was overwhelming.

Some reporters asked me if I thought it was bad sportsmanship to score all those points against South Torrance. I told one of them, “No. I don’t feel bad, because I think we played the sport of basketball. It wasn’t as if we played with six players or I just camped out under the basket all night. We played the game.”

When they asked if I would do it again should the opportunity arise, I answered, “Yeah! I think it is all in good sport. It’s not my fault that I am more talented than those players. I do think it is a great opportunity for any senior to try to score as many points as possible and maybe set a record. We played, and we did what we normally would do in a game. It wasn’t like South Torrance didn’t know that I was going to shoot. It was not a secret.”

It has been almost two decades since my 101-point game, and people still ask me about it. I do not know how many points I might have scored if South Torrance had stayed and played the second half. Maybe that question mark—the “what if” factor—is what keeps that night mystical, memorable, and interesting to talk about after all these years. I cannot be sure. But if I had been Coach Ramirez, I would have used a zone defense to try to keep me away from the basket. At the end of the day, though, I acknowledge that his team was full of good sportswomen for the two quarters that they played. They did not try to hurt me, and a less classy team might have tried to. If I had been in their sneakers, I would have taken the challenge to try to stop Lisa Leslie, but I would not deny any player the opportunity to take a shot at making history.

Cheryl Miller’s 105-point record remained unbroken until February 2006, when Epiphany Price of New York City scored 113 points in a single game. But nobody has come close to my record of 101 points in a single half.

That season our team went 33–2. We won our third straight CIF title and, for the third consecutive year, made it all the way back to the state championship game, in Oakland. This time our opponent was going to be Berkeley High School, from the Bay Area.

USC assistant coach Barbara Thaxton was there to watch me practice with the Lady Monarchs before the big game. College coaches showing up at our practices and games had become as much a part of Morningside girls’ basketball as the hoops and the nets. Southern Cal had been recruiting me hard, and I had gotten to know Coach Thaxton fairly well. I felt strange all throughout practice, so afterwards, I went over to her and said, “I have a bump on my stomach, and it’s bothering me.”

I pulled up my shirt. She took a look and told me, “Girl, that looks like a chicken pox.” Could this really happen to me? I had already had chicken pox when I was seven years old, but surprise, I would be one of the few people to get chicken pox twice in her life, and just in time for the state championship game no less. I was two days away from the last game of my high school career, and I had the prom coming up, too. The timing could not have been worse. And I found out I got it from Tiffany. Great!

When I stepped onto the court at the Oakland Coliseum, I had a fever of 102 degrees. I remember the jump ball that started the game against Berkeley High, but not much after that. I was told that I played every minute of the game and scored thirty-five points, grabbed a dozen rebounds, and blocked seven shots. I was told that we beat Berkeley 67–56 to capture the state championship again. I could not tell you that. I was drained. I collapsed. To this very day, I have no memory of ever playing in that game.

There is a vague recollection in my head of having our team picture taken with the championship trophy, but I never made it to the locker room after that. I fainted. When I woke up, I was on a table, wondering, What is wrong with me? I was sweating. My body was so hot, and I was exhausted. I could not even keep my eyes open. I knew something was terribly wrong.

I was taken to the hospital, where I was treated for fever, exhaustion, dehydration, and the chicken pox. What started out as one little bump had turned into a lot of little bumps all over me. Apparently, the stress of the game and all the sweating that I did triggered a pox population explosion. There were hundreds of them everywhere! I could not even enjoy our championship. While my teammates were all out partying, I was lying in the hospital with IVs in my arms and chicken pox all over me. CHICKEN POX!

The next day, my temperature was still up and my fluid levels were still down, but I had to fly back to Los Angeles with the team. Of course, the airlines would not have been real thrilled about having a contagious passenger on board, so I put on a few layers of clothes and a hat so that people would not see that something was seriously wrong with me. Not only did I feel sick, but I also looked horrible, and since I was so tall, there was no way to hide me. I could not even comb my hair. I had chicken pox on my scalp. They were all over me, and they itched. I remember getting on the plane. Thankfully, I was allowed to board first, because I was in a wheelchair. I was so sick and weak that I needed assistance. I did not have an ounce of strength. I took a seat by the window, and I was so tired that I must have fallen asleep before takeoff. The next thing that I knew, I was being helped off the plane in Los Angeles and into another wheelchair. It was terrible.

