… but, in my defense, I was only 9 years old at the time.
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Flashback many years to my earliest little league baseball days.
In our first game, the coach told us that — just like in the big leagues — he’d be flashing secret signs to us when we were batting:
If he touched his cap, the sign meant “take the next pitch” … don’t swing at it.
If he brushed his chest, it meant “swing away”.
Simple enough…
Here’s what happened…
Time for a little shameless retro self-promotion.
Here’s the back-story …
The year was 1988.
We were living in Connecticut, so I took my then young sons to the Princeton-Yale basketball game … hoping to hook them on Ivy League colleges.
Walking in, some students were signing up volunteers for the half-time shooting contest.
Urged on by my family, I threw my name into the ring.
They called my name … I beat 2 other contestants … and was invited to the “Finals” to compete for 2 round-trip tickets on American Airlines.
Lay-ups were worth 1 point, free throws were worth 3, and shots from the 3-point line were worth 7.
I figured that 18 points would win it.
My strategy: rapid-fire 8 free throws … and make 6 of them.
I practiced and knew I could do it.
Under game day pressure, i missed 4 of 7 free throws, and had no choice but to head for the 3-point line.
Bottom line: SWOOSH ! 7 points … for a total of 16.
Just enough to win the crown and a trip to Las Vegas.
Best of all: my sons were in the stands to see it all.
Since you probably weren’t there, click the pic or link below to see the most exciting 45 seconds in sports history.
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Best part of all: my sons were in the stands to see it all.
Worst part: It’s been downhill since …
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