One time, some winter Tuesday night in 2009, in a town called Denison. A pimple faced, chin-strapped, and banged 18 year old Ryan sat on the bench during a varsity basketball game. Nothing particularly exciting was happening, and for the most part this was a typical game for my high school basketball team. We were getting blown out, and as the clock ticked down in the fourth and we stared at another double digit loss, I knew my time was coming.
I heard the coach called out my name to sub in, I pulled off the warm up, checked in, and at the dead ball strolled on to the floor with the swagger of any other scrub getting the garbage minutes.