Full Speed Ahead (Touchdown Edition)

Chapter 1: In the Game

Imagine that you’ve just received a pass at the top of the key. You shield the basketball with your body so it won’t be stolen. You look at the hoop. Your grip on the ball tightens as a 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 get position. The defense, meanwhile, is trying hard to deny them the ball. You can’t seem to sneak in a pass.

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. He’s 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 you quickly put the ball on the floor and dribble to the right. Sweat pours down your forehead. You feel the wind on your face as you cruise past the foul line. Making your way down the lane, you see 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 knew it was coming, 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 off. Your big man catches the pretty, no-look pass.

With a clean view of the basket, he fires one up. But his short jumper doesn’t have enough arc. The ball hits the rim and bounces back toward the ground. A defender barely gets an outstretched fingertip on it. This deflects the rebound in your direction. A moment later, your luck has changed. The ball lands in your lap. Once again, your grip tightens.

There are now five seconds remaining. Before the defense can react, you make a charge at the hoop. 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 foul you hard.

As a result, you end up on the floor, unable to move. You try to make out the numbers on the scoreboard. At first, they are blurry, but they soon come into focus. Time has expired, and your shot didn’t go in. The score is still tied.

After being fouled like that, you’re going to get another chance. You can win the game by making at least one of two shots at the free-throw line. Now, if you can only find the strength. You need to push yourself off the floor and thrust your body back into your wheelchair.

Can you imagine that?

For Bryson McLeod, this is a familiar scene. The 16-year-old from New Jersey has been here a number of times. That’s because Bryson is a wheelchair basketball player—and a good one, too. He is no stranger to physical contact. After all, he’s been playing the sport competitively for several years now.

When you attend a wheelchair basketball game, right away you notice the sound. The noises you hear are strange. The crowd might be loud, just like any other crowd. But what you hear taking place on the court sounds different. 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. Things can get pretty rough out there. During the course of a game, these mini-crashes occur all the time. For a new fan or player, the noise takes some getting used to. But for experienced ballers like Bryson, it’s like beautiful music.

Wheelchair basketball players are getting to do something they love at a high level. The intensity on the court rivals that of any other basketball game. A person in a wheelchair will tell you the experience is a magical one.

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 positions are the same, too, and so is the strategy. Sometimes, players hit difficult shots. Sometimes, they choke and miss easy ones. And sometimes, they hit the deck. The only difference: When they get up, they have to get back into their wheelchairs.

Bryson describes the physical demands of wheelchair basketball in an interesting way. He says, “You find out fast how tough you are going full speed in a metal chair. Driving down the lane takes on a whole different meaning when you’re on wheels.”

There is much more to this sport than being able to shoot, dribble and pass. To play wheelchair basketball at a high level, you need major upper body strength. You also need to be fearless. A strong sense of strategy and creativity are important, too. The game is so complex because it combines so many different skills.

Danielle Peers of the Canadian national wheelchair basketball team knows this well. She says that these athletes must combine the skill of basketball with the positioning of rugby. They need to do this while playing with the contact required in hockey. And they are sort of like polo players, too. Because just like polo, the game is often played below them. Instead of being on horses, though, these basketball players are riding high in their wheelchairs.

Did you know there are about 54 million Americans with disabilities? That number represents about 20 percent of the population, or one in five people. Disabilities range from physical to mental—and from slight to severe. In every case, disabled people face a lifelong challenge. They want to get the most out of themselves despite their handicap. Wheelchair basketball is just one way disabled athletes can feel normal.

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

Sometimes disabled people have to deal with not fitting in. This can cause heartache, frustration and pain. But is someone in a wheelchair really that different from someone who can stand and walk? 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, people feel sorry for them. Other times, they’re on the receiving end of anger. Often, others don’t want to change their usual way of doing things to be helpful.

That’s part of what makes Bryson McLeod so special. His life is hard. What he endures 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 tried several other sports before he found basketball. Each activity gave him an opportunity to overcome his circumstances. His journey is all about his amazing determination. And his goal is to be the very best he can be.

For Bryson, 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.