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Message: [QUOTE="sutomcat, post: 4231380, member: 27"] This is not my story (I got nothing), so here is a story featuring my little brother. This goes back a while. I believe it happened in the summer of 1972 but it could have been 1971 or even 1973. I grew up in Eastwood. Hung out at Huntington Park. One random summer day at the park counselors said hey there’s something big going on at Sunnycrest Park. If you like basketball you gotta go there. So my brother and I, and a few other kids from the park walked for four or five blocks to Sunnycrest Park. Might’ve been our first time there. They had a big basketball complex there. The ‘something going on’ turned out to be a basketball clinic put on by the Buffalo Braves. I knew next to nothing about the NBA or any of the players in it. But the counselors at Sunnycrest acted like these guys were a big deal. One thing for sure; they were huge. They did some clinic things. I think they tried to show us fundamentals, blah, blah. Then at some point, they said ‘let’s scrimmage. Who wants to play with us’? I was about 12. Was not good at basketball. No way I was raising me hand. A couple kids were picked and placed on teams mixed with NBA players. ‘We need one more’. Everyone starts to laugh. They are all looking in a corner. I crane my neck to see why. My little brother has his hand raised. He is 10. Very short for his age. Everyone is laughing at him because he is literally the smallest person at the clinic. He is not afraid. All the kids picked so far are teenagers. But the guy picking players (I think it was Dolph Schayes, who was the head coach and whose ties to Syracuse almost certainly made this miracle happen) likes the moxie of this kid. And picks him. ‘Holy smokes’ I think. They play. The pros try and let the kids shoot but no one has any game and lots of bricks ensue. The pros hit some long shots. Throw down some dunks. Lots of wows and open awe btw everyone watching these guys. The PG for the team my brother is on starts talking softly to him. I can’t hear what he is saying. To my knowledge, my brother has never played in an organized basketball game; we have practiced shooting occasionally but that is about it for our experience. The next time down the court, my brother stands far from the basket. I would say about 25 feet. There wasn’t a 3 point line in those days but if there was, he would have been behind it. He might be 4 feet tall. The PG drives and kicks it out to my brother. I hear him tell my brother to shoot. My brother hesitates. Big mistake. This gives Elmore Smith, who is playing on the opposite team, an chance to defend him. Elmore Smith is a 1st round draft pick for the Braves. He is the tallest player on the team (7 foot tall) and the one that they gave us all 8x11 photos of. But he is not being nice here. He is looking to knock my brother’s shot over the fence and on to the little league baseball field. My brother sees him. I see him make some quick calculations and instead of taking a normal shot at the basket, he throws it wide up in the air, so Elmore cannot block it. And yes, he is 10 years old. When I say he throws it up, he throws it up like a baseball. Against all odds, the ball just gets over the outstretched hand of hard charging Mr Smith and continues to rise. And head towards the basket. All time stops for a brief moment. And the ball comes down through the hoop for a perfect swish. After a moment of dead silence, where everyone processes what just happened, there is an explosion of sound. The kids all scream. The park employees shout. But the loudest sound of all, by a large margin is the sound of all the players on the Braves [B]except[/B] Elmore Smith. They go crazy. My brother is lifted in the air. It is the greatest athletic achievement of his life. I like to think that if Elmore Smith is still alive and he is asked about this, he still remembers that shot that little kid in Syracuse made over him. And is just a little ashamed. [/QUOTE]

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