Pat Conroy, one of America’s premier
novelists, has penned a deeply affecting coming-of-age memoir about family,
love, loss, basketball—and life itself. During one unforgettable season as a
Citadel cadet, Conroy becomes part of a basketball team that is ultimately
destined to fail. And yet for a military kid who grew up on the move, the
Bulldogs provide a sanctuary from the cold, abrasive father who dominates his
life—and a crucible for becoming his own man.
With all the drama and incandescence of
his bestselling fiction, Conroy re-creates his pivotal senior year as captain
of the Citadel Bulldogs. He chronicles the highs and lows of that fateful
1966–67 season, his tough disciplinarian coach, the joys of winning, and the
hard-won lessons of losing. Most of all, he recounts how a group of boys came
together as a team, playing a sport that would become a metaphor for a man
whose spirit could never be defeated.
Review:
“I was never a good player, but the sport allowed me glimpses into
the kind of man I was capable of becoming.”
Pat Conroy My Losing Season: Prologue
Conroy is speaking of the game of basketball, a sport I never found
all that interesting; however, this line hooked me into reading an entire book
largely to do with basketball. I wanted to know what man Conroy became
especially after finding out his father verbally and physically abused him
daily making him feel like he was never more than a loser. Then Conroy attended
the Citadel, a military school notoriously known for its man-breaking plebe
drills, and last there was Conroy’s basketball coach at the Citadel, a guy
named Mel Thompson, a guy who bled his team through intimidation and fear.
Despite the weight of negativity pushing Conroy under, he found his
voice, his inner team spirit. Below is a passage after the Citadel played
Greensboro N.C. Conroy speaks first, then Rat, another team player for the
Citadel.
“Why did Mel excuse me from his ass-kicking?” I asked.
“Because you were terrific,” Rat whispered. “You scored twenty-five
points. You made nine out of thirteen shots. Hit all seven of your free throws.
You were good.”
This personal win fell short for Conroy because the team lost and as
team captain he felt ultimately responsible. But later, he says he wouldn’t
change anything about that game that year.
“My team taught me there could be courage and dignity and humanity
in loss. They taught me how to pull myself up, and hold my head high and to
soldier on.”
And Conroy did soldier on becoming one of the finest writers I’ve
ever read. My Losing Season is a memoir that doesn’t drown itself with exposition, instead it breaks its storytelling into
excellent dialogue coupled with passages of telling. Conroy doesn’t just tell
his story; he shows it bringing the reader right into his own heart.
Again, I never cared much for basketball, but after reading Conroy’s
story, and playing the game through his eyes, his heart, I learned the
importance of a good point-guard, an award winning pass and dribble, and how
all of those things parallel to the basic universal needs to be loved and
recognized. It made me reflect on myself, pull on my inner strengths, and
persevere become more aware. Isn’t this what good story telling and writing
combined accomplish?
Conroy’s losing season was about losing, but was equally about
perseverance and strong wins. Conroy became hugely successful publishing
several more books, three of which made movie deals. He died this past March,
but his books and words live on in places like Hollywood, Amazon, Barnes and
Noble and in the hearts of those who listen.
