Years ago, before I arrived at the Law School in 1997, the annual student-faculty basketball game concluded on a dramatic note. My colleague, Professor Michael McChrystal, was fouled as time expired, with the faculty trailing by 2 points. There being essentially no time left on the clock, the court was cleared as Prof. McChrystal went to the foul line. He calmly sank both foul shots, sending the game into overtime, where the faculty proceeded to win. Prof. McChrystal has had the good sense never to play in the game again. (I once asked his daughter whether she had ever heard the story, and she allowed that it had come up on more than one occasion.)
This past Thursday evening saw this year’s game between the students and the faculty (the latter term being used loosely, as, happily, there are several other personnel who play on the faculty side). I declined the invitation to play, as I have in each instance since arriving in 1997, on a rather straightforward cost-benefit calculus. But I attended, of course, and even suggested to Tonya Turchik and Andy Shiffman, our Student Bar Association leaders, that I would do a half-court shot at half-time.
When half-time came, I took off my suit coat, put on my Opus hard hat (for no real reason, and certainly not, as one colleague suggested, because I feared that the ball would come back down on my head), and went to half-court. Professor Peter Rofes, in handing me the ball, asked which way I wanted to shoot; I suggested the direction in which all the fans (gathered at one end) could best see the whole thing. I would later learn that he and another colleague had a bet on the precise way in which I would miss the shot.
With little fanfare, I took the ball, bounced it several times, and shot it into the air from half-court. What would be the result?
Swish. Nothing but net. A thing of beauty. A work of art. After a moment of stunned silence, the crowd went wild (by the standards of those in or entering the legal profession).
Let us hope that I have the same good judgment as Prof. McChrystal and will make this, my debut on the floor of the student-faculty basketball game, my final appearance as well.
As for the result of the game, the students won by 2 points. Perhaps if I had just consented to enter the game, street shoes and all, for a 3-point shot in the final minute . . . .
I call for a game of Horse between the Dean and Prof. McChrystal — let’s settle this once and for all.
Priceless…the faculty had a definite size advantage, but the students, well, students other than me, shot pretty well throughout the game. Although, I agree, a different result would have been all but certain if Dean Kearney would have saved his arm for the final few minutes – he could have been the ringer!
Kate —
I understand why those who have never scaled the peak of sports success would want Prof. McChrystal and me to compete against one another. Then one of us would fall off Olympus and be remitted to the company of the mere mortals. I see little gain in that (though, admittedly, there would be some, if I were not the one to fall). Instead, I am content to be the stuff of legend. Years hence, I imagine, there will be folks arguing which was the more impressive accomplishment: the free throws or the half-court shot. I can think of two such folks, at any rate. — JDK
No, Dean, there can be no argument, for surely the more impressive feat was your half court shot. It was pure art, unhinged from the tawdry details of who wins the game. The improbable shot producing the perfect swish is the pure expression of basketball, the zen that transcends time, place, and competition. It is the child shooting baskets in the driveway and the pro practicing alone in the dimly lit gym. The lonely perfect shot exists for its own sake, not simply to win a game. My free throws merely permitted my team to win the game. The pragmatism of my accomplishment is almost embarrassing, compared to the pure art of your shot.