UNC Basketball Rewind: A Day at Woollen with Ed Cota
By mattstradley
It was ten or eleven years ago. I was going to Woollen with a buddy of mine. For those of you that aren’t initiated, Woollen is where the serious ballers go during the summer. That’s not to say that I was a serious baller, but I was at the peak of my athletic ability at 22. I wasn’t close to the best player on the court, but I definitely wasn’t the worst either. My goal in each pick-up game was to play solid defense, block a few shots, make a couple mid-range jumpers, and even if I didn’t do any of the above, don’t fall down.
As I walk into the gym, there is a palpable buzz. I’m seeing more people there than usual, and the first court is hopping. My buddy Rut gets in my ear and mumbles “Cota’s here.” I remember the goosebumps well.
When I arrived at UNC, you had Vince Carter and Antwan Jamison catching passes from an amazingly talented PG. Ed Cota threw the most amazing almost alley-oop to Carter I’ve ever seen – against Dook, which made it even better. Cota from half court launches a pass that looks like it’s about 2 miles too high. But it fades at the end and hits Carter perfectly at the apex of his jump. Carter threw it down amazingly hard, and it bounced off the back of the rim. The “AWWWWW” of the crowd turned into a “YEAHHHHHH!” as the rebound bounced to Shammond Williams who buried the three. I still strongly believe that Cota should have gotten the assist.
Back to Woollen. There he was. And for the record, I’d never ever buy a ruler from the company that made the one he was measured at 6’2 with. Or maybe I would. But I digress. We must have been there for a while, but it seemed like a second. Rut says in his mumbled whisper “We’re up.”
Nerves don’t begin to explain it. We step onto the court. Five on five, full court. For the sake of all access, I’m replacing all curse words in this conversation with the word quantify. Rut says to me, “I got Newby,” referring to Terrance Newby, another Varsity alum. “You can go quantify yourself” I replied, “you’re way quicker than me. You take Cota.” I just didn’t want to fall down. I ended up on Cota.
He wasn’t killing me, but he wasn’t trying. He could have. He knew it and I knew it. The ball looked like a yo-yo in his hand. He could make it do things that Newton could not have explained. I knew he was taking it easy on me. But easy was about all I could handle. Then it happened.
He was casually dribbling the ball at the top of the key. I had given him a little bit of space, but he was just in range of my stupidly long, gangly arms. He went from his right hand to his left and I swiped, and I got it. I got it. I got the ball. I could feel it on my right hand. As my arm continued the arc of the swipe, I readied my left hand to secure the ball, and my hands slapped together. Oh no.
I looked up, and Ed’s looking right at me, dribbling the ball defiantly right in front of me. Daring me to try it again. I stared at him for what felt like an hour, but in real time was likely a second. I heaved a sigh that could be heard on court eight. Then I got down in my most ridiculous Bob Cousyesque 1950’s defensive pose.
The game was over. We lost a close one. I scored 2 times, Ed scored 3. I had one steal (technically. Maybe not, but I’m claiming it) and he had one. His was way more impressive than mine. It was still a dream come true for me. The biggest reason is I didn’t fall down. It says more about Ed than it says about me. He could have. He didn’t. I’ll be forever thankful for that.