The Paradox of Basketball - Skylar Chui
Skylar Chui is a senior at the Pinewood School in Los Altos Hills, California. In The Paradox of Basketball, Skylar writes about her struggles surmounting the psychological aspect of basketball.
“Don’t agonize and stress about it; the more you think about it, the worse you will perform,” my mom lectured me as I practiced my presentation on the recycling industry for my writing class. What a paradox. In suggesting that I shouldn’t think about my presentation, every thought in my mind was now colonized with anxiety around how poorly I would perform. I had always let the concept of the “don’t think just do” mindset go in one ear and out the other until I became a part of my high school basketball team.
My school’s girls basketball team is known for its efficient shooters and skilled shooting coach. But while the whole team fit the narrative of a “great shooter,” I could not be any more different. My shot was rigid and inconsistent, and I couldn't understand why all of my efforts still resulted in a hit to the rim. I would hang onto every word the coaches said and repeat it to myself as I shot. “Keep your left foot closer. Don’t let your knees in. Dip the ball.” Yet even after seemingly knowing the right code to shoot a basketball, my shot still wouldn’t go in.
During one of my rough shooting days, my coach approached me after analyzing my shot.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked. “You’re so rigid.” I paused my shooting and held the ball to my stomach for a few seconds, not knowing how to respond.
“Uhhh,” I chuckled. “I don’t know. Everything?”
My coach brought me to an isolated section of the gym while the rest of my team continued shooting. His hand directed my line of sight to a poster listing the years of our team’s success.
“Try shooting the ball onto the year 1995,” he instructed. My arms clambered around as I gathered the ball into its familiar shooting position. I shot.
“What are you thinking about now?” he asked again.
I replied, “Like, hitting the 1995 on the poster.”
Without another word, my coach again pulled me into a desolate corner of the gym. He told me to sit down on the ground and asked me to shoot the ball into the air.
As I snapped the ball in the air, he once again asked, “What are you thinking about now?”
Not immediately responding, I kept on shooting the ball in the air, watching it spin, feeling it roll off my fingers, understanding the uniformity of each shot I was taking.
“Nothing I guess. I don’t really know; not much?”
“Good; keep on doing that.”
I’m not really sure if he meant keep on shooting or keep on thinking of nothing, but I did both.
As he guided me through the process of shooting again—taking me to the wall, then moving me to a basket—I let my mind be empty and blank. As soon as I cast aside the internal instructions and self critiques while shooting, the ball started landing into the basket.
I’m not saying the secret to shooting is not thinking about it, but shooting well definitely requires a sort of withdrawal from thinking. A player can spend hours every day shooting hoops in the gym while studying their snap online and still have an inconsistent shot if they succumb to the little person in their head scrutinizing and criticizing their actions.
Beating yourself down does not produce favorable outcomes; I realized, in fact, that it hinders future progress. While I am far from mastering the art of shooting, I have since learned that for the ball to go into the basket, one must find balance in both focus and relaxation, rather than agonizing over a missed shot or feeling the weight of the world every time you forget to place your feet in the correct position. But this is easier said than done—this gray area mindset is something I am still working on achieving.
Another instance of basketball being a psychological game in which I prevailed only by following the “just do, don’t think” mindset was my first basketball game as a freshman.
Intimidated by other players and insecure about my own abilities, I would always pass the ball away and second-guess my decisions. While some newer players grappled with remembering all of our team's principles, I struggled with being bound to them. Every decision I made was consciously dictated by our team’s rules. My movements mirrored that of a slow-running computer code—reading the defender, thinking of all of the possible moves I could take, and then finally deciding upon what I thought would be perfect for our team. What I thought were “perfect” decisions were, in actuality, imperfect because of how long I spent deliberating before making them—which caused my coach to designate me to a spot on the bench.
As I was sitting on the sideline, my head coach who I had looked up to for ages told me, “You’re playing like a robot; you’ve got to relax; we just need you to play hard and get lost in the game. I really do not care if you make a mistake as long as you play hard.”
While I initially thought that this quote was a bit cheesy, I did carry this motto with me throughout all my four years of high school basketball.
I’ve realized that basketball isn’t a game of perfection, and that’s why I love it so much. Once I was able to realize this, I was also able to loosen up and play better. Unlike some other sports where every single move produces an outcome of either a point for you or another team, basketball allows room for mistakes, just as long as you make up for them. For example, you can accidentally turn over the ball but somewhat compensate by quickly sprinting back. While a younger version of myself would put her head down before running back when making a mistake during a play, I have learned that a great player doesn’t take seconds out of the game to pity themselves; they let it go and play hard the whole time.
Like my coach once said, “Basketball is a long game. In the grand scheme of things, one mistake doesn’t matter, so don’t dwell on it.” It may sound a little corny, but through all the setbacks and failures, I’ve realized that it is completely true. Now, when panicking during tests or making mistakes while painting, I remember to take a step back and recognize that these mistakes are just small moments in a greater life.
