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It was a 1970s basketball game that Hiwassee Dam badly wanted to win. We practiced harder than usual because this was the big game of the year. Against Murphy. There was no other team in the world we wanted to beat more. Hiwassee Dam did not sport a football team – our rivalry battles were on the hardwood.
There are some who say that karma takes exception to those who want something too much, and in turn rather than rewarding the person’s yearning, their actions push the fulfillment of their dream further away. In the years in which I played basketball, I suspect that was in effect.
At Hiwassee Dam, we stored our basketballs on a rolling cart with three levels of double rails, holding a dozen or so basketballs. Our practice balls were, quite frankly, embarrassing. Most of them had a bulging hernia of rubber protruding from the otherwise round object or a leather panel starting to peel away, making what was supposed to be a normal dribble subject to veer off in any direction.
While the flaws may have made us better dribblers, when we took to the court for the pregame warm-up, even teenagers could note that across the court there was another cart holding basketballs for the Bulldogs. None of theirs had bulging spots – and instead of the dark, almost black leather of our basketballs, most of theirs were a bright new brown.
The Hiwassee Dam Eagles did have one shiny new ball; we called it the game ball, held in the coach’s office, and only used for games, never practice or scrimmages. That basketball felt entirely different from our practice balls. It was harder, and there was a new pebbly finish to the leather outside panels instead of the beaten smooth panels on our usual balls.
That comparison of basketballs helps explain the conflict of rivalries that exists in this county beyond sports, especially when the word consolidation rears its ugly head. This column is not here to take a side, but rivalries do play a factor.
One unsubstantiated rumor in those days was the new basketballs were delivered to Murphy, who in turn handed their used worn-out basketballs down to Hiwassee Dam. If it was true or not was not the issue; that folks in Hiwassee Dam could believe it possible, from appearances, was the problem.
I almost switched sides once. I needed advanced math classes to pursue my early plans to be an engineer. I grasped math easily.
But in my junior year at Hiwassee Dam, I was unable to get anything related to a math course above algebra 1, which I had already completed. I attempted to transfer to Murphy to get the classes I needed. I had approval from Murphy’s principal, all I needed was a release from my principal, who voiced no concerns when I talked with him.
I turned in my books at home room, told everyone goodbye and went to pick up the release. I was informed by the principal that I would not be given a release because “it is not in your best interest.” I got no further explanation.
The following year, algebra II and geometry were taught together in a combined class. But without trigonometry or calculus in my education, my engineering plans by necessity drifted to journalism.
I suspected that my leaving to go to a larger school for more advanced classes was feared that it might start an exodus of students from Hiwassee Dam.
Murphy is cursed with being in the near geographic center of the country, is how Wally Avett terms it. Consolidation was resisted for years by community elders at Hiwassee Dam, who in the 1940s had ridden a bus to Murphy for high school. One tongue-in-cheek response from an HD graduate was if the bus ride was not an issue, then build the new high school at Hiwassee Dam, where the land was more available.
Thankfully, times have changed for the better in many ways since I was in high school, with better course options, the Early College and more opportunities for county students.
I remain neutral in consolidation talk, but talk of consolidation that makes sense always seems to revert back to the kids on one side of the gym with dirty bulging basketballs, and the other side with a rack of near new ones – and a game the only way to express disdain for the situation. On such things rivalries fester and build into larger issues.
We learn quickly when going to college that we often find ourselves no longer talking county rivalries, but become close friends with anyone from Cherokee County – until basketball season.
Despite wanting to beat Murphy and falling short, there was one shining game moment when your author, clad in Eagle blue, stole a dribble on a Murphy opponent and broke into a fast break – but I missed the layup.
However, a Murphy cheerleader, Debbie Graves, was on her feet and had been cheering me on, despite my being on the other team. She and I had dated a few times. That moment, the thought flashed through my mind, “I should marry that girl someday.”
Rivalries aside, I did. We celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary in November at The Ballroom in Murphy.
Bruce Voyles’ local history column runs every other week in the Cherokee Scout. Email him at RoadsLessTraveled@cherokeescout.com.