Sports in Motown
Sports was always a confusing topic in Motown. Sometimes it was loved, and sometimes it was hated. Don’t get me wrong, the students absolutely loved it — the confusion was with the school administration.
Some days, our sportsmen and sportswomen were heroes, flying the Motown flag high, but on other days they were considered scum of the earth, muscle-bound jocks who did nothing but run really fast, throw stuff around, and kick footballs on a field. It was rare to find a student who was both brain and brawn.
This is where I come in…
Okay, that’s a lie. I was as skinny as they come.
In fact, sports felt like a chore to me. I mean, I’m good with a basketball, but only on account of my height. That’s it.
I have no other unique value proposition to offer a sports team.
I’m digressing though, let’s talk about athletics.
Athletics in Motown is one of those events that can bond a whole house.
I guess for a significant number of us it was just the idea of having a half-day that excited us. For the many who discovered their thirst for gambling early, it was “Motown Betting Season”. Unknown to many, there was actually quite a bit of race-fixing that went on.
The inter-house love stories that brewed in these moments were priceless and the
As I’ve mentione before, jama was often “carefully disguised profanity”, but it would surprise you to know that during athletics you could sometimes find Aggrey boys and MacCarthy girls singing love songs to each other as part of the
Now that I’ve written it, it sounds lame. But it happened. More than once.
I’m not talking about some boy and some girl alone in one corner singing oo. If that were the case, there would be a lot more happening, but definitely nothing musical.
I mean the entire house singing and cheering their girls or boys on.
In moments like this Akua, and any other non-MacCarthy
But putting all that aside, you should have seen the way the sportsmen killed themselves. I remember General Bombo almost died after attempting the 3000m marathon. The dude couldn’t walk for like three days.
I know this because I was one of the unfortunate juniors who had to carry him back to Aggrey House. He didn’t win too oo.
Another guy, they called him Obstinate — an apt name indeed — tried the high jump, missed the mattress and went unconscious for a full five minutes. If it had been KQ, the Juggernaut, the ground would have apologized.
Needless to say, Obstinate didn’t win the high jump either.
I hope you can see the passion with which they attacked these sports, because that is the basis of the story I am about to tell you, at least, as it was told to me.
Once Upon a Blackout
Prof Akilakpah Sawyer, the Motown Akilakpah, not the original one, had a saying he loved, “While the white man is exploiting the moon, the black man is dancing in the moonlight.”
Today, people will call that racist. Back then, we didn’t care. Besides, Prof is as black as they come.
Okay, to be honest, I had a problem with the statement myself, until one day there was a power outage, ‘
It was during one such blackout that we heard the story of the 2005 Motown Basketball Team. An embodiment of passion — and disregard for authority — but still, passion.
One senior, Ɛkpɛ — it means ‘stone’ in Ewe — told us this story, which served as motivation both to pursue passion and defy authority: a dangerous combination.
I will now enter the ‘Avatar State’ and let a member of the team tell you the story himself.
Kofi Of Livingstone House
My name is Kofi. I was in Motown from 2003 till 2006 — Livingstone House.
The year was 2005. Kuffuor was president of Ghana, and Bush was president of America. The names Bin Laden and Sadam Hussein were popular on the news. Terms like ‘toxic masculinity’ and the ‘Cancel Culture’ were yet to be invented… or popularized if they were even a thing. Whatsapp? Facebook? Twitter? Instagram? iPhone? Never heard of ’em. Life was simpler.
As for me,
Sprite Ball
The Sprite Ball Championship is the biggest high school basketball tournament in Ghana. I don’t know if it’s as big today as it was back then, but chale. Ah, wait, was it even called Sprite Ball then? I don’t remember, and I doubt it was. I can’t even remember how much the cash prize was. But this won’t spoil my story. Take the details I share with a grain of salt.
So Sprite Ball was approaching, and my guys and I were training
We were on fire!!!
So you can imagine our surprise when
“Ei, who does she think she is?!” someone half-shouted. “E be she, she go play?” another asked, obviously annoyed. The ruckus that errupted was anything but pretty. All this time, however, PY, our captain, was absolutely quiet. You could literally see in his face that wheels were turning.
And then he spoke, “Okay, Mrs Konu, we won’t play. We’ll use the time to study.”
Whaaaaat?! “Who are you, and what have you done with PY?” I thought. And then I saw the wink. Very quick, and very subtle, but a wink nonetheless. The boys saw it too. We all quieted down and allowed
By 4:30am the next morning we were back on the Yorks City court shooting hoops, and Mrs Konu was none the wiser.
I can’t tell you all the times we almost got caught, or all the times we lied through our teeth. Just know that getting to the competition cost us a lot of integrity and 300,000 cedis — old cedis, that is. It translates to just 30 cedis today, cheap lunch for a week, but we were broke students, and inflation rates then were not what they are now. That money was a fortune to us, chale. But we made it.
5 Hours to Sprite Ball
Finally, the day was upon us. We woke up giddy with excitement. It was the start of the two-day tournament. The plan was simple; break bounds, win our matches, come back, and do it again tomorrow. Simple huh?
The tournament was slated to start at 10am.
