Feeling the pressure at Flathead Lake 3-on-3
By Zach Urness
From the Bleachers
My favorite writer of all time, Ernest Hemingway, famously wrote that "courage is grace under pressure."
That quote seemed appropriate as my name was called over a loudspeaker last Saturday night, bidding me out in front of a massive throng of people gathered for the 3-point shoot-out finals.
Now I am fairly sure that Hemingway was thinking of something slightly more existential than jump-shots when he wrote that quote, but as I nervously made my way to the first rack of orange and white basketballs, I was willing to overlook such details for just a little bit of grace.
Because the 3-point contest is one of the most nerve-wracking and pressure filled exhibitions I've ever been a part of.
The thing about the shoot-out is that it's a lot less like basketball and a lot more like golf. You're thrown out there cold, you have to focus mainly on your form, and are given just 15 shots and 60 seconds (which actually feels like an eternity) to find a rhythm and out-duel your opponents in a test that is just as much about mental toughness as it is about shooting touch.
Things did not begin well. On my first shot I bent my knees, cocked the ball in front of my right eye, jumped straight up, followed through with a perfect snap of the wrist and lofted up a beautiful … air ball. My second shot didn't fare much better, narrowly grazing the left side of the rim and the third shot went in-and-out.
At this point I was worried. Winning the contest was completely gone from my mind. All I wanted at this point was to make one shot. "Be merciful, God!" I pleaded internally. "I swear to adopt orphans, save puppies and get my butt to Church every Sunday if you just save me from this embarrassment."
Whether the man upstairs was listening or not I'll leave to the theologians, but my fourth shot slid mercifully through the rim. Unfortunately the Lord's mercy didn't hold and my next shot was another air ball.
The frustrating thing is that 3-pointers have always been my bread and butter, and with nobody watching in the preliminary round I hit 10-of-15 without breaking a sweat.
But there is just something about being encircled by a massive crowd at various levels of intoxication that makes you nervous. And I suspect most of them would have just as happy to see me toss up a pile of bricks as hit my shots because, in reality, they weren't even that interested in the first place.
The 3-point shoot-out is really just the opening act for the slam dunk contest, kind of like that random band you've never heard of who opens up for Snoop Dogg or the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
That point was made all the more obvious later that night. High-flying and often shirtless ballers defied gravity with ally-oop and 360 degree tomahawk dunks that continually inspired 'oooohs' and 'ahhs' from the crowd.
Las Vegas import Sam Riddle made things even more interesting by wooing cute little kids and pretty girls to stand under the basket before soaring over them with monster dunks. For his encore he even brought his sister's car out onto the court and hurdled it for a rim-rocking dunk. Unfortunately for the sister, Mr. Riddle got greedy, and while attempting to jump the car lengthwise he shattered her rear windshield, prompting a loud cheer from the crowd and ensuring that all of his prize money ($400) would be spent on auto repair.
With that kind of show, what exactly is a 3-point shooter to do? Loft up hook shots from beyond the arc? Throw out candy in between shots? Bring out the Polson cheer team to make an impromptu pyramid and shoot over them?
Sadly, all the cute kids, pretty girls and even shattered windshields couldn't make the crowd overly interested in the classic art of 3-point shooting.
But that didn't mean it wasn't nerve wracking. Thankfully, about halfway through my 3-point exhibition I remembered how to shoot and made seven out of my final nine shots, good enough for second place.
As I left the court I smiled and waved at the crowd. A few old ladies clapped in response.
It certainly wasn't "grace under pressure," but I'll take it.
Don't miss 'The Foreigner'
By Paul Fugelberg
Among other things
If you haven't seen the Port Polson Players summer theatre production of "The Foreigner" yet, you'd better hurry. Final performance is this Sunday's (Aug. 5) matinee at 2 p.m. in the John Dowdall Theatre.
I was vacationing in Colorado so I missed opening night, but I'm glad I caught the show last week. The setting is a fishing lodge in Georgia, which is visited often by "Froggy" LeSeur (Neal Lewing), a British demolition expert who runs training exercises at a nearby army base. On this visit Froggy brings along a shy man named Charlie (Harry Gadbow), who has an overwhelming fear of conversing with strangers.
Charlie plans to spend a couple days cooped up in his room resting and writing and avoiding contact with others.
Froggy tells the other characters that Charlie is from a foreign country and doesn't speak English.
The others assume he doesn't understand English either and he overhears some choice conversations, and learns, among other things, a plot to take over ownership of the lodge from Betty (Wendi Arnold).
A minister, David Lee (K.C. Sorensen) and Catherine (Cindy Sorensen), David's fiance' play key roles as does Ellard (James Uhde), Catherine's younger brother.
Building inspector Owen Musser is played by Paul Chirico.
And Charlie has encounters with each of them.
Most of the first half of the play takes place during a thunderstorm and the rumble of thunder at times overrides part of the conversation, so you've got to really listen for the rapid-fire exchanges.
With the storm over, the second half rolls along fast, furiously and hilariously as the plot really unfolds and as Ellard, suddenly discovers he must be a pretty good teacher as he thinks he's helping Charlie understand and pronounce various words and phrases.
It's another thoroughly enjoyable Port Polson Players production. See it. Thursday-Saturday at 8 p.m., Sunday at 2 p.m.