One point.

On a free throw. That banked in. But hey, it counted.

That was my high score in an official basketball game: One.

I was on the junior high team, playing in the first of two games against a rival school on the road during the 1971-72 season. Coach Brace split us into two teams and I was a reserve on the B squad.

When my friend Keith, the starting center, lined up for an offensive play when we were, in fact, on defense, coach Brace made the call for me. Into the game I went, and I played the rest of the way.

We only had plays for the forwards, strangely enough. Depending on what side I lined up in the high post, the play went through them. So Hank and Bob got all the shots; I was hoping to get a pass from one of them under the basket, but no such luck.

My other hope for a hoop was to score off  a rebound, but that didn’t happen. But at one point, I was fouled. In those days, when Wilt Chamberlain, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and I played center for our teams, there was such a thing as a one-shot foul.

I toed the line and sent a shot right at the center of the rim. However, it was much too hard. But it slammed into the backboard — the bangboard, as we called it — and went through the basket.

I had scored!

We won the game, as I recall. I’m not sure if it was a one-point win, but it may have been.

I suited up in sixth, eighth and ninth grades. I was a reserve all three years and have often noted that I played all three positions — I sat at the center of the bench, leaned forward and was told to guard the towels.

Coach Brace was our leader all three seasons. He had been a star athlete in his hometown.

Bryan was a good football coach; our team in eighth grade went undefeated and I think we may have shut out every opponent.

He was an especially good track coach and after he left our school for a job at a neighboring town, he won several state track titles.

Basketball, however, was not really his forte — note the offense we ran in my big game.

We struggled all three years I played for him, and since I spent most games watching, you can’t blame me for that.

Although he did once. We were getting crushed by our chief rival when I was in eighth grade. At halftime, coach Brace berated the starters for their poor performance, and then turned on the benchwarmers.

We were also at fault, he said, since if we played better in practice our starters would not have been so overwhelmed in a game. I guess you can make a case for that.

During my freshman year, we won exactly one game. Most times, we got blown off the court.

When we dragged ourselves back into the locker room after the season finale, Brace had one thing to tell us: “I will NEVER coach basketball again!”

My friend Dale, my bench-warming buddy, quietly applauded. It had been a long season, and I understood just how coach Brace felt.

I had not topped my high-point game, set the year before, so I decided to retire to intramural and schoolyard games. I think my record in those games is 36 points.

But that’s another story.