SWENSDAY STUFF

It’s OK to Choke. Just Don’t Waste the Mistake
Swen Nater

About the tenth game of my rookie year, playing for the Virginia Squires of the ABA, I was fouled in the act of shooting at the exact time the game ended. I missed the shot so I was awarded two freethrows. We were down by two points so, it was up to me to tie the game and send it into overtime. Because there was no time on the clock, no players lined up along the freethrow lane. It was just the ref and I. Luckily, it was a home game so the crowd became very quiet, giving me every chance to make both freethrows. I could feel the tension in the stands. As I glanced over, I saw faces that looked like poor puppy dogs, begging me to give them a victory. I saw others that put their heads in their hands, praying I’m sure. There were fingers crossed, not only in the seats but, I’m sure, also on the bench. As I approached the freethrow area, I looked at my teammates and they appeared helpless and hopeful. You see, we had lost seven games in a row and they wanted a win badly. 

I walked up to the freethrow line confidently like I always did, making sure I was set before the ref handed me the ball. I looked at the ref and, from under the basket, he tossed me the ball underhanded. I caught it and went through my routine: Three dribbles with both hands, hold the ball, take a deep breath, bend my knees, elbow above the knee. I was ready and rather relaxed. There was only one step remaining in the checklist—shoot with follow through. My normal follow through was elbow above the ear and snap the wrist so my fingers were pointed toward the floor. 

Suddenly, just before I rose up to release the shot, I began thinking. That’s where I went wrong. ‘What if I miss this shot? The second one won’t matter. The game will be over and the other team wins. I don’t want to let these people down. I hope I don’t choke.’ 

Thinking made me break my routine; the follow through never happened. I straightened my knees and started my shot. Instead of being relaxed, like I usually was, my entire body tensed up and butterflies were swarming in my stomach. My right arm felt like it weighed one-hundred pounds and instead of releasing the shot with a follow-through snap of the wrist (fingers to the floor), I stopped short, trying to “feel” the ball into the hoop. I didn’t feel like myself. It was weird. In other words, I completely departed from the routine that enabled me to shoot 80% up to that time.

The ball left my hand and headed straight for the basket. My emotions jumped on a roller coaster. I panicked, knowing I had broken the routine and there was no reason the ball should go in. But the fact it was going straight, gave me hope. I thought, ‘Hey! This thing might go in anyway. The closer the ball got the basket, the happier I got. But then it looked like it was going to be short. That’s when I used a little body English (leaning forward) to help the ball along. The ball hit the front of the rim and bounced back toward me. All the energy drained from my body and I felt I had no strength at all. My arms dropped to my sides and my jaw dropped to the floor. In a moment, the truth hit me; I got caught up in the pressured moment and let my emotions take over for the routine that had proven trustworthy. 

Immediately after the ball hit the rim and then bounced on the floor a few times before coming to a dead rest, players from both teams began their walk toward the locker rooms and disappointed fans, like herded cattle, began moving up the stairs toward the exits. I had my chance and I blew it. I made the second one but nobody saw it.

I was the last one in the locker room. I walked in slowly and with my head down. Nobody said a word. I sat down in my seat, by my locker, put my forearms on my thighs, leaned over, and bowed my head toward the locker room floor. A couple of players came over and tried to comfort me. I didn’t move nor did I say anything. They understood.

The only thing on my mind was that I missed an opportunity to win a game and the failure could have been avoided had I stayed with the routine. I was disappointed in myself. Coach Wooden had addressed the concept of “poise” often. “Poise,” he said, “was simply being yourself.” I was not myself in that pressure situation. I kept thinking about the fact, I could not take that moment back and do it again. I hoped that, someday, I had the opportunity to try it again. I did.

In my twelve-year career, I made several game-winning shots, both from the floor and from the line. Beyond the shadow of any doubt, I know I could not have made those shots had I not learned a lesson from my failure when with the Squires. The lesson was: Stay with the routine no matter what. I guess I didn’t waste a mistake.

When with the Milwaukee Bucks, I remember a seventeen foot baseline jump shot that left my hand just before the final horn went off. Let’s listen to Eddie Doucette, the radio announcer. It went something like this.

10 seconds to go in the game. Buckner has the ball at the point. He’s looking for Dandridge. Dandridge is covered. Nater pops out to the wing. That’s not his usual spot. Buckner passes to him. Four seconds to go. Nater has the ball. He dribbles to his right and loses his man. Two seconds. Nater rises up for the jump shot. One second. Nater releases. The game is over. The ball is in the air. It looks close. It’s going to be close. Good! The shot is good! Nater wins the game!

And guess what? When the ball went through, my elbow was above my ear and my fingers were pointed toward the floor. Perfect follow through. That feeling was Swweeeeeetttt!