Posted on December 18, 2013
My life entered another dimension in the summer of 2005, when I first met my new team: a group of boys born in 1991 who had just moved from the U14 level into the cadet age group.
Together with my friend, B., I arrived at every practice excited.
The players seemed almost hungry for knowledge, while every day brought adventures worthy of a novel — stories that affected them and therefore us as well, and which we still remember and talk about today.
We went through a great deal together.
Whatever happened, we somehow always managed to move forward and achieve something from the goals we had set.
Because of them, our profession as youth coaches gained real meaning.
Whenever we were close to questioning whether we were on the right path, those dozen or so mischievous boys with shining eyes were standing in front of us.
They wanted to play.
And they wanted to win.
Nobody Missed Practice
At the time, I did not keep an attendance sheet.
There was no need.
Nobody was absent.
I can barely remember anyone being late either.
One of the players travelled from Hajdúböszörmény, sometimes leaving home in the early hours of the morning and returning only after the evening practice.
To this day, I do not completely understand how he managed to prepare for school the next day and still achieve excellent academic results.
One thing is certain:
he was among the leaders and became an example for all of us — and for the generations that followed.
A Team Full of Stories
We had ordinary weekdays and special game days.
At times, we competed successfully in several championships simultaneously.
We had injured players.
We had players who struggled academically but eventually found their way in their studies.
We had a bronze-medal hero who produced one final unforgettable performance against an opponent.
We had a national-team player who travelled across Europe with the country’s best, later lost his way after leaving his original environment, and eventually found another place to continue his journey.
We had an eternal scoring talent who probably should have been playing somewhere in a European league, but remained stuck at a level from which perhaps even today someone should grab him and sound the alarm.
Several of these mischievous friends used to organise weekends together at their parents’ homes simply so that the teammates who had become almost inseparable could spend even more time together.
One proudly stepped forward to lead the team during difficult times and introduced himself to the opposition as the happiest twelfth man in basketball.
Another devoured life — and girls — before making his way to the University of Technology, where perhaps he slowed down a little. But he knows his own story.
There were quiet madmen.
There was also our sharp-eared inventor of words, who eventually became a referee while continuing to play excellent basketball as a lightning-fast ball magician.
These boys have now become men.
They are approaching graduation.
And they have already made history.
They were not only some of the defining figures of the golden era of DSI, but were also part of the group with which DEAC, founded in 1919, reached the first division for the first time in its history.
And they still love basketball.
Despite their problems and injuries, practice and competition remain in their minds and in their hearts.
The Engine
Among them was B.
From the very beginning, he was the engine.
He represented the style, the fighting spirit, the momentum and the irresistible passion that were essential to winning.
We believed we could beat anyone.
We prepared all day to find ways to succeed.
We learned how to come back from behind, even when everyone else had already given up on us.
And the engine grew.
He became stronger.
Eventually, B. became one of the leaders of the DEAC team that stepped onto the court for its first-ever NB I championship game.
In the first quarter alone, he recorded a double-double.
Then, when we least expected it, everything changed.
In the ninth minute, after stealing the ball, he was hit from behind.
Weeks later, it became certain that he had torn his anterior cruciate ligament.
The First Return
After an enormous amount of work and rehabilitation, B. returned one year later.
He came back physically stronger, hungry to play and ready for competition.
He immediately brought tremendous energy to the team.
With him, it seemed possible to move to another level again.
Then, in the final game of December, away from home, he was kicked from the side directly in the operated knee.
The reconstructed ligament could not withstand it.
And the familiar nightmare began again.
But the world did not stop.
With even greater determination — almost as if driven by pure defiance — B. decided to prove that there was a way back.
Another year of work followed.
Gradually, he returned first to specialised training and then eventually to basketball.
Again
When all of us finally believed that everything was right again, another unbelievable trauma struck.
In Veszprém, it happened once more.
B. was almost impossible to contain.
He was incredibly quick.
During a drive to the basket, he was pushed while in the air and crashed painfully to the floor.
By the time I reached him, tears were already falling.
He knew something was wrong.
May 2013.
Another chapter began.
December 16, 2013
On December 16, 2013, we wrote another chapter in this story.
B.’s knee was repaired again.
And the healing process began.
For an injured athlete, surgery can represent a strange turning point.
Until that moment, everything is uncertainty.
Waiting.
Delays.
Questions.
After the operation, the direction finally changes.
Now the focus is no longer on waiting.
It is on returning.
On rehabilitation.
On work.
On moving forward.
Because B.’s basketball and his role within the team are a little like basketball itself.
You can live without it.
But why would you want to?
B.
We are waiting for you.
And we will not leave you alone.
