Gracelife Sarasota

It was the summer of 1991 at the outdoor basketball courts at USF. Pastor Joe, 23 years old, was playing pickup with college players while a crowd watched from the bleachers. It was like that Ski-Lo song, “I wish I was a little bit taller…”—everyone came to see their guy dominate the game. This may surprise you, but I was by far the shortest and slowest person on the court. It wasn’t even close. The game was at a critical point—game point, in fact. My team had the ball, and our point guard, under heavy pressure, was forced to pass it to me. I could see the sadness in his eyes. A 6'9" guy, who I'd even seen play on TV, rushed out to guard me. I panicked, thinking he was going to run me over. So, in desperation, I just heaved the ball into the air. We collided, and I went sprawling to the ground. Then I heard a massive roar from the crowd. Someone even yelled, "WHITE BOY!" To my shock, my blind 30-foot bank shot had gone in. My teammates ran over, picked me up, and we c