There is this old saying in quantum mechanics that “nothing is real unless it is observed.” Actually, it’s a concept I’ve known all about for years, going back to way before I stumbled upon “Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle” or “Schrödinger’s Cat.”
Back then, as a frightened youngster in the rear seat of a late-’40s Pontiac at a drive-in movie theater up in the Idaho panhandle, I discovered I could erase whatever imminent danger prowled about the screen simply by ducking down behind the front seat and closing my eyes. If I didn’t observe, nothing threatening transpired.
It’s an acquired skill that should be taken out for a walk periodically if one wants it to be operating properly in a time of need. If truth be known, prior to this past Saturday, I hadn’t taken mine out in quite some time.
Excitement seems to have its way with me whenever I find myself down at the E-Center in West Valley City. There was the time I had seats right on the ice for a Grizzlies hockey game and a randomly ricocheting puck entered the relatively small cubicle with the moral certitude of a slug of lead from a sniper rifle. It took them two overtimes to coax me down from the rafters.
Another visit had AC/DC guitar-slinger Angus Young spraying the crowd with mutated notes from his 1964 Gibson SG Standard assault rifle. There was no escaping the onslaught as he bounced about the stage in his schoolboy outfit splattering all within range. Dirty deeds done dirt cheap, indeed!
But nothing could have prepared me for the Utah State 3-A Girls’ Basketball finals this past weekend. With the Wasatch Wasps refusing to make much of a game of it during the first half against the Emery Spartans, the rolling of eyes became a matter of course. Turnovers and foul-trouble ruled the day. Free throws either clunked or missed the rim entirely.
The Wasps, who went undefeated on their way to a state title last year, were relatively inexperienced when this season got underway but seemed to find their rhythm late in the season and had the look of a team of destiny as they somewhat easily worked their way through the bracket to the title game.
Things weren’t looking all that good when, during the first quarter, the Wasps found themselves down 12 to 4. At that point, although usually considered very early in the game, the lead seemed somewhat insurmountable, with the way the Wasps were handling the ball and shooting, not to mention some relatively questionable calls from the officials.
Actually, it was a wonder either team could score considering the quite physical in-your-face defenses employed by each squad. The frequent double-teaming and sideswiping and crashing through elbow-rich screens gave the whole affair a not-so-subtle sense of rugby.
Through little fault of their own, the Heber bunch closed the gap somewhat and, by halftime, trailed Emery 22-16. Neither team could get its act together and maintain it for any length of time. Not that they weren’t highly talented and well coached. It had just been a very long season and the added pressure of the championship game had taken its toll.
The second half would be all about Darwin kind of a survival-of-the-fittest affair. Skill would raise its head every so often but it would be toughness that would carry the day. Wasatch and Emery would bang and bump and smash and jolt until Wasatch took its first lead quite late in the game.
During the second half it had been the Spartans turning the ball over and missing crucial shots as the Wasps began piling up rebounds and coming up with loose balls. And then, with about a minute or so to go, Wasatch hung on to a one-point lead but Emery had the ball and, with no shot clock to force their hand, kept moving the ball around to get a good look at the basket.
It would have been a highly enjoyable game had one not cared who came out on top. As it was, when the Emery coach called timeout with 17 seconds to go and outlined a game-winning play for his team, my pulse rate red-lined, my vision blurred, and the Kenworth attempting a U-turn in my head jackknifed.
Emery, hoping for the rebound on a possible miss, put up a quick shot but Wasatch grabbed the errant attempt as it came off the glass and, following a quick foul, headed for the stripe. My vital signs began to return ever so slightly.
That lasted until the Spartans rebounded the miss and headed up court with 6 seconds left and down by only one. I completely flat-lined! I couldn’t watch! Once again, I ducked down behind the front seat of the old Pontiac and called upon quantum mechanics to keep reality at bay.
But when the buzzer sounded and the Wasatch girls had repeated as state champions, I dared a peek. It was total bedlam. Life was good!
Jay Meehan is a culture junkie and a free-lance writer with a background in commercial and community radio, among other pursuits. He has been a columnist and feature writer for various Park City publications going back to 1973.