The night before my 10-year-old son’s final representative basketball tryout, he slept like a baby.
I did not.
We were both going to be at the Ringwood Hawks’ Victorian Junior Basketball League tryouts, a three-stage process (four, if you had to attend the “pre-tryouts”): Mason as a prospective player, and me as an anxious parent – and a coach.
Those two roles give me a good insight into the incredibly competitive, intense – but fun – world of junior rep basketball.
Many families register for tryouts at multiple clubs to increase their hopes of making a squad. Clubs are competitive, too – to the point of pushing the start time of their trials back at short notice, to force kids to make an early call on which club to pick.
It’s massive. There are 54 rep basketball clubs in Victoria that field more than 1200 teams each season. Not to mention NSW, where there are 81 associations.
At the Hawks, more than 900 children from under-12s up registered to try to make a team this year. With so many kids to assess – the Hawks have eight teams in the under-12s alone – the process must be split across several courts and hours.
There are no names. Each hopeful instead has a designated number on their arm and leg to identify them. Coaches and selectors amble around the courts looking serious as they write notes.
Some kids are as young as eight (known as “double-bottom-agers” as opposed to a “top-ager”, who is in his or her last season in an age group).
Typically, they are lined up by height, from tallest to shortest. They also engage in running races to see which of them are fastest. Some clubs add skill components, but tryouts are mostly a lot of “scrimmaging” (games).
Which court a player is on reflects the team they are being considered for, and that evolves throughout the process.
Normally, a coach watches the prospective players in their team at all three tryouts, but my situation was different as a parent coach.
I agreed the day before the final tryout to coach the under-12 boys’ “twos”, regardless of which team Mason was in. (My son was unimpressed when he learnt I might not be coaching him, but mostly because I might not even be at his matches.)
This year, Mason started tryouts on court one. That’s where the initial group of potential “ones” and “twos” basketballers congregate.
There were four courts in total, and by necessity, I was on court four – as far away from Mason as possible. Whether I could be unbiased was not the point. In this scenario, where players were being rated and selected, it would be a poor look if a kid’s parent was part of the process of judging him.
My task, along with another coach who was also being kept away from his son, was arguably the toughest: we had to cut a group of about 40 kids in half, within an hour.
It’s heartbreaking in some ways, but the reality of rep basketball. This is not domestic basketball, where you can sign up, pay your fees and play. Someone always misses out in rep – but that’s part of the satisfaction if you do make it.
Many of the kids had made it through the pre-tryouts the night before, which I was also part of, but here they were the next morning fighting for their rep life all over again.
Players and their parents know there is no guarantee, but it’s a lot of pressure – and what I’ve discovered from coaching children is that they think, and over-think, more than we realise.
The process is imperfect, as any number of people will tell you across countless forums, social media platforms or in person, if you’re “lucky” enough.
If you read any of these messages, you will see extreme themes: parent coaches are the devil; rep tryouts are rigged and marred by internal politics; and my Little Johnny would be NBA-bound if they just gave him a chance.
The truth, as always, is more nuanced. Sometimes, clubs get it wrong. But kids who miss out might also just not be good enough, at least not yet – and maybe never.
The jump between age groups can be significant. They are suddenly competing with more physically and emotionally mature children with extra experience, so not every kid makes it as a bottom-ager.
Anyone involved in rep tryout season is stuffed with advice. There are holiday camps beforehand “to get ready”. It’s akin to AFL grand final week for ex-players of the competing teams, where anyone with a profile can cash in.
Self-professed gurus also start pumping out videos and posts on social media with handy tips.
Make sure you walk up to the coaches, introduce yourself and shake their hand. Wear something colourful to stand out. It’s not just about scoring – show you can be a good teammate. Dive for loose balls. Defend.
For Mason, it all came down to this final tryout.
At the same time, I was finally setting eyes on the group of under-12 boys I was going to coach. On one end of the court, I was rotating kids who were already locks for “ones” and “twos” through a half-court game. At the other, Mason and others were battling for the final few ones spots.
Halfway through the session, the age group co-ordinator, Andrew Clark, appeared to have made his call – but he hadn’t. There was still one place up for grabs, with three boys left in contention, including Mason.
It was agonising. Mason seemed fairly oblivious.
A full-court game played out between those three, plus some extras, as I finalised my squad. The tryout ended. Players scattered.
I wandered into the selectors’ meeting. Suddenly, Andrew pulled me aside. “We can’t chat now, but I wanted to let you know, Mason will be in the twos.”
Conversation over. My heart sank as we walked back to continue the process. I eventually went out to the foyer to meet Mason. I gave him a hug and let him know which team he was in. He was fine.
It is just a number in the end. And for all the drama and stress of tryouts, when it comes down to it, Mason just wants to play basketball.
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