The Seven-Footer Who Refused to Play Basketball

The moment he walks into a room, everybody runs the same play.

“How tall are you?”

Then comes the automatic second possession:

“Do you play basketball?”

At seven feet tall, nobody waits for the scouting report.

They have already projected the position.

Center.

Division I scholarship.

Professional prospect.

Maybe even the NBA.

People see the height and immediately start drawing up plays for his life.

There’s only one problem.

He doesn’t play basketball.

He’s a nerd.

He would rather break down computer code than break down a zone defense.

He would rather study artificial intelligence than study game film.

He would rather build the next great technology company than build his game around a jump hook.

And while everybody else sees an unbelievable basketball prospect going to waste, he sees himself playing an entirely different game.

But there is another side to this story.

Because walking away from basketball at seven feet tall isn’t quite the same as walking away from basketball at 5’10”.

The World Is Going to Scout Him Anyway

Let’s start with reality.

Society is not going to stop associating seven feet with basketball.

Ever.

He can become an engineer.

A scientist.

A programmer.

A professor.

A CEO.

It probably won’t matter.

When he walks into a restaurant, somebody will ask.

When he boards an airplane, somebody will ask.

When he attends a conference, somebody will ask.

“Did you play basketball?”

His height enters the room before his résumé does.

And that’s an important part of this conversation because being seven feet tall isn’t a uniform he can take off after the game.

He wears it everywhere.

There is no offseason.

Outside the Gym, He’s the Exception

Put a seven-footer in an ordinary office and everybody notices him.

Put him in a restaurant and heads turn.

Put him at a technology conference surrounded by people a foot shorter than him and he may immediately become the most physically noticeable person in the room.

Not because he asked for attention.

Because seven feet is seven feet.

He is always playing above the rim in a world designed closer to ground level.

Desks don’t fit.

Airplane seats don’t fit.

Cars don’t fit.

Clothing becomes complicated.

Even walking into an ordinary room can feel like checking into a game where everyone in the building is looking at you.

That can create an entirely different type of pressure.

And eventually that pressure can reach the mental game.

Then He Walks Into a Basketball Gym

Something changes.

The seven-footer who stands out everywhere else suddenly isn’t quite so unusual.

There are 6’7” guys.

6’9” guys.

6’10” guys.

Another seven-footer might be standing at the opposite basket.

For perhaps one of the few times in his life, he isn’t automatically the tallest person in the building.

Nobody is staring at him because he’s tall.

Nobody needs an explanation.

Nobody is shocked by his wingspan.

He has entered one of the few environments in society where his extraordinary body is part of the normal rotation.

Outside the gym, his height can make him feel exposed.

Inside the gym, it can make him feel like he belongs.

And that is bigger than basketball.

Basketball Can Give Height a Position

The same physical characteristic that can make a young person feel awkward suddenly has value.

Outside the gym:

“You’re so tall.”

Inside the gym:

“We need your size.”

That’s a completely different scouting report.

Basketball can take something a young person may have spent years feeling self-conscious about and turn it into an advantage.

The long arms have a purpose.

The enormous hands have a purpose.

The stride has a purpose.

The height has a purpose.

Suddenly, the thing that separated him from everybody else gets written into the offense.

That can affect confidence.

It can affect identity.

It can affect self-esteem.

It can change how a seven-footer sees the person looking back at him in the mirror.

Basketball doesn’t simply give an extremely tall kid something to do.

Sometimes it gives him somewhere to belong.

But Height Still Doesn’t Guarantee Minutes

None of this means the seven-footer automatically becomes a basketball player.

Height may get him invited to the gym.

It may get coaches interested.

It may move his name to the top of the recruiting board.

But basketball eventually demands a complete game.

He still needs footwork.

Coordination.

Conditioning.

Balance.

Touch.

Timing.

Defense.

Basketball IQ.

He has to learn how to screen, roll, rebound, protect the rim, defend in space and process the game at speed.

And eventually he has to answer the biggest question:

Does he actually love playing?

Because height can get you into the layup line.

It cannot make you love practice.

