Flopping is what it's cracked up to be - and part of our sports culture

By JOHN McCALLUM

Editor

I have a confession to make. I have been guilty of flopping.

Yes, I know. It’s hard to believe.

It happened during junior varsity basketball my sophomore year in high school. We were playing at Harrington, leading, and during a change in possession late in the first half my coach Jerry Price was yelling at us for someone to stop the ball — basketball code for “someone please guard the guy dribbling the ball up court.”

The guards who should have been doing it were too busy running up court to get under the basket. Why, I don’t know because as one of the taller players on the team, that was my spot as a forward.

I was the last guy up the court so, I turned and did what my coach was demanding someone do: I stopped the ball. Literally.

The guy bringing the ball up was easily 7 inches shorter than me and much smaller in frame. I turned, went into my defensive stance and as he tried to move around me to my left, I shuffled in front of him — and that’s when it happened.

We made ever so slight contact — I think his head hit me in the numbers — and as we did, I arched backwards, threw my hands up and fell on my butt and back.

In other words, one slight push and down goes McCallum.

You know what? It worked. The Harrington kid got the offensive foul, we got the ball, the Wilbur fans snickered ever so slightly, drowned out by the howls and shouts of “You’ve got to be kidding me!” of the Harrington faithful.

I did catch one exclamation of incredulity from the crowd as I ran back up court, exchanging a sheepish smile with Coach Price. It went something like, “(Whatever the player’s name was) couldn’t knock that big ogre over if he had a 50 yard running start!”

Hey, I’m not proud of the moment. But I did my job. I was taking a charge, and it’s not my fault for making the call. It’s the person wearing the black and white stripped shirt. Leave me out of it.

Looking back, it wasn’t even a very good act on my part. After all, sports coverage was basically what came over the airwaves into your TV, limited to maybe four channels and 18-20 hours of airtime.

I didn’t have professional athletes to emulate with my theatrics. I didn’t have World Cup soccer as an avenue with which to gain ideas.

If I had, I might have done a better job. Instead of popping up and jogging off, I could have rolled on the floor, grimacing in agony as if the kid broke a couple ribs. I could have clasped my head in my hands, face down on the hardwood.

I could have held an arm in pain — he hit me in the chest — doing an homage to former Harlem Globetrotter great Meadowlark Lemmon by screaming “My leg!” I could have writhed and gesticulated so much, team trainers would have run onto the court, Coach Price would have hovered over me with a concerned look on his face, and that cute, brunette cheerleader I had an amazing crush on might have later consented to go out with me in sympathy.

But no. I lacked tutelage in the art of the dive, as it’s referred to in soccer. I lacked role models, examples giving me inspiration.

These acting jobs aren’t unique to soccer of course. Watch any NBA game, even college basketball. Even the NFL got into the act — remember Seattle coach Chuck Knox’s late game strategy to earn an extra time out by having players fake injuries?

Some say diving or flopping is cheating. If it is, it’s up to officials to make that call and not reward it.

But like it or not, acting is part of the game. After all, any more, sports are entertainment.

If I had known what I know now after watching the World Cup, I might have gone farther in my basketball career.

The designated diver.

John McCallum can be reached at [email protected].