Almost 25 years ago, the run to Ann Arbor began. And it was almost derailed before it even started, by a scrappy gang of kids from Lake City.
During my senior year at Roscommon High School, I finally decided to go out for varsity basketball. Basketball and I never quite connected; I went out for the freshman team, had one day of practice, and then missed the entire month of December with mono. I didn't go out my sophomore year, and I spent my junior year on the practice squad with my dad's freshman team. So when my senior year rolled around, and I was tall enough to be dunking a basketball off one leg pretty easily, I decided to take the plunge and try out.
So during one scrimmage early in the first week of try outs, I awkwardly landed on Craig Sisco's foot and broke my right ankle. But I still wanted to be part of the team, so after some deliberation, the coach let me know I could join the squad...but as the 13th man on a twelve-man team. I would be part of practices, but I would be the last one in games, getting playing time only if we were losing big or winning big. And I said OK.
Thankfully, we had a pretty damn good team that year. My ankle was good to go by around the sixth week of the season, and I assumed my place on the end of the bench. And from my choice perch, I watched the wins mount up, and in some cases, the kind of ass-kicking blow-out wins that allowed me to get into the last few minutes of games. (It helped that a small but vocal cheering section, no doubt led in part by Graham Church, started to chant "WE WANT HAIGHT!!!" at the end of games.) It was a fun experience, and at the end of the regular season, we were ranked in the state Top Ten, with a record of 17-3.
Our first game in the playoffs was against Lake City, a tough and defense-oriented squad that battled us to the very end. We won 56-55, and our playoff run began. One after another, the other teams fell:
Tawas Area (win 71-34)
Houghton Lake (win 83-63)
Coleman (win 70-59)
Benzie Central (win 80-77)
Houghton (win 82-45)
Dundee (win 71-65)
Not only were we marching through the playoffs, I was able to actually play a bit here and there. While I can't remember the Tawas Area game -- although I'm sure I got in at the end of a thrashing like 71-34 for at least a minute or so -- I do remember coming into the end of the Houghton game, getting a shot blocked into my face, but ending the game with a point and three blocks. (I almost led the team in blocks that year. Garbage time blocks, sure, but blocked shots are blocked shots.) And after a tight win against the highly favored Dundee squad, we were in the Class C finals game, in Crisler Arena on the campus of the University of Michigan, getting ready to play Saginaw Nouvel in the state finals.
For whatever reason, that was the only game where I didn't get the vibe from the rest of the team that we could win. All season long, we felt confident we could hang with anyone on the court, but with the first play of the game -- our center Scott Ament getting his top-of-the-key jumper blocked, leading to a fast-break lay-up by a Nouvel player -- I could feel our team collectively deflate. While we put up a decent fight, we lost our last game 68-54, the outcome never really in doubt, ending our season with an overall record of 24-4. No team from Roscommon had gone that far in the playoffs, and none have since. I got in at the end of the game and posted zeroes along the stat line. It's as if I was never there, but I remember almost every moment.
I kept the placard and medals with all my other RHS crap, but the one thing I couldn't keep was the Class C runner-up trophy. When it came time for the final engraving to appear, however, my name was nowhere to be found. I asked if that could be changed, and after a fashion, my name was engraved on the side, by itself, away from all of the other team members. It's sort of fitting, in a way, as the thirteenth man, an ironic indication of my role. Today, there it sits. The average person won't know if "E. Haight" was a mention of my grandfather, who was the Athletic Director at RHS for years, or if that person was the ball boy or water lad or someone else. But I'll know, and I'll never forget those late winter days a quarter-century ago.
During my senior year at Roscommon High School, I finally decided to go out for varsity basketball. Basketball and I never quite connected; I went out for the freshman team, had one day of practice, and then missed the entire month of December with mono. I didn't go out my sophomore year, and I spent my junior year on the practice squad with my dad's freshman team. So when my senior year rolled around, and I was tall enough to be dunking a basketball off one leg pretty easily, I decided to take the plunge and try out.
So during one scrimmage early in the first week of try outs, I awkwardly landed on Craig Sisco's foot and broke my right ankle. But I still wanted to be part of the team, so after some deliberation, the coach let me know I could join the squad...but as the 13th man on a twelve-man team. I would be part of practices, but I would be the last one in games, getting playing time only if we were losing big or winning big. And I said OK.
Thankfully, we had a pretty damn good team that year. My ankle was good to go by around the sixth week of the season, and I assumed my place on the end of the bench. And from my choice perch, I watched the wins mount up, and in some cases, the kind of ass-kicking blow-out wins that allowed me to get into the last few minutes of games. (It helped that a small but vocal cheering section, no doubt led in part by Graham Church, started to chant "WE WANT HAIGHT!!!" at the end of games.) It was a fun experience, and at the end of the regular season, we were ranked in the state Top Ten, with a record of 17-3.
Our first game in the playoffs was against Lake City, a tough and defense-oriented squad that battled us to the very end. We won 56-55, and our playoff run began. One after another, the other teams fell:
Tawas Area (win 71-34)
Houghton Lake (win 83-63)
Coleman (win 70-59)
Benzie Central (win 80-77)
Houghton (win 82-45)
Dundee (win 71-65)
Not only were we marching through the playoffs, I was able to actually play a bit here and there. While I can't remember the Tawas Area game -- although I'm sure I got in at the end of a thrashing like 71-34 for at least a minute or so -- I do remember coming into the end of the Houghton game, getting a shot blocked into my face, but ending the game with a point and three blocks. (I almost led the team in blocks that year. Garbage time blocks, sure, but blocked shots are blocked shots.) And after a tight win against the highly favored Dundee squad, we were in the Class C finals game, in Crisler Arena on the campus of the University of Michigan, getting ready to play Saginaw Nouvel in the state finals.
For whatever reason, that was the only game where I didn't get the vibe from the rest of the team that we could win. All season long, we felt confident we could hang with anyone on the court, but with the first play of the game -- our center Scott Ament getting his top-of-the-key jumper blocked, leading to a fast-break lay-up by a Nouvel player -- I could feel our team collectively deflate. While we put up a decent fight, we lost our last game 68-54, the outcome never really in doubt, ending our season with an overall record of 24-4. No team from Roscommon had gone that far in the playoffs, and none have since. I got in at the end of the game and posted zeroes along the stat line. It's as if I was never there, but I remember almost every moment.
I kept the placard and medals with all my other RHS crap, but the one thing I couldn't keep was the Class C runner-up trophy. When it came time for the final engraving to appear, however, my name was nowhere to be found. I asked if that could be changed, and after a fashion, my name was engraved on the side, by itself, away from all of the other team members. It's sort of fitting, in a way, as the thirteenth man, an ironic indication of my role. Today, there it sits. The average person won't know if "E. Haight" was a mention of my grandfather, who was the Athletic Director at RHS for years, or if that person was the ball boy or water lad or someone else. But I'll know, and I'll never forget those late winter days a quarter-century ago.
That's one hell of a short story, Haight. Good share.
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