Bustin' the clock  − 22 March, 1976

I was a tall white kid and James A Henry's basketball team needed a token.

It'd been three years since Chattanooga desegregated and I'd reached the sixth grade, almost ready to move on to junior high school.

By year 3 we'd learned the routine more or less. Get up around 615am. and walk in the dark to the old school (five blocks away) to catch the 715am bus that would take us across town to the projects. It was a lot better than the first year when we'd walk past a small group of white parents yelling at the bus driver only to be met in the projects by the black older brothers who wanted to kick our ass.

I'd made peace more or less through sticking together with another big white kid and trying to make friends with some of the local black kids, Jason Eppinger who had a brother I had to fight once (a story I'll write later), Redman, one of those kids who had cafe au lait skin and lot of freckles, Eric Bone, and Vernard, probably the most cerebral of the project kids.

A major influence on everyone was Glenn Chambers, all 6' 9" of him. Mr Chambers was the PE coach, taught health, and had been a famous high school and somewhat famous college basketball player. He had hands that could swallow a young boy's arm in a handshake and had the most perfectly proportioned, trimmed, and shaped afro I've seen in my life. Additionally, he kept a cleanly lined beard and mustache that followed the contour of his chin flawlessly to balance the shape of the fro.

The best aspect of Mr Chambers (I still need to refer to him that way and it's been 30 years) was that he dressed every day like it was Saturday night. It was the mid-70s and Shaft fashion had reached it's apogee. It was the age of Superfly, Soul Train, Cleopatra Jones, Blackula, afrosheen and ultrasheen. Mr Chambers could wear blue jeans that had a slight bell bottom cut with some studs strategically placed down the leg seam. A smooth polyester or satin shirt unbuttoned just right to reveal curly chest hair with a sprinkle of salt. A vest wrapping everything up---gold chains around the neck and wrist, and baddest magenta hat with a black headband and feather out there.

I know. I know. It's a stereotype but this is how REAL bling started. Mr Chambers looked as smooth, natural and *good* in that get-up as some naturally born Montana cowboy with a bolo tie and silver belt buckle as big as a dinner plate. The clothes fit the man.

Mr Chambers let me try out for the basketball team, which was really an act of mercy on his part. I stood about 5'7" when I was 12 (I'm 6'5" today) and had some thickness to it. But I hated to run and worse, I was blind as a bat nearsighted. My parents had me wearing these black plastic coke bottle wrappers for glasses. They weighed so much (remember this was before plastic lens) that they'd fall off whenever I got sweaty and moving around. So I had the double indignity of wearing an athletic strap around the back of my head.

Suffice to say that the kids in the projects played better ball, both individually and as a team. They finally figured out that I could be valuable as the pick part of a pick and roll. I'd run to my spot and plant myself like a tree to knock over anyone who tried to defend against Redman, who would peel around me on the way to the basket.

Anyway, that's how things worked in practice. When it came to actual games, however, Mr Chambers wouldn't take chances. So I became a professional bench warmer and cheerleader. It wasn't a bad job and I spent much of that season doing my best and feel to this day that it was appreciated on the court.

In fact, on the last game of the general season (we'd made it into the City tournament), we were playing G. Russel Brown School and had them by 10 points with about a minute to play. So Mr Chambers decided to put me in the actual game.

Even now...writing this I can feel my heart kick up a notch. G. Russell Brown was another black school and so the place was rocking. Parents, grandparents, and siblings were all there, stomping and cheering lusty rhythmic insults at each other."U-G-L-Y you ain't got no alibi, YOU UGLY! uhn uhn YOU UGLY!"

The timekeeper's horn announced my substitution for Jason E, who had played a good game. I could feel sweat start to build up and flow down my nose which caused my glass to slip but this was my chance. I was actually on the court, the only white kid out there.