When we got home, I went straight to bed. I could not go back to school for several days, so while my teammates were basking in the glow of our state championship victory, I was in bed, absentmindedly peeling off all my chicken pox scabs and putting them in a jar. I know. That is so gross! And the thing is, I have no idea why I was doing it. I knew the scabs would leave a mark, but I picked at them, anyway. To this very day, I have a chicken pox scar on my face to remind me of the “Great State Championship Game Chicken Pox Fiasco.” And I later poured the jar of scabs on Dionne’s car.

By the way, I did make it to my senior prom. Eric took me, and it was my first time getting all dressed up. I had this black, velvety dress with lace at the bottom. It was fun to see the people that I saw every day at school all dressed up for the prom. I had a good time, and then we went to the after-prom party. I wore this hideous white leather skirt and white jacket. Eric wore matching white leather, and we were convinced that we were really styling.

This was a memorable experience for me because it was my first time out. In my four years at Morningside, I had never gone to a school party or joined a club. I had never smoked or drank alcohol. I had never had a one-time “hide in the closet” smoking or drinking experience. I had never had the desire to do those things. I knew that I wanted to be an Olympian, and I also knew that my mom would kill me if she ever found out.

To cap off my senior year at Morningside, I won the Naismith Award as the nation’s top high school basketball player, the Dial Award as the top high school student-athlete in the country, and the Gatorade Player of the Year Award, which honors the best high school athletes in the country for their athletic and academic excellence.

That 1989–90 season was filled with highlights, records, and honors, and before the school year was over, I got invited to try out for the USA world championship team, which was scheduled to play in Malaysia that summer. I flew to Florida and competed alongside Cynthia Cooper, Teresa Edwards, Tammy Jackson, and Lynette Woodard, who had played internationally. I held my own against them and made it all the way to the final cut, but I did not make the team.

The good news was that USA Basketball had other plans for me. They sent me to join the junior national team for its summer tournament in Canada, a four-game series in Vancouver. I had never played north of the border before, so it was an adventure for me. Dawn Staley was on my team again.

Canada was not a totally pleasant experience for me. We knew going in that the Canadians played dirty, so everyone on the U.S. team made sure to have their mouthpieces in place before tip-off. I got off to a really good start. I was scoring, rebounding, making my jump shots, and driving to the basket. It was a close, emotional game. We were playing hard, and I was excited. Some of the top people in USA Basketball were there scouting the young talent to see which players might be ready to move up to the next level.

I was playing defense at a crucial time in the second half when I knocked the ball out of bounds off of their center, a big, older-looking lady. I was clapping because we had the ball back, and while all the players were going to the other end of the court, Canada’s center walked by and hit me in the side of my head. I was stunned, but I reacted and socked her. I broke the woman’s nose.

I quickly backed away and told the referee, “Get her! Get her, and I won’t hit her!” I did not want to fight the woman, but I was not going to let her beat me up. I kept shouting, “Get her,” but nobody did anything. This big woman kept fussing with her nose and coming after me. I had no choice. I socked her again, in the same spot! Her nose was really broken now! There was blood coming down her face.

Finally, the referee came over and broke things up. I started crying. I knew that this woman was really hurt. My heart was pounding, and I was full of emotion. The referee ejected me from the game, and the Canadian woman went off to get her nose put back together.

I was still crying when I sat down on our bench. I know now that Canada used that skirmish to get me out of the game. But at the time, I was young and naive, and the only thing I could think was this woman hit me; I reacted. I defended myself. But in doing so, I played right into the Canadian team’s trap. They knew they could not stop me on the court, so they were willing to try anything. And I’m the one who got thrown out of the game.

It was a tough way to learn a lesson, but I had to understand that fighting was not the answer, especially when it kept me from playing. I had to have the discipline to walk away in situations like that. And I had to remember that I was wearing my country’s uniform.

The score on the court was close, and I could not help my team. I knew that I had messed up, and I knew that I could not allow myself to get suckered into fighting again. It was not enough for me to play smart basketball; I had to be a smart basketball player as well.

The game continued as I sat on the bench in tears. That is when Dawn Staley scooted over, put her arm around me, and said, “It’s all right, Big Girl. But damnnn, you socked her good!”