Sometimes, covering the Syracuse women’s basketball team, I wonder: How would I do if I were out there?

Then, I remember how I cried after I was cut from my sixth-grade travel team.

Still, I had to find out. Since I get winded walking up a flight of stairs, I knew I couldn’t actually play with the Orangewomen. Instead, I challenged junior Julie McBride, the Orangewomen’s star point guard, to a game of H-O-R-S-E.

McBride, sensing her easiest win since St. Bonaventure, accepted.

OK. The game’s about to begin, with McBride shooting first. I’m confident. I’m the Beast of the Bank Shot. I’ve got more game than a Globetrotter. I’m …

In trouble. McBride quickly sinks a 3-pointer and a jumper from the elbow. My response is an eclectic mix of wayward heaves (because, of course, I’m using a women’s ball. Now I see why Shaq and his gargantuan hands can’t shoot free throws).

Before you can say ‘mismatch,” I’m down H-O to nothing. This looks ugly.

The carnage continues, as we exchange misses before McBride makes a 360-layup. My attempt rolls off the rim, and I’m more embarrassed than Dan Quayle in a spelling bee. I’m now down three letters to none.

Determined to make it a game, I resort to cheap tactics. I stand on the left side of the rim and call a wraparound layup. I make it, and McBride misses — mostly because she’s giving up 8 inches. At this point, I’ll take whatever I can get.

H-O-R to H.

The comeback continues when, from the left blocks, I bounce a shot off the floor, off the glass and in. Now, I’m down one letter.

The fans leaving for the turnstiles do a 180 when I sink one from the behind the backboard. We’re all tied up with two letters to play.

I still can’t adjust to the women’s ball. Most of my 3-pointers bounce off the front rim, prompting McBride to utter, ‘You’re short.’ Hey, it’s cold outside.

Anyway, I overcome this comment when I call glass on a three from well beyond NBA range and convert. Unbelievably, I’m in the lead, and McBride’s one letter away from losing to a hack.

McBride sets up a tie by making a three from the corner.

‘Damn, that’s hot,’ McBride confidently says.

Hot, yes. But not hot enough. I counter her shot to remain up a letter.

McBride drains another 3-pointer, and this time she capitalizes on my weakness from beyond the arc. The contest now has more tension than Tommy Lasorda’s belt — next letter loses.

My next attempt goes awry, and McBride wisely exploits the bane of sports journalists — athletic ability. She throws the ball up, chases it down and, off one bounce, puts in a reverse layup. Hmmm … coordination sure would come in handy at a time like this. I miss, and my miracle comeback is thwarted.

McBride and I shake on a well-played game, and she says, ‘That was the longest game of H-O-R-S-E I’ve ever played. I usually don’t use trick shots.’

Adam Kilgore is an assistant sports editor at The Daily Orange, where his columns appear regularly. E-mail him at adkilgore@syr.edu.

Published on February 4, 2003 at 12:00 pm