A true champion

A large crowd had braved snowy, treacherous weather conditions and a two-hour drive to Nephi, Utah, to cheer for our high school state championship girls basketball game. I felt honored as I watched the townspeople troop in from our small, mountain community of Morgan, Utah. So many had come to watch us play. And boy, did they get a show! Little did I realize at that time the great lesson in life I would be taught at the end of that day.

The score teetered back and forth in that Feb. 17, 1990, game. It was a tough game, physically and mentally. Early in the second quarter, I found myself sitting on the bench with three fouls. My position not only forced me to become an observer to the battle on the court but also allowed me to notice the order in which the players were being substituted.

"Coach, what are you doing?" I thought to myself as he repeatedly put Jodi Rees, a sophomore, into the game before Trisha Garn, a junior. Trisha had been the first person off the bench all season, and now, at a state game, Coach Wade Fiscus was giving Trisha's time to Jodi. Jodi's abilities were certainly par, but changes like this in such an important game weren't characteristic of Coach Fiscus. I finally decided he must have a good reason and didn't question his motives.

Throughout the third and fourth quarters, the game remained close. While Jodi played her best game, Trisha sat on the bench smiling and cheering her heart out for her friend. Trisha only played a few seconds of the entire championship game.

It came down to the final 30 seconds, and the teams were tied. We went up by one, then two and finally three. A missed three-point attempt by the opposing team gave us the ball with nine seconds remaining. We were still cautious but could taste the win. The seconds ticked down as we passed the ball to midcourt, and the buzzer sounded, making us state champions by a score of 53-50! Bedlam broke out as our fans and teammates swarmed to the floor and surrounded us. We had just achieved the goal we had worked for all year. The trophy was ours, and we reveled in our moment of glory.

After the presentation of the trophies, ladders were brought out to cut the nets down, and each team member made the climb to the top to cut a string. Finally the net hung by one lonely string. Hal Rees, Jodi's dad, had the honor of cutting it. He struggled awkwardly up the ladder, and gripping the scissors firmly, managed to snip the last piece.

As the net dropped to the floor, tears rolled down the cheeks of our Morgan fans; and when it was placed around Mr. Rees's neck, members of the Rees family held each other tight.

I soon came to understand why Jodi had played more than Trisha. It was not because Coach Fiscus was crazy, and it was not because one player was a lot better than the other; it was because our friend and teammate had done the most unselfish thing possible -- she had asked Coach to let Jodi have her playing time. Trisha Garn understood what many in the room didn't. Jodi's 40-year-old dad would not live to see her play again. He was dying of a brain tumor.

Trisha's selfless act and the sight of Hal hugging Jodi really put our state championship in perspective for me. Sure, it was nice to have the honors, but compared to matters of family and love for others, it didn't seem so significant.

"I don't feel like I made a sacrifice," Trisha said. "Jodi is an outstanding athlete. I wanted to do this for my friend."

Two-and-a-half weeks after the game, Jodi's dad died. At his funeral, the song "Wind beneath My Wings" was sung. Every time I hear the line from that song, "Did you ever know that you were my hero?"I think of Trisha. She is my hero. And she'd probably say, "No big deal." But it's a big deal to me.

Resource: "Everyday Heroes" by Jay A. Parry, courtesy of Deseret Book

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