Dear basketball, I miss you
My struggles with depression since I lost the sport I love
Written by Drew McFall
On March 25, 2019, I fulfilled one of my lifelong dreams. I signed a letter of intent to play college basketball. My family cheered me on as my mom snapped embarrassing photos to share on Facebook.
My name was written vividly at the bottom of the letter. To this day, I still think it is the best-looking signature I’ve ever scribbled. Just like that, I was committed to playing basketball in Wisconsin at Silver Lake College.
This was a moment I had dreamed of my entire basketball career. All of the early-morning trips to Seattle with my family for tournaments, the constant training with former professional and college players, and every game and practice had led to this moment.
Sports have always been a big part of my identity.
Ever since I was young, I tried almost every sport. I played soccer, football, track and cross-country before finally settling on my favorite: basketball. When I wasn’t playing, I entertained myself by watching every sport imaginable.
I was in fifth grade when I played basketball for the first time for a Boys & Girls Club team. We won every game and triumphantly won the local championship.
After that first season, I realized I loved two things: basketball and winning.
The next year, I signed up for Amateur Athletic Union, which allowed me to continue to play basketball while traveling across the country.
My journey to college basketball started after my performance in a game my high school played against Lynden Christian High School.
I played the game of my life and outscored Division I commit Cole Bajema for three and a half quarters. Ultimately, he took over and finished with 29 points; I trailed by two, scoring 27. Multiple college coaches were able to watch the game film and I received a couple of offers to play college ball soon after.
Fast forward about two years, to 2021. I started playing locally at Whatcom Community College after Silver Lake College went bankrupt and shut down.
When I arrived to practice on March 16, I didn’t know it would be the last day of my college basketball career. I got to the gym an hour early to work out with my longtime coach Tony LaLonde. At this time, I was feeling and moving great, and excited to practice with my team.
After we stretched and warmed up, the team started doing a basic drill. The gym was full of energy. It was a drill I’d done hundreds of times before.
Right as I got a pass from a teammate, the third defender came rushing into play from the sideline. I went up to softly lay the ball into the net and then:
Snap! Crack! Pop!
These were the sounds that echoed when I came down and landed right on my teammate’s foot. The uneven surface I landed on caused my ankle to roll and immediately break.
Too focused on keeping the practice going, my coach was unaware of the significance of my injury.
“Get him off the floor!” he yelled. He was all business.
As I tried to get up, a sharp pain shot through my whole body. My left foot instantly swelled up and a tennis ball-sized bump grew onto the outside of my foot. I sat there in pain as my teammates began to surround me. Sitting on the cold wood, my thoughts spiraled and I wondered what would become of my basketball career.
This wasn’t the first time I broke my ankle. While playing basketball in high school, I broke the opposite ankle and was able to recover after only two months. But from the instant I landed, I knew this break was different. I knew I had an uphill climb to play basketball again.
In the following months I went to physical therapy twice a week. I was making progress, but it was painfully slow. After months of trying to heal myself, I still moved slower, had trouble walking and would wake up in pain if even a soft blanket pushed on my ankle.
Despite my resistance, I finally had to accept the true severity of my injury. I made the decision that I could no longer play basketball.
Growing up I struggled with depression off and on, but basketball was always the shield against my worsening mental illness. Without the comfort of basketball, I found myself in a deep hole of depression after my injury.
No matter the struggles and changes that happened in my life, I felt at home whenever I stepped onto the court. Basketball was the only constant in my life and now I had to transition further in life without my security blanket.
Finding a new identity in a transitional phase of life can be difficult, but it is a journey many go through at some point in their life.
I tried so hard to continue to be part of the team and act like everything was normal. I attended every one of my team’s games and cheered them on from the sidelines while I attempted to recover.
After each game I would hobble with my crutches to the car and cry. I would reminisce on all of the great moments I had on the court in my 10 years playing basketball: all the wins, the baskets, the fans and the friendships made. They were all in the past, no longer my present or my future. Psychologically, retiring from basketball hit me like a truck.
To make matters worse, the month after I broke my ankle I had to attend a signing day at my old high school for my younger sister, Hope. The whole hour event had me feeling awful, reminiscing on my own signing just two years earlier. The whole time I had to respond to two simple questions: “What happened to your foot?” and my least favorite, “What are you going to do now?”
I didn’t know what I was going to do now. Being forced into retirement caused me to soul search and find out what was next. I was left to find a new comfort in my new world of discomfort.
According to sports psychologist Chris Stankovich, sports retirement transitions can lead to increased feelings of depression, anxiety, isolation and confusion. These were all things I had been going through at the time of my retirement, too.
When I started college, I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do and what I wanted to major in. Basketball gave me a reason to pursue higher education and find my passions outside of the sport. I always told myself I would go to college, but I am unsure if I actually would have if I wasn’t driven by basketball.
But, once I stopped playing basketball, I found myself checked out of school. I would skip class all the time and, even when I was in class, I was uninterested.
I had no purpose, no motivation. Even after declaring journalism as my major in 2021, I still find myself having low motivation for school. My grades were much better when I was playing basketball, even though I was busier.
A study from the NCAA explained that having to retire from career-ending injuries has huge psychological negatives. Some negatives include loss of identity, lack of internal support and mental health decline, especially with someone who associates their identity with sports.
This transition period, which I’m still experiencing, has been a difficult one, I try to remind myself that discomfort is a normal feeling. The past two years have challenged me.
Ever since losing my sport, trying to build a new identity has been hard. This journey has been filled with many ups and downs. My struggle isn’t over. It will be something I will continue to struggle with my entire life, but it brings me peace to know I am not the only one going through it.
Although this injury closed the door on my collegiate career, I know many other doors are going to open in the future. I am grateful that basketball allowed me to go to college and explore other interests.
I hope to remain connected to my comfort sport and pursue a career that still has to do with basketball and maybe even be a commentator for ESPN. Although a rough transition, my injury taught me that I can persevere through the most devastating of times and reminds me that I can still pave my own future.
