I coached a team that was interesting to say the least.

Point guard was a Hmong whose parents were some of the boat people that immigrated here to keep from getting killed.

Two power forwards. One was a bit overweight white kid from an affluent family. The other was a ripped black kid from a middle class family whose other child earned an Olympic Gold Medal as a wrestler.

Center was a 6’9” Indian named Ranbir that everyone called Root Beer.

Combo guards were a milquetoast white kid(mine) that earned the nickname “White Chocolate” and an incredibly athletic black kid that lived in a shack with his mom and six brothers and sisters. Literally a dirt floor.

Had a Serbian kid with no vowels in his last name that was an exchange student. He loved rap music and wore headphones on road trips spouting lyrics he didn’t get.

And one skinny tall white dude that could not play. But, he was funny as hell and the rest of the kids loved having him around.

We would enter a gym and would get the weirdest looks. You could hear murmuring in the crowd and some laughter...until the game started.

We would run a back door alley oop to the dirt poor black kid and try to follow that with a bomb from the 5’4” Hmong kid. Then we’d get serious.

Those kids were fun.