I have been trying to figure out what is my "best" sports memory. I have come up with two things, although they are very recent...

I was playing my good friend in doubles. He usually kicks my ass when we play single. I was playing the ad side, as was he. I love getting into rallies with him in doubles. This time, I rolled a cross court back hand by him when he approached to volly. It was a shot I've tried to hit for a long time, with little success. I was able to get the ball in the doubles ally, about half way from the net to the service line. No chance for him to get it. After the point he said "That will cause me to stay back for the rest of the match, that's why I don't volley". Oh it felt so GOOD!

Another was while playing volleyball, there were several great gets by both teams. The rally lasted at least 30 shots. I laid out twice, for two great digs, and finally won the point for our team by hitting a 10 for a clean kill. Great memory.

Since few of us will actually get recognized on SportsCenter for our accomplishments, I thought this would be a cool place to share your best memories.

[ May 17, 2006, 01:34 PM: Message edited by: shep71 ]

This is my third year playing in the Steel City Softball League. The first year, I weighed 215 lbs. (I'm only 5'8", 160), and therefore, was rather slow. Last year, I dropped 30 lbs., and switched to another team. That made a complete difference, and now I'm getting to my awesome sports memory.

Our team, the Falcons, were playing the last place team, the Comets. I was at bat, and I had a weak infield hit, but it was fair , so I had to run. I made it to first base just before the baseman caught it...giving me my first recorded hit... not an fielder's choice! The baseman screamed, "SHIT!", and I yelled "HA HA!" That was the BEST feeling ever!

Playing in a basketball league on a team of over 30s. This night the opposing team was made up of all 20somethings...young and fit. Their youth and skill showed by the half, because we trailed by 15. The score also reflected our poor play on offense...too many bad shots, too many quick shots, not enough passing=too much one-on-one (read the 30s v. the 20s and picture how that would come out).

But early in the third quarter, the ball came to me after a cut from the baseline, and I went up and hit a 15 foot jumper. At that moment I knew, totally knew, that I was hot. Not just that I had hit a shot, but that special basketball feeling of "uh-oh, watch out" (if you're the opposition) or "get me/get him the ball" (if you're hot/if your teammate is hot). And my teammates knew it too. Because the next time down they worked it to me to shoot again...a change from earlier. Up I went, this time with a defender in my face, and hit an 18 footer.

With that the opponents also knew I was hot. But, as happens so often, we all of a sudden got a spring in our step, and started getting steals/loose balls/rebounds. And I kept working for the ball, my teammates kept feeding me, and I kept shooting. And hitting. Trailing now by 14. Now by 10. Now by 7. Now by 4. I think I hit 8 shots in a row. All jumpers. None closer than 12 feet. All but 2 contested. Nothing but net.

And they were breaking down offensively, playing like we had in the first half. Finally, with the lead down to 2, I read a book (telegraph would be too generous a description) and stole the ball. Only their 6'5" center (I'm 5'10") was back as I ran forward with the ball. Now, realize that I'm from a time when dribbling was only allowed on top of the ball, not the catch/hold/shake/spin/redirect thing that the young guys do, so my coming forward was not a guarantee by any means that I'd even get there with the ball, let alone be able to make a play.

Well, the big guy waited in the paint for me...just waited. But I came in anyway, having decided I was going in regardless. So I went up from the right side, picturing Walt Frazier going in against a big man, and put the ball high up on the glass. Over his hand (he was surprised I had challenged him, so was late getting up). And it kissed in as he fouled me.

Long before we used the word, that was sweet. Especially when he turned to his teammates and yelled at them for not getting back to help out, since he couldn't stop me in the lane by himself!

I hit the foul shot, putting us in the lead, and we went on to win the game. (Oh, and I did get several assists to bolster the lead, since they were bent on stopping me at that point and I suddenly remembered I didn't have to shoot it every single time I caught it.)

That was my moment of Jordan on the basketball court. (And I didn't even need ben-gay the next day.) Thanks for the chance to relive.

This is a cool thread. My memory goes back twenty years, at Gay Games II in San Francisco. I was playing 9-ball and the venue was where I played all the time, so I figured it would give me "home table" advantage.

My first opponent of the day was a no-show, as he apparently was also entered in tennis and had a match at the same time the pool was scheduled. In the second round, I had to play my friend Tim, who was also acting as Tournament Director for all the pool being played that week. I got by him 4-2, and then played Dee from San Jose. He smoked me 4-1, sending me to the loser's side. My partner was working that day, and I called him to let him know I had been sent to the loser's side but was still in the tournament. I guess he figured I needed moral support as he left work early to come down and cheer me on.

In my first match on the loser's side against Bart from NYC, I fell behind 2-0, caught him at 2-2, fell behind again, but prevailed 4-3. That seemed to give me new life, as I got on a roll, beating Ike from Sacramento 4-0, then Steve from Springfield Il 4-1, leaving him in third for the bronze. I crossed over and Dee from San Jose was waiting for me. I was more than ready this time, as I ran over him 4-1 in the first match, forcing the tie breaking match, as we both now had one match loss each. It was almost a replay from my previous match against Bart, as I fell behind 2-0, caught up 2-2, fell behind 3-2, caught him at 3-3, and ran out the last four balls of the game to claim the Gold Metal 4-3.

