My hand slipped into your hand and it was awesome and it was special.

I stood there on the sidelines and watched. I was nervous. In a few moments I would step on the court for the first time in practice. I was a lowly freshman. I didn't know the offense we were running very well. I tried to pick up the basics from these guys who knew it cold already. Luckily we weren't running through the motion that much before someone was allowed to shoot.

My name was called with the other freshman and a few veterans that were lower on the pecking order. Not as low as I felt, but near me. We passed, we cut, we ran hard. We tried to impress. I caught the ball on the wing.

If this were a movie this is what the director would have told me: Ok, you are trying to make a big impression. An impression of competency. Basically, you just don't want to fuck up. You have caught the ball. Get in triple threat. Rip it through. Look in the post but don't pass. Take one dribble to the top of the key. Pass the ball. Then receive a flare screen. Now stand there and do not move until someone lays it in.

Fairly easy. I got to the dribble part and then something happened. My feet decided they hadn't touched each other in a while. I stepped on my own foot. My body decided to lay horizontally instead of being vertical. My face decided it wanted to taste what the wood basketball court was like. It tasted like cleaning chemicals.

I laid there for what seemed like an hour. As the ball slowly bounced to the top of the key. It went right to the person I was supposed to have passed the ball. He almost fell too ... because he was laughing so hard. In that moment the normal sounds of a gym ... yelling, shoes squeaking on the floor, basketballs bouncing, and so on ... were replaced with uncontrollable laughter. I stood up and walked off the court laughing as well.

It was that or cry.

A few weeks later I would make a great move and drop off a pretty bounce pass to our center on the block. Instead of stepping to the pass and going up strong for two points he decided to fade back for a three. Of course. The ball rolled out of bounds. The whistle blew. Everyone got water. I got a pep talk from the head coach. I was told I had one main job ... DON'T FUCK UP. After he repeated that a few times he also allowed me to shoot wide open three pointers. I thanked him and ran to the water fountain where I was consoled by "that was a nice move" and "sorry, that turnover was my fault". Little solace there.

While both moments were embarrassing and potentially traumatic, they are also fucking hysterical to me. They did not define my basketball career, but they are some of my favorite stories. Sometimes it isn't the glory you remember best. Sometimes it is the most humble of moments that you remember later with a smile. Those are the ones I treasure... there also happens to be many more of them.