Walking into the gym at Grand Junction Central High School last Friday was like falling down a rabbit hole and into the past. I’d never in my life been on Warrior Way — essentially Central’s driveway — but it led to a very familiar place.
This was high school playoff basketball. The excitement, tension and intensity were palpable. Man, it felt good to be home.
I grew up in this sport. Spending time in rowdy gyms, first in the stands as a fan and then on the floor as a player, was kinda like going to church as a kid: You didn’t always want to do it, it could be scary and a little intimidating, but you knew you’d be a better person for it — that there could be a big payoff at the end, be that in the form of a post-communion cinnamon roll or eternal schoolboy glory.
The youngest of five, I followed my siblings and their classmates around like they were heros. I dreamt in the blue and gold of the Florence Huskies.
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