It's still raises goose bumps whenever I retell the story. I've had other pool successes now over the years in the pool league in which I participate, but that memory is still the fondest.

Catching a line drive at 2nd base in the final sequence in my softball league's title game with the tying run at second base then doubling him off.

I'm not exactly a good fielder and the opposition was setting up to hit it my way, it was kind of a Lupus from "Bad New Bears" moment except I wasn't THAT unskilled just not one of the cogs in the team's machine.

Great stories y'all! Keep 'em coming.

When: May, 1989
Where: Philadelphia, PA
What: Dad Vail (Rowing champhionships for small programs)

For the whole year I had been coxing a mens heavy four and a mens light eight. The four was undefeated all year long. Big guys and lots of talent (the stroke won a silver in Atlanta). The eight... well, they were an ecclectic bunch of warmongers, intellectuals and goofballs. All year long the coach treated both boats differently. All the attention went to the four. The eight was always an afterthought. Although I love winning, I always favor the underdog (which is being filmed in Providence, btw). So, at Vails, the coach sits down intensely with the four. Goes over the race plan, gives a great motivating speech, tells them how proud he is and wishes them luck. With the eight... he says "Hey guys, go out there and have a good time" Read; I couldn't care less.

So there we are, the warmongers, liberals and goofballs in the heats. Top two to the semis. Guess what? We're in! In the semis, top three to finals. You guessed it.... There we were, in lane 6 of the finals. Not a good lane choice on the Schuykill, but we'll take it. We ended up in sixth place, but it was the best sixth place showing I have ever had! The look on the coaches face and the rising enthusiasm from the rest of the team as we progressed to the finals was unbelievable.

The four? Well... they too progressed to the finals. Their "undefeatedness" led them to believe that they would be leaving with nothing less than a gold medal. We had to row the race of our lives just to squeak out a fourth place finish. We raced crews we had never seen before. But I have to think, that to this day, their cockiness prevented them from reaching their goal.

This taught me everything I have ever needed to know about the nature of sport.

#1: Finishing 2nd in the state championship senior year of high school, both team and individual. 2nd place was basically winning -- two of the top 50 juniors in the country played for the top team in our division, and if our school hadn't been moved from 1A to 3A that year we would have won by a landslide with our team score (and I still would have finished 2nd individually).

#2: Shot 71 hitting 17 greens the first round of qualifying on a course I had never seen for my college team walk-ons. All I needed was 300 for four rounds to make the team so it was coasting from then on in.

Also, finishing eagle-birdie on the 53rd and 54th holes of a big junior tournament to vault up about 15 spots. The putt on 18 was about 70 feet, flag all the way in the back and I was just off the front of the green. Somehow it slammed into the pin and the gallery at the 18th waiting for the leaders had this really surprised applause, like who the hell was that? #4 at that course will be my nemesis forever -- I went double-bogey-triple on that hole for the three rounds and finished 3-over for the tournament. 3 under par for the other 51 holes :mad:

Actually, another good memory of that tournament was having my brother and his friends tell me with four holes left that 72 was looking like the number for the first-round cut, which meant I needed a birdie. We played the front nine second and this is right after I had doubled #4, which was the easiest par 5 on the course BTW, and made a classic angry birdie at #5, I just rammed it in the back of the hole. If it hadn't gone in I probably would have had a seven foot comebacker. Anyway, but I was still pissed because without the double I would have been in the clear with all pars. I made ugly pars on 6 and 7 and had a great birdie opportunity after a perfect drive on 8. 100 yards in, just what I wanted, and flat chunked a gap wedge 35 feet short of the hole. Big uphill left breaker onto a plateau, had a good feeling about it from the start...I hit the putt and even though I could barely see the cup over the plateau I knew it was in right off the blade. Hit driver 8-iron to 10 feet on #9 and two-putted to make the cut on the number.


Now that I think of it, the best I ever felt about a round of golf was that last one.

[ June 08, 2006, 01:45 PM: Message edited by: golfer 23 ]

I've always liked baseball, but I've always ALWAYS sucked at it. I played one year of Little League and got ONE hit - a bunt that I stretched to a double as they waited for it to roll foul (it didn't). Scored on a single to win the game, but that wasn't my best memory.

In high school, I had baseball in gym class. When I came up for my very first at-bat, my reputation as a clumsy oaf preceded me, and all the fielders moved in. But on the second pitch, the planets aligned, I got off a picture-perfect swing, and the ball FLEW off the sweet spot of the bat, landing many yards away from the furthest fielder (there was no "fence"). Even though the ball was still technically in play, I had no problem trotting around the bases unchallenged. I'm not sure which is best memory - hitting the home run, or seeing the fielders move backwards from then on every time I came up (even though I never hit a ball that well again).

LXN