The clock started ticking down "59..58..57..." as we inbounded and ran downcourt. My official position was a forward and I got into my zone while the action was on the other side of the paint. Great...I'm playing in the game and not touching the ball. Actually, I was relieved. Redman's shot bounced and was grabbed by someone on the other side. I raced as hard as I could to get to our side to get into the right position....53...52...51...

Then the action came to my side and the other guys were trying to score. One of their guards drove around Eric Bone and came on my side. I could tell that he wanted to do a layup. I panicked inside and just threw my body between him and the lane, not knowing that I outweighed the poor kid by at least 20 pounds. We made contact and he flew off me like a squash ball that'd hit the wall. TWEEET!!! from the ref. They got to inbound but I'd stopped the play. They tried to inbound but Redman stripped it and went toward the other court.

Over on our side, Mr Chambers was almost bent in half, leaning on his knees and laughing. Hey, whatever works I thought as I ran past....43...42...41...40

This time Redman made his shot so we were up by 12. The other side lost heart I'm sure because they just ambled down the court to run things out to go home. At the same time, people were screaming at them not to give up, keep going and fight to the buzzer....30...29...28...the action around our goal involved a lot of passing around the world to try to get in a last shot....23...22..21. Then it just kind of fell apart from them. Big Donnie, the other forward grabbed the ball and went down for an easy layup. People on our side were getting up to do the final ten coutdown.

G. Russell Brown inbounded on what they knew would be their last possession and must've wished the whole thing would end...18...17...16...They made it down to our side, passed it twice then figured they'd just dribble out the last seconds.

But life is funny that way...

Big Donnie made a lunge but missed and the other guy had a clean lane for a layup....9...8...7. He went for the layup but the ball bounced off the rim to Redman, who got into some traffic and passed it to Big Donne...

RUN! RUN! GAUNTT!!! shouted Mr Chambers and I took off toward the other side. Redman was ahead of me on the other side with one defender in between us. 5...4...

I heard Big Donnie from behind yell "GAUNT!!!" and I could see the ball coming to me from our goal to where I was just past half-court. Jesus...

He must've heard because I caught it at half court, pivoted toward their goal----and saw my glasses whirl off my face spinning like a boomerang to clatter about five feet away..3...2..

THROW IT! THROW THE BALL!!! I heard from Mr Chambers and my side. In the haze of my nearsighted distance I thought I saw Redman just next to the right side of the goal. With all my might I slung that ball toward him with both hands in a giant heave, not knowing where it was going...1...AAANNNNNGGGGGGG!!!!!!! the buzzer sounded.

Swish.

By some gigantic cosmic joke, I'd arced a perfect half court shot that didn't even need a backboard but sailed smooth and clean into the bucket with barely a ruffle of the net.

Pandemonium broke out as everyone spilled from our side, team mates, parents, school mates to circle round me and lift me up.

"GAUNTT BUSTED THE CLOCK!!!" screamed Mr Chambers who was jumping around as if he'd just won the Final Four. Vernard saved me glasses which I feared had been trampled in the melee. I swooped the elastic band behind my head and saw clearly how everyone was laughing, felt them slapping me on the back, and exclaiming how that was one of the prettiest shots they'd ever seen.

Mr Chambers was so excited that he insisted on driving me across town to my neighborhood to tell my parents what I'd just done. After the game, we climbed into his 1950s powder puff blue Buick Century (you know, one of those kind with so much chrome on the front it looked like teeth).

To my dying day, I'll never forget the expression of pure, unadulterated, gob-smacked surprise (maybe mixed with a little horror) on my Daddy's face when Mr Chambers pulled up to the front of our house. Mr Chambers came inside and had a cup of coffee with my parents, all the time reliving every part of the game, especially how I'd busted the clock. I was still on another planet while I watched them laugh and drink coffee.

Soon enough, Mr Chambers left to go back to the other side of town but let everyone know who proud he was of me. Of course, he said, he was going to run me hard during practice to get ready for the City Tournament (during which I reverted to warming the bench).

But I'll forever treasure those precious two points that constitute the entirity of my basketball scoring career.