By 5am, clad in black t-shirts so we could blend into the early morning darkness all team members slipped out of their houses, and we were on our way to the Aviation Social Centre for the competition.
As soon as we arrived, we realised our first mistake: we had no jerseys.
Of course, how do you get school jerseys when your school has no idea you’re competing on their behalf. Did we feel silly? Of course. Did that stop us? Heck no.
We bought chalk, white chalk, and numbered our black t-shirts. Problem solved.
We had two games that day to secure a position in the semi-finals the next day. For the purposes of avoiding inaccuracy and keeping this short, I cannot mention the teams we faced, but all I can say is that we made the mistake of whooping their butts too hard. By the time we got back to the school later that evening rumours were already everywhere that we had hopelessly smoked the competition.
Mrs Konu would definitely be looking for us the next day. I guess there is such a thing as over-performing.
Day 2
What do you do when you know you’re in trouble for starting something you haven’t finished? I don’t know about you, but for us, we finish what we start. The next day at 5am, before any teachers could come looking for us, once more clad in black t-shirts, and this time with fresh chalk, we snuck out of our houses and made our way to the Aviation Social Centre.
There’s a certain viciousness you play with when you know that you’ll be going back to be punished. It’s like an extra incentive to get the job done, so you can say, “At least we won”.
If you’re one of those kids who would play football on the streets and have to wash your feet to make sure your parents didn’t find out — which they always did — then you know the passion with which you played, and you can relate.
See, no team could stand in our way that day. The semi-finals were a total breeze; we completely destroyed whatever school that was. All I remember is that their jerseys were blue, and they cried like little girls afterwards.
As we relaxed and got ready for the final match, we noticed the weirdest thing; familiar faces in the crowd. The spread of rumours back then was an active effort. There was no one to tweet our victories, so the presence of students and teachers alike at the game meant that people were receiving updates via text and calls, and students were actually breaking bounds to watch the game.
So on the one hand, there were teachers waiting to carry us back to the school’s disciplinary committee, and on the other, there were students, with mobile phones, by inference, who skipped class and broke bounds to watch our game. This was all the home support we had. It was going to have to do.
I honestly cannot remember who we played in the final — I think they wore green — but those guys were good.
From the first jump ball, and for the first time in the tournament, someone jumped higher than me. They went against us point for point, rebound for rebound, lay-up for lay-up. I don’t know, maybe they also broke bounds to come and play. Seriously though, that match was one of the toughest games of my life.
Finally, with 15 seconds left on the clock — which is an eternity in a basketball game — PY called for a time-out. This was the last play of the game. They were ahead of us by a single point.
“Boys”, he began, “I didn’t lie to Mrs Konu and break bounds to take second place. Make this last play count! Kwame, steal the ball and pass to Danny. Danny, I want you to shoot a fake three which will be a decoy alley for Kofi. They will be afraid to foul you and give us a free throw. Kofi, I want you to dunk that alley-“
“Huh?!” I interjected, “You want me to what?! The last time I tried an alley I almost broke my wrist. You want me to be the one who failed the team? Why don’t you do it?”
“Bro, I believe in you”, he replied, “Plus the alley will catch them off guard and ensure there’s no time for a counter play.”
This boy thought we were acting a movie or something, throwing cheesy lines like that around. The problem is, when the captain believes in you, everyone believes in you. I was going to have to finish it. We broke up our huddle and prepared for our last play. Everyone was nervous.
I felt I would piss my pants.
The Final Play
It took a full four seconds for Kwame to steal the ball. Another three to get it to Danny.
One quick glance at me, one quick glance at the rim, and the fake three was in the air.
I panicked. I ran. I jumped.
Too early. I barely connected with the ball.
Was I about to dunk with just my finger tips?
It was going in… it was going in… the crowd held their breath…
Fat chance. The ball slipped off my fingers as I dropped out of the air… it bounced on the inner rim, then unto the outer rim… and began to roll off the rim!!!
I was dead. I’d messed up the alley hoop. Two days of breaking bounds for nothing.
As I landed I caught a glimpse of a flash of black dash past me and take off into the air.
My good friend, I was witnessing the greatest rebound in Motown basketball history, as PY caught the ball in mid-air and drove it into net, executing a slam dunk that would make Lebron squeal.
The crowd went silent in disbelief… and then when we realized what had just happened we let out a thunderous roar! I was like…
We won! We actually won!
For the first (and last) time in history, the teachers and the bound-breakers rushed unto the court and joined hands to lift us up in celebration. It took the teachers a while to realize they had made a mistake in celebrating with us. We were no longer a bunch of truant hooligans. We were basketball heroes.
We had won the tournament by a single point.
Let us now exit the ‘Avatar State’…
Back To Reality
[Kodzo here]
“Ah, Ɛkpɛ, you sure say this thing happen?” I asked with skepticism.
“Oh yeah”, he replied.
The lights suddenly came on. Power had been restored; our little ‘By the Fireside’ would be broken up soon.
“If you figa adey lie”, Ɛkpɛ said as he stood up to leave, “check the best sportsmen’s list at the administration block. Look for a name with the initials ‘PY’ around 2006.”
So… did this story actually happen? Pick a car to Motown, ask for the administration block, and check the sportsmen’s list yourself.
I can’t be answering all your questions.