David Spates "Therefore I Am" Published March 25, 2003

I'm too tall to be scrappy

I can just imagine the PA announcer calling the starting lineups for basketball's NCAA title game. As each player's name is announced, he rises from the bench and jogs out to center court to give high-fives, low-fives and midrange-fives to his teammates. There I am.

"... And at center, the 6-foot-4 junior out of Knoxville, TN, David Spates," the chain-smoking PA announcer rasps.

OK, maybe we should change the position to guard. Shooting guard, perhaps?
Forward? How about small forward? The only 6-foot-4-inch centers are in the women's bracket, and even over there some of the gals are pushing 7 feet.

It's MY sports fantasy, and I don't know where to put myself! What kind of fantasy is that? Maybe I should stick with my default fantasy of grilling bratwursts and shish kabobs on a Hawaiian beach with Carol Brady. Sure, it's odd, but at least I know what's expected of me.

Yep, I'm 6 feet 4 inches tall. In the real world, I'm a tall guy. I'm quite a tall guy.

In most instances, I'm the tallest person in the room. I've grown accustomed to bending my neck down to talk to most people. I've never missed a parade float. My toes dangle off the end of most beds. Rarely do I find my first choice of shoes in my size. When the preacher granted permission to kiss the bride, she stood on her tiptoes, I bent at the knees, and everyone in the church giggled a bit. I can't count the number of times a short person has asked me to retrieve something from the top shelf at the grocery store. I hit tree branches a lot.

But all of that happens in the real world - far, far away from the top levels of basketball world. In the upper echelon of basketball world, 6 feet 4 inches isn't tall. It's not tall at all. There, a 6-foot-4-inch guy like me - who is usually the tallest guy in the room - suddenly finds himself as one of the shortest guys on the team. A college or pro basketball player doesn't have "size" unless he's at least 6 feet 10 inches or so. Guys my size play the point guard position, which, for you non-sports fans, is the little dude who dribbles the ball upcourt at the beginning of each possession.

I was reminded of my relative tallness and/or shortness over the weekend while catching a few moments of the NCAA basketball tournament. The TV announcers were talking about a player, who also happens to be 6 feet 4 inches tall, as being a "scrappy competitor" who isn't afraid to go down low and battle with "the big boys" for the ball, "despite his size."

Despite his size? Scrappy? Not afraid of the big boys? He's 6 feet 4 inches, just like me! When I play basketball, I'm one of the tallest in the mix. I'm expected to crash the boards, battle for position and swat away the shots from little 5-footers who dare to drive in the paint. I'm also expected to guard the tallest guy on the opposing team. In the real world, 6 feet 4 inches is big, lumbering and intimidating.

In basketball world, however, 6 feet 4 inches is scrappy, despite his size. It just proves that everything in this world is relative. I'm tall when I'm standing next to most people. (When I'm standing next to my wife, I'm an absolute giant.) Put me on a college or pro basketball team, however, and suddenly I'm not tall at all. I'm scrappy.

It's like when people use the word "old" to describe someone. It's in the eye of the beholder. When you're 10, 15 is old. When you're 20, 30 is old.

What I want to know is when do I get old? I've come to realize that whatever my age, I'm not old. Other people are old, but not me. I'm 32. When I was 20, 32 was old, but now that I'm here, 32 isn't old anymore. You gotta love denial, eh?

That being said, there must come a time when I'll admit to myself that I'm old. Eventually, there won't be anyone left whom I can point to and say, "They're old." They'll all be dead. Old may not be all that great, but it's better than dead. If I'm lucky enough to reach 90 or so, will there be any old people left in the world? I'll be 90 and watching the "Today" show every morning, waiting for Willard Scott, who will be 150, to announce the 100-year birthdays. That may be my only opportunity to see "old" people.

In the eyes of today's college basketball players, I'm not only old but short, too. I need to stop watching the tournament. Where's my wife? She's shorter than I, plus she's half a year older.

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David Spates is a Knoxville resident and Crossville Chronicle contributor whose column is published each Tuesday. He can be reached at davespates@chartertn.net.