Shooting Jumpers in the Hallowed Halls of Hickory

By Ryan Fagan
Sporting News’ Ryan Fagan is traveling the Hoosier State, watching every D-I team in Indiana over 12 days. He’ll write about all things Hoosier Culture for The Sporting Blog.
I walked silently around the old gym floor, past the grey bleacher benches and past the old scoreboard. The shades were drawn over the widows on the east side of the gym, keeping the sunlight from seeping in, but that didn’t dim my view of this wonderful place. I climbed into the seating area and sat down to soak it all in.
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Right down there, that’s where a sober Shooter drew up the picket fence play that gave Hickory an unforgettable buzzer-beater. Out there, that’s where coach Norman Dale stood just outside the circle at midcourt and defiantly told the gathered crowd, “I would hope you’d support who we are and not who we are not. These six individuals have made the choice to work, the choice to sacrifice and put themselves on the line 23 nights in the next four months to represent you, this high school. That kind of commitment and effort deserves and demands your respect. This is your team.â€
Sitting in this gym in Knightstown, Indiana, I felt the shame of knowing I would have probably chanted “We want Jimmy, we want Jimmy†along with the rest of the gathered students, teachers and onlookers. And I felt the pride in knowing my cheering would have helped the tiny school pull off the greatest upset of all time.
Sure, technically, Hoosiers was just a movie. But it’s much more than that. You just understand that, sitting in that gym where the best sports movie of all time was filmed.
By that point, I had waited as long as I possibly could.
About eight or nine minutes earlier, Tim Hoepf, one of Indiana’s army of friendly folks and a volunteer at the gym, told me that people are welcome to come into and shoot around a little bit. I don’t really remember what he said next because all I could think about was where I’d take my first shot. It was time. I took off my jacket and walked over near an exit sign, where six or seven basketballs were resting in the sunlight that was peaking through the window in the door. I grabbed the oldest, crummiest-looking ball of the lot. If I’m going to imagine that I’m wearing gold short-shorts and playing basketball in 1952 Indiana, I sure as heck can’t shoot with a shiny new basketball.
I walked to the elbow and fired. It, well, didn’t go in. Neither did the next one. A layup did, though, and I was off the schnide. I’d like to be able to honestly tell you my jump shot found a little bit of that Hickory magic. Actually, I’d like to be able say there was any jump to my shot.
I made an Ollie free throw and launched 3-point attempts, baseline “jumpers†and more shots from the elbow. More missed than went in, but I think I was a bit in awe of shooting baskets in the gym where Jimmy Chitwood lifted an entire town upon his shoulders. That, or I’m not quite the deadeye I was in days past. Either way, I don’t know that I’ve ever enjoyed shooting hoops more than I did on this afternoon.↵