It’s the most wonderful time of year! Buzzer beaters, storming comebacks, 40 foot three pointers, the tight game won in 3 overtimes when one team proves they can hit free throws…

I love it. So much.

But this year has been a little different for me because of an ongoing discussion (debate?) that I’ve been having with a friend of mine about our differing underlying philosophies on the game of basketball. I’ve found this discussion fascinating, because for some reason, (I don’t know why), it didn’t really occur to me that there would be categorically different understandings of what constitutes “good basketball.”

See, I grew up on Indiana basketball. The smart, methodical team play common in Indiana basketball philosophy was what I came to see as the epitome of good play. Showy dunks and great players were fine, but solid team basketball by players with strong fundamental skills was always more highly valued in my mind.

And now, I’m confronted with the idea that there are people who love basketball not because of the beautifully run offense or the flawlessly stifling defense, but because of some great players who can do truly incredible things on the court. (Again, why this had never occurred to me, I will never know.)

And there’s nothing wrong with that viewpoint, but I personally find watching individual players who shine inherently less interesting than a well-organized and cohesive team playing solid basketball.

To me, the small mid-major team like Butler, or VCU, or Stephen F. Austin, shocking everyone by beating teams with players who will play in the NBA next year, is a much more interesting and captivating story. And it’s not just because it’s David vs Goliath, but because these smaller teams are full of players who know they’re probably never going to play basketball at this level ever again. Despite knowing that, they want to play the best they can for as long as they can. They worked so hard, together, to get here. And they’re not throwing away their shot. I love watching this passion, teamwork, and camaraderie that is intrinsic to March Madness.

This ongoing debate with my friend, has forced me to reflect on where my basketball principles come from, and why I hold them so dearly. But in that reflection, I’ve begun to recognize that my perspective on basketball has permeated my life in more ways than I’d ever considered before.

You see, I played basketball, passionately, for years as a kid. Early on, I was really, really bad. Like, coaches looked at me and thought: “This kid is maybe the 9th best player on the team…out of 10.” With little natural athleticism, I was the gangly sixth grader who couldn’t dribble a basketball to save her life. But somewhere along the way, I decided that I loved the game of basketball more than just about anything else, and that I wanted to get good at it. Like really good. I knew it would be hard, but I wanted to do it anyway.

So I became the kid out in the cold Minnesota winter shooting hoops in the driveway with her gloves on; the kid who went to the gym with her dad virtually every day to practice her shooting; the kid who suffered hot, humid summer mornings for three hour fundamentals clinics three times a week all summer long; the kid whose parents were kind enough to give up countless weekends to endure and coach in endless basketball tournaments; the kid who traveled to Purdue’s women’s basketball camp to learn from some of the best college players out there.

But I was never going to be the kid who played in college. I was never going to go pro, or be the star. That was never my destiny, or my goal. And I knew that. But I wanted to do the thing anyway. Because it was hard, and because I loved the game.

But I also knew that I wanted to be the best I could be because that might help my team succeed. It was never about me wanting the fame and glory as the best player on the court (which I was on occasion). I knew if all of my fundamentals were solid, if I watched and learned and played smart ball, my team would be better. And that was what mattered.

Fast forward 15 years, and as I’m reflecting on the role basketball has played in my life, I see so many parallels to how I approach my work.

I didn’t go to graduate school to be the best developmental psychologist. I didn’t write a book for the fame and glory. I didn’t start a YouTube channel to be a star. I’ve done those things because they were challenging and because they help me be the best version of myself. And I know when I’m at my best, I can contribute to the global “team” successes in ways that are much more meaningful to me than any individual success I might achieve.

So as I continue to watch the March Madness unfold, and continue this somewhat intractable debate with my good friend, I’m forced to ponder how much of who I am today stems from my experiences playing and watching basketball, and the many lessons it taught me in my young years.

It also makes me think that sports have a lot more value and power than we give them credit for. Great exercise? Sure. Great social experience? Yep. Great skill building? Absolutely.

But sports (and music, and arts and all of those extra-curricular activities really) teach us lessons that permeate our approach to the world for the rest of our lives. And it’s fascinating to me to look back on it now and ponder how all those hours watching Indiana basketball, late nights of shooting at the gym, and weekends spent playing in countless tournaments shaped my entire approach to life.

So here’s to all those kids who are out in the cold this March practicing that half court buzzer beater, post move, and behind the back dribble. Even if you’ll never be the star, you’ll learn more about yourself than you ever thought possible.

Play on.