What If His Best Position Isn’t Center?

Maybe basketball truly isn’t his game.

Fine.

Then the next question becomes much more important:

What is?

If he’s seven feet tall and obsessed with engineering, let him attack engineering.

If he’s fascinated by artificial intelligence, let him master AI.

If he’s building companies, let him chase becoming a great entrepreneur with the same intensity another seven-footer chases becoming a great center.

Maybe he never plays professional basketball.

Maybe he builds a technology company worth a billion dollars.

Nobody can reasonably look at that person and say:

“What a waste.”

He found another scoreboard.

He simply put points up somewhere else.

But There Is Another Kind of Waste

This is where the conversation gets uncomfortable.

There is a difference between rejecting basketball because you have discovered another calling and rejecting every opportunity to develop yourself.

The seven-footer building a technology company hasn’t wasted his potential.

The seven-footer becoming a brilliant scientist hasn’t wasted his potential.

The seven-footer designing the next generation of robotics hasn’t wasted his potential.

They simply changed courts.

But if an extraordinarily gifted person rejects the opportunities attached to his physical advantages and never develops his intellectual advantages either, eventually the question of wasted potential becomes legitimate.

Not because everybody must become an NBA player.

Because everybody gets some combination of tools.

Height.

Intelligence.

Creativity.

Speed.

Communication.

Leadership.

Curiosity.

Discipline.

The objective isn’t necessarily to play the position society assigns you.

The objective is to do something meaningful with the talent on your roster.

He Needs Another Scoreboard

This might be the most important part.

If a seven-footer doesn’t choose basketball, he needs a strong enough sense of identity that basketball doesn’t become the ghost following him around for the rest of his life.

Because the questions aren’t going away.

“You played, right?”

“No.”

“You had to play in college.”

“No.”

“Man, if I had your height…”

He will hear some version of that conversation repeatedly.

A strong sense of purpose gives him an answer.

Maybe his scoreboard is technology.

Maybe it’s medicine.

Maybe it’s entrepreneurship.

Maybe it’s academia.

Maybe it’s art.

Whatever it is, he needs somewhere to compete.

Somewhere to develop.

Somewhere to belong.

Somewhere to put points on the board.

Because basketball doesn’t own seven-footers.

But being seven feet tall means the basketball conversation will probably follow him for life.

Maybe He Shouldn’t Leave the Gym Completely

And perhaps this doesn’t have to be an either-or decision.

Why can’t the seven-foot nerd code all day and play basketball at night?

Why can’t the engineer also be a center?

Why can’t the AI researcher play pickup three times a week?

Why can’t basketball remain part of his identity without becoming his profession?

There may be tremendous psychological value in staying connected to a community where his body doesn’t make him the exception.

He doesn’t have to chase the NBA.

He doesn’t have to accept the scholarship.

He doesn’t have to organize his entire future around a basketball.

But basketball may still provide something difficult to reproduce anywhere else:

A tribe.

A physical home court.

A room where seven feet isn’t strange.

The Final Possession

So maybe we’ve been asking the wrong question.

The question isn’t:

“Should every seven-footer play basketball?”

Of course not.

The better question is:

If basketball isn’t your game, what game are you playing?

Because rejecting somebody else’s scouting report doesn’t automatically give you an identity.

You still have to build one.

You don’t have to play the position society assigns you.

You don’t have to run the play everybody expects.

You don’t have to spend your life underneath a basketball rim simply because you were born seven feet tall.

But find your court.

Find your teammates.

Find your competition.

Find your purpose.

Find somewhere your gifts make sense.

And put some points on the board.

Because the tragedy isn’t being seven feet tall and never playing basketball.

The tragedy is possessing extraordinary potential—physical or intellectual—and never getting it into the game.

THE ATHLETIC ENTREPRENEUR

Sports. Intelligence. Technology. Ownership.

FINAL QUESTION: If you were seven feet tall but had absolutely no interest in basketball, would you still feel obligated to give the game a shot?

Reply with your take. I have a feeling this one is going to split the locker room.

— Athletic Entrepreneur