Senior Varsity

SILVER-HAIRED SQUAD WINS GOLD, BUT PLAYING IS THE PRIZE 

By Anna Patrick
Charleston Gazette-Mail
Sept. 27, 2015

Frank Snyder saw the loose ball and went for it.
It had been about 20 years since he last played - more than 40 years since the Nitro native traveled to Morgantown, determined to walk on to WVU's freshman team.
Somehow, he'd just lost touch with basketball. It felt good to be back, chasing the loose ball at full speed.
He played with a group of men he'd recently discovered. Some of them would go on to win gold in the National Senior Games. Others had won before. But in 2003, Snyder was just catching up with guys he used to play with and learning others' names.
They were all at least 60 - the minimum age requirement - and they played twice a week. Snyder, then 62, fit the bill. His shoes were old, his left knee even older. He'd replace them both soon.
The loose ball shot in front of him, and Snyder tried to grab it. WHAM! The collision with his opponent, who was also tracking the ball, knocked them to the floor.
Snyder rolled around on the court and tried to gather his bearings. That's when he heard the shouts: "Old man down!
I hope he's not hurt, Snyder thought, worried about the smaller old man. Just then he felt someone grab his hand. He looked up and saw his opponent leaning over him, ready to help him up.
And Snyder realized he was the only man down.
_____
Twice a week, every week since 1993, this group of older athletes gathers for a game most have been playing since they were kids. They do it for love of the sport, but also for a shot at gold.
Snyder didn't play on this year's Senior Games championship team. But he helped them prepare for the July games in St. Paul, Minnesota. He was another body on the practice court - a tall shot blocker and physical rebounder who made his Minnesota-bound friends earn their baskets.
His friends - Fred Duffield, Don Griffith, Sam Dye, Harold Vealey, and Dennis Parker - earned gold in Division II of the 75-79 age bracket. Their team, the West Virginia Generals, coasted in the championship game, beating the Minnesota Greybeards by 20 points.
Dye's shooting made the difference, the other men will say. It didn't matter that his feet never left the floor - his jump shot is long gone - and no one cared that he had to use two hands to heave the ball at the hoop.
No, what mattered is that they won. What mattered more is that they competed.
Before the undefeated team walked onto the stage to accept their medals, Duffield turned to a teammate's wife.
"You think we can get a cheer going? he asked her.
As the Generals ascended the podium, they heard the chant.
"Hey, we're the West Side gang, it started, its roots in Charleston's West Side - Stonewall Jackson High School, which Duffield and three of the others attended.
"Hey, we're the West Side gang. We're rough. We're tough. We never get enough.
The cheer was a reminder of home. And who Duffield had left there.
_____
Fred Duffield set off for Minnesota without his co-pilot. For years, his wife, Connie, had traveled with the team of players as they bounced from city to city to compete in the National Senior Games.
The energy she brought to the stands earned her the title "No. 1 cheerleader. A photo of the team and their wives celebrating their second place finish in Houston in 2011 shows a jubilant Connie standing next to Fred. He's leaning forward wearing his silver medal. She's standing tall, beaming at the camera.
For this year's national tournament, Fred had to leave Connie at their Cross Lanes home. He got a friend to stay with her. It had been years since the two had spent a night apart.
Besides the afternoons that Fred spends playing basketball at the Bream Memorial Presbyterian Church gym, he's Connie's caretaker - the cup refiller, the bed maker, the man with a bad right knee who helps his wife to her feet.
_____
Duffield remembers visiting Tom Miller in the hospital. That memory is a far cry from the way his friend looks on the hardwood today.
Yes, Miller's shirt still hangs from his skinny frame. He's thin - probably 150 pounds wet, but it's the perfect size for a guard.
He's light on his feet, quick to dribble behind his back and drive to the basket. You pass him the ball and he's looking to shoot a three. He's always looking to shoot threes.
Off the court, he moves much slower. There's a limp to his step. The energy bleeds from his 71-year-old body - a body that's been cut by a surgeon's scalpel too many times for too many years.
His teammates visited him at the hospital after they learned he had mesothelioma, after the doctors told him in 2009 that he had three months to live. There wasn't much the doctors could do, maybe some chemo - a surgery might work, but it would be risky.
Duffield said he's never seen someone look so awful and not die.
Watching him on the court, you wouldn't guess that the quick guard is undergoing chemotherapy. That despite six years of surgeries on his stomach and lungs, he still has cancer.
But he still plays basketball. And, though, like Snyder, he didn't play on the championship team, he was one more body for his friends to lean on.
_____
It's been 12 years since Snyder realized that he was the "old man down.
The phrase is still yelled today. But there's always a pause first to make sure no one's actually hurt. And then: "Old man down!
There's humor in the truth.
They don't play full-court any more. And still, they're out of breath. But they get on each other about hogging the ball. They show off their new shoes. And, without warning, like a bunch of youngsters in a pickup game, they'll rip off their shirts. That's when you see the scars. Some shoulder procedures. A lot of open-heart surgeries.
Snyder has a scar on his left knee, his new knee. He's got new shoes, too. And he's still chasing loose balls.
Those interested in joining the senior basketball group, can contact Fred Duffield at 304-776-3206.