Full Speed Ahead (Home Run Edition)

Chapter 1: In the Game

Imagine that you’ve just received a pass at the top of the key. Shielding the basketball with your body so it won’t be stolen, you eye the hoop. Your grip on the ball tightens as an anxious defender approaches. Too far out to launch a jump shot, you look down low. There’s a lot happening beneath the basket. Elbows are flying as your teammates try to establish position. The defense, meanwhile, is intent on denying them the ball. You can’t seem to sneak a pass in.

Both your center and power forward are tightly guarded. You don’t want to risk turning the ball over, so you look elsewhere. Swinging around behind the defense is your other forward. In a second, he’ll be open. But he runs into a hard pick along the baseline and is no longer an option. Your fellow guard is also unavailable, the victim of a slippery court. He’s currently on his back, near the opposing team’s bench.

It’s up to you to make something happen. Especially since the game is tied with under a minute to play.

You fake like you’re going left, but then quickly put the ball on the floor and take off dribbling to the right. Sweat pours down your forehead and you feel the wind on your face as you cruise past the foul line and make your way down the lane. You see some daylight ahead, so you turn on the jets. You are the fastest player on the court, and you know it.

From across the paint comes the weak-side defense. You anticipated it, so you’re ready for the pressure. You expected the hand in your face and the hard bump to your body. Neither tactic will rattle you. You’ve been here before.

Still, the defensive pressure slows you down. In fact, your momentum is almost completely stopped. That’s all right, though, since the defensive switch means someone else is open. So, right before you slam on the brakes, you dish the ball to your big man with a pretty, no-look pass.

The big guy has a clean view of the basket and fires one up. But his short jumper doesn’t have enough of an arc. The ball hits the rim and ricochets back toward the ground. Another defender, sliding over to help, barely gets an outstretched fingertip on it. This deflects the rebound in your direction. A moment later, your luck has changed as the ball literally lands in your lap. Once again, your grip tightens. The clock continues to wind down.

There are now five seconds remaining. Before the defense can react, you instinctively make a charge at the hoop. With your head down and eyes on the rim, you move like a runaway train—there is no stopping you. The defense collapses. You let go with a short bank shot as the buzzer sounds. In a desperate attempt to keep you from scoring, your opponents hammer you—on the arm, the ribs and the head.

As a result, you end up on the floor, unable to move. Blood trickles from your nose as you try to make out the numbers on the scoreboard. Initially blurry, they soon come into focus. Time has expired, and your shot didn’t go in. The score is still tied.

The good news is that after being fouled like that, you’re going to get the chance to win this one at the free-throw line. Now, if you can only find the strength to push yourself off the floor and use your tired arms to thrust yourself back into your wheelchair.

Can you imagine that?

For Bryson McLeod, this is a familiar scenario. The 15-year-old from New Jersey has been in situations just like this one on a number of occasions. That’s because Bryson is a wheelchair basketball player—and a good one, too. To say that he is no stranger to physical contact is an understatement. After all, he’s been playing the sport competitively for several years now.

When you attend a wheelchair basketball game, one of the first things you notice is the sound. The noises you hear are strange. While the crowd might be loud, resembling any other crowd, what you hear taking place on the court is unique. It’s not the familiar squeak of sneakers on the hardwood. That noise is replaced by the sound of metal chairs slamming into each other at full speed. Some say a comparable sound might be a car crash, only without the horns and screeching brakes. Things can get pretty rough out there, and during the course of a game, these mini-crashes occur constantly. For a new spectator or player, the noise takes some getting used to. But for experienced ballers like Bryson, it’s like beautiful music.

To wheelchair basketball players, participating in the sport means doing something they love at a high level of competitiveness. The intensity on the court rivals any other basketball game taking place anywhere in the world. A person who is in a wheelchair will tell you that having the opportunity to physically compete is a magical experience.

The game of wheelchair basketball is just like the NBA games on TNT or the college hoops on ESPN. It is fast-paced and physical. The court looks the same. The jerseys look the same. The game is even played the same way, with the same number of players, the same positions and much of the same strategy. Sometimes, players hit difficult shots. Sometimes, they choke and miss easy ones. And sometimes, they hit the deck. The only difference is that when they get up, they have to get back into their chair.

Bryson describes the physical demands of wheelchair basketball in an interesting way. He says, “You find out pretty quick how tough you are, going full speed in a metal chair. If you’ve ever had your finger slammed in a car door, then you know what I’m talking about. Driving down the lane takes on a whole different meaning when you’re on wheels.”

There is much more to this sport than body control, shooting skill, and an ability to dribble and pass. To play wheelchair basketball at a high level, you need an incredible amount of upper body strength. You also need to be fearless, with a strong sense of strategy and a dose of creativity. The game is so complex because it combines so many different skills.

According to Danielle Peers, a member of the Canadian national wheelchair basketball team, these athletes need to combine the skill of basketball with the positioning of rugby. They need to do this while playing with the physicality required in hockey. And on top of that, many of the dynamics of polo come into play, as the game is in some ways played below you. Instead of being up on a horse, though, these basketball players are riding high in their wheelchairs.

Did you know that there are approximately 54 million men, women and children in America with disabilities? That number represents about 20 percent of the population, or one in five people. Disabilities can range far and wide—from the physical to the mental, from the slight to the severe. In every case, the lifelong challenge for disabled people is to get the most out of themselves despite their handicap. The sport of wheelchair basketball is just one way disabled athletes strive for a sense of normalcy and acceptance.

Every disability requires something different of the person who has it. For individuals like Bryson, whose disability requires a wheelchair, life can be a constant struggle. Some of the simple things that others take for granted—like getting up and down stairs, in and out of bed, or in and out of a car—become demanding tasks that require great focus and effort.

Sometimes disabled people have to deal with not fitting in and not being treated like everyone else. This can cause heartache, frustration and pain. It seems obvious, but just because someone is sitting in a wheelchair doesn’t mean he or she is any different from someone who spends his or her days standing up. Think about it. What’s the difference?

In spite of this fact, people in wheelchairs are often stared at. When that’s not happening, they’re being ignored. Sometimes, they’re pitied (and Bryson will tell you that can be even worse). Occasionally, they’re on the receiving end of outright contempt, especially when others don’t want to change their routine to be accommodating.

That’s part of what makes Bryson McLeod so special. His life is hard. What he has to endure every day would be enough to get most people down. Yet he’s able to stay positive and excited about life each and every day. Wherever he goes, Bryson brings a smile with him—especially on the hardwood.

Bryson had tried several other sports before he found basketball, and each successive activity he engaged in afforded him an opportunity to overcome his circumstances. His has been a journey of drive and determination—to be the very best he can be at whatever it is he chooses to do.

For him, playing competitive sports like wheelchair basketball is an awesome experience. It gives him the chance to be stared at because he’s good at something, not because of the chair he sits in.