Opinion: AFA junior forced to give up hoops dream

Brian Scheller can't play college basketball. His knees won't let him.

So he sits on the Air Force bench as a student-coach. The game he adores zips along a few feet away.

Without him.

"Oh, it's hard," said Scheller, a junior. "It's terrible."

Scheller was a star at the prep school in the 2005-06 season. He was a shooting guard who soared above the rim. He had a knack for hitting clutch shots.

Coach Bob Cavera calls him the "most complete" player he's seen at the prep school. In scrimmages against the Air Force varsity, players knew they were watching a special talent.

"Excellent player," senior forward Matt Holland said. "Could jump out of the gym. Quick as a rabbit. I didn't like guarding him, that's for sure."

In high school, Scheller led Ohio's North Canton Hoover to 60 wins and only five losses.

He competed - and triumphed - in dunk contests. He could grab a basketball, take to the air, place the ball between his legs, pull it back above his head and slam.

But as Scheller prepared for his freshman year at the academy, the pain in his knees grew unbearable. He lost his spring. He was in constant agony. A surgeon discovered severe deterioration in the patella tendons of both knees.

For a year, he battled the throbbing misery, still hoping to play. Finally, he was forced to surrender.

In the fall of 2007, Scheller walked into coach Jeff Reynolds office and said in a soft voice, "I can't do this. I'm done."

He was battling tears. He never played a minute of college basketball. He knew, at this moment, he never would.

"And that was my dream," he said.

Reynolds stood to deliver a brief, impassioned speech.

Yes, Reynolds said, you are finished as a player.

But you are not finished as a member of this team.

"I want you here every day," Reynolds said. "You're one of us."

Scheller attends each practice and at games sits on the bench with players who should have been his teammates.

He watches closely, searching for secrets to share. He sees a slight quirk in Andrew Henke's shot, or a small hole in the opposing defense.

Henke, and others, listen carefully. Henke compares Scheller to former Falcons star Tim Keller.

"We know how good he could have been," Henke said.

Scheller knows, too.

He's quick to say he's thankful to remain part of the team. He's in debt to Reynolds for his aggressive kindness.

Yet moments arrive when he wants more. At these moments, he can't help but look on the court and see himself dribbling, shooting, dunking and winning.

"I love basketball more than anything in the world, with the exception of my religion and my family and my friends," Scheller said. "I love the game. I could watch college basketball all day.

"When it first happened, I asked, ‘Why would God take away the one thing that really makes me happy? Why did God do this to me?'"

He awaits the full answer to his questions. He is wise enough to share his burden.

He shared his torment with his parents, Christine and Ken, and they have gently and persistently told him to keep his injury in perspective. Think of all your blessings, they tell him.

"You know, they keep me on the path," he said.

He's talking about a path of hope. He said he's "pretty close" to finding peace.

Watch him during a game. Watch his eyes locked on the action.

Watch a player who can't play.

A player pretty close to finding peace.

But not quite there yet.