Recently, I had the pleasure of watching perhaps one of the most exciting basketball games in recent memory. The game was full of great plays, followed by catastrophic reversals of fortune, and followed once again by great plays, some that defied description.

No, it wasn't the Boston Celtics vs. the Los Angeles Lakers game or even LeBron James vs. Kobe Bryant. This was for the winter league 12-and-under boy's basketball championship at Judson Robinson Recreation Center in Houston, Texas.

On a recent move to Houston, and swept up in the spirit of volunteering after the recent election of Barack Obama to the White House, I walked across the street to the center and offered my services as a speaker, mentor and basketball coach for the youngsters who regularly attend the facility. After a couple of weeks of waiting for a background clearance check, all systems were go and I joined another coach as part of a three-man staff (the third is a parent of one of our players) of the 2-1 Judson Cavaliers.

I assumed coaching the boys would be radically different than guiding a girls' team of a similar age, as I did in 1999 and 2000. The reason is that boys tend to think they know all there is to know by the age of 10 or 11, especially when the topic is sports, while girls, although a bit different now with so many of them playing the game, tend to focus intently instead of bouncing off walls as we boys tend to do.

Our Cavaliers only fell slightly in that category. I found them to be very interesting as I watched them watch me every Wednesday at practice as if to say, "Who is the new coach with the glasses and the deep voice? He doesn't look like he played the game."

Of course, having felt the same way about Mr. Schneider, my physical education teacher in seventh grade, I knew better. Mr. Schneider seemed old to me because he told us his age and where he went to high school, and the sports junky in me did my research and found his words to be true. Also, he had been a pretty good player on his high school team, but with the upcoming game between us seventh grade all-stars and the faculty, there was no way he would be able to keep up … he was too old.

Of course, nothing could have been further from the truth, as Mr. Schneider, doing his best Jerry West impersonation, lit us "hoop dreamers" up for 35 points on 17-of-20 shots, all from at least 18 feet out, and the teachers beat us 58-54.

Armed with that knowledge and attempting one night at practice to break the ice with my young team, I challenged them to a game of "Horse." They looked on in amazement as I made shot after shot around the perimeter with my left hand when they knew I was right-handed based on the shots they had watched me take before practice.

I thought I'd won them over, but any doubts were put to rest at the next practice when one of our players, we call him "T", dribbled the ball in my direction, lowered his shoulder and banged into my chest as he spun past me using the contact almost as an accelerant to dart to the hoop and make a lay up. He smiled and I figured that was how he not only said, "hi coach!," but it also let me know that he remembered my words of encouragement regarding his strength (he's one of the best running backs in the city under 12 years old) and how he could use it in a way reminiscent of Baron Davis from the L.A. Clippers. Needless to say, he goes to the basket with authority and not many kids, even the six-foot, 11 year olds ("T" is about five-feet-two inches tall) try to stand in his way.

We lost the championship to a team with three six-footers, 28-27 in overtime. It was the fourth time we'd played that team. We actually saw this as the game to break the 1-1 deadlock, because our second loss to them a week earlier, 27-23, came after we'd just beaten a team 54-32 and the recreation center wanted us to fill in for a team that couldn't make it that night. So, that one didn't count in our eyes, but we used it to motivate our kids ("you lost to them only by four tonight after playing an entire game while they came in on fresh legs, you beat them by eight in mid-December and they only beat you by two points in early January.").

The tool worked because our kids left their hearts on the floor. Despite early jitters and a 11-1 deficit, we crawled back into the game, trailing 15-11 at the half. Then the fun started.

Our center Mike, a kid with unbelievable shoulders who just turned 11-years old and stands about 5-foot, 7-inches, put the team on his back with solid rebounding and some great passing to set up teammates for easy hoops. Plus, the defense, led by our smallest and most tenacious player, came alive.

Down by four with a minute to go, we ran a set play for "T", our best perimeter shooter, who promptly spotted-up beyond the arc, got the defender off his feet with a pump fake, was fouled in the act of shooting, and knocked down the shot that, as all of the adults would recall with laughter after the game, floated through the air for what seemed to be an eternity before swishing through the net!

He then hit the ensuing free throw to tie the game, where it remained until the opposition won in overtime.

(Okay, so I didn't mention that their smallest player stole the ball from one of our guards with about five seconds left, and raced down three-quarters of the court to beat the clock, and blew the lay-up, thus the extra period.)

In the end, it wasn't about the loss, it was just about life. What was beautiful was watching the kids' reactions on both sides of the "thrill of victory and the agony of defeat," because it simply meant they had bought in to what we as coaches were selling and they were competing at a high level. That was the indication to me that we had made a difference.