My first association with the number 10 came when I was playing soccer for various travel teams during my middle school years. Pele, the greatest soccer player ever, wore the number 10 for Brazil and for his New York Cosmos team. To wear the number, you better be able to back it up.

My next run in with the number was when Bo Derek ran in slow motion along some beach in Mexico, sporting corn rows and a sheer one-piece (foreshadowing of Baywatch’s to come), much to the delight of Dudley Moore, and every guy I knew, including my uncles and my father. Ten was the scale on which perfection was measured, and Bo was the ultimate.

I saw Nadia Commenici score the first perfect 10 in Olympic competition and I agreed that Michael Jordan deserved perfect 10’s with his free throw line dunk at the 1987 All-Star Weekend. Ten has a great combination of straight (1) and round lines (0). Ten is a wonderful number…easy to divide by and easy to multiply. I liked the number 10…I respected and admired the number 10.

Until I stepped onto the court after a practice with Detroit Shock forward Barb Farris.

Ten free throws. That’s all. Just 10 stinking free throws.

She was going to shoot them, and then I was going to shoot them and we were going to add up our totals and see who had the bragging rights. How hard could it be? I played some ball in my younger days and I still play a little with the guys around The Palace on mornings when I can pull myself out of the warm cocoon that is my bed.

How hard could it be? Shoot 10…see what happens.

The horror and carnage that ensued were beyond my wildest imaginations.

Barb has always been one of my favorite Shock players. Animated on the court and a very hard worker, Barb has always seemed to me to be a player who had to try just a little bit harder than the others. She’s got heart, that’s for sure.

Off the court, she is one of the most personable, charismatic and friendly players on the team. Quick to laugh, she likes to kid around. She has a sharp wit and certainly likes to tease. She is very patient and I have seen her stand and sign autographs or smile for pictures until the last fan has left the building. She is a wonderful ambassador for women’s basketball and the Shock.

So, before we started, I thought I would get some instruction on the mechanics of shooting a free throw. I also wanted to know what goes through her mind when she is at the line and I wanted to learn where she had learned to shoot at the charity stripe.

Immediately, I tried to endear myself to her.

“I figure all I have to make is seven out of ten, Barb, what with you only shooting 60% this season and only 65% for your career, right?” I said it in a voice loud enough for her teammates and coaches to hear, immediately jumping out of the gate on the smack talk.

An icy glare from the other end of the court burned into my confidence and I knew I was in for some competition. It was no longer just a friendly, little contest with a writer.

“Oh, already talkin’ junk, eh Wieme?” Barb said. “At least I know now that you know how to read, if you were able to look up my stats. Or maybe someone had to read them for you?”

The game was on!

I told Barb that I wanted this piece to be instructional for all the young basketball players, girls and boys, out there that needed some guidance on shooting the free throw. I asked Barb to go through her entire routine and point out the important things.

“First thing is to relax,” Barb told me. “The best thing to do is to find a routine, something that you feel confident with or have had some success with. Once you find your individual routine, stick with it and it will become second nature. This way, in pressure situations, you can just go through your routine, the routine that you have honed to be almost automatic, and not feel the pressure of being in a different or difficult situation.”

“Ahhhhh,” I said. “Just like a pre-shot routine in golf. Get the putt lined up, I take three practice strokes just to get a feel for distance, set up to the ball, forward press and roll the ball to the hole.”

“Uh, yea, whatever,” Barb said, rolling her eyes at me and revealing her strong lack of interest in golf…or maybe it was more psychological warfare.

“I start by lining up my right foot and right leg in the middle of the free throw line,” Barb continued. “That way, my right arm, which is my shooting arm, and right hand are lined up with the middle of the rim. Everything is lined up.”

I took another shot with my own experience, “Just like when I line up my feet, knees, hips and shoulders before I hit a drive…”. My voice trailed off as I got the icy glare again.

“Once I have everything lined up, I throw the ball up, catch it and take three dribbles,” Barb said. “All the while I am looking at the basket and concentrating on the rim. I spin the ball once, line up the panels on the ball in my hand, line up my arm, get my elbow directly under my hand, put the ball in my fingertips and then shoot it, imagining my fingertips are falling through the hoop. Like I’m reaching into the hoop. And I use my legs to shoot it.”

Swish.

“Do it again,” I said. “Go through the routine.”

I watched Barb line up her right foot and right leg first. Feet about shoulder width apart. Bend the knees, catch the ball. Three dribbles, eyes on the basket. Spin the ball and line up the panels for good rotation. Hand up with ball in the fingertips, elbow directly under the hand, bend the knees a bit more, slight push off with the legs. Release the ball from the fingertips and follow through with the hand as if going into the basket.

Swish.

It sounds like a lot when I write it, but it all takes a matter of a few seconds. Solid routine, obviously honed over a very long period of time.

Again. Swish. Again. Swish. Again. Front of the rim, but drops in. Again. Swish. Again. Rattles in and drops. Again. Swish. Again. Back of the rim and pops out.

AHAAAA!! A cinch in the armor! I may still have a chance.

Okay, so now it’s my turn. I have a similar routine to Barb’s regarding the whole alignment of the shooting hand, arm and leg. In my routine, I line up my toe in the middle of the free throw line, my left foot back. I take five dribbles, line up the panels in my hand and shoot in one continuous motion. This routine is the result of a recent change I made after seeing Tim Legler analyze Tim Duncan’s free throw shooting during the Western Conference Final. So I shoot.

Off left.

Again. Off right. I’m wearing loafers, a dress shirt and dress pants, for crying out loud! .

Again. Short. The lighting affects my depth perception.

Again. Off left, missed the rim. Damn, smaller WNBA ball.

Again. Air ball. Good alignment, no legs.

Again. Off right. Quit talking Barb!

Again. Back of the rim. Been doing push-ups at home, must be stronger.

Again. Off left. Can’t possibly be expected to shoot wearing my glasses!

Again. Off right. Giggy (as in John Maxwell, the Shock’s PR director) quit snickering!

Again. SWISH! Ahaaaa!! Now, you’re in trouble Barb.

Again. Off left. Should have brought my gym shoes, shorts and a t-shirt.

Again. Off right. Somebody shut those doors! There has got to be a cross-wind in here!

“Wieme, you’re like Slider in the movie Top Gun…you stink,” Giggy blurts out, barely able to speak he is laughing so hard.

Barb can’t say anything as she is doubled over in laughter. A good belly laugh with tears rolling down her face. She has been enjoying my frustration and confirms that my bark is definitely worse than my bite. Barb has a great laugh that starts as a smirk, then her eyes roll, then she breaks into a broad smile and finally a deep, hearty laugh comes from somewhere around her feet.

Even some of the part-time workers, who are cleaning up in the stands, are getting a good chuckle at my expense.

But you know what’s cool about Barb? She isn’t mean spirited. She isn’t condescending. She doesn’t mean any of the trash talk she has been giving me and I sense that she wants to help. I hope so, or our best-of-ten is going to look like the bar scene from Goodfellas, where Jimmy and Tommy give Billy Batts a good and true mafia-style beat down.

All I heard was, “Go home and get your shine box, Wieme!”

Obviously hallucinating because that wasn’t Barbs voice.

“Let’s work on your mechanics,” Barb says, as she moves me up to within three feet of the basket.

Ball in my fingertips, Barb moves my elbow under my hand. “Don’t flair out like Tayshaun,” she says. “He’s really the only one who can shoot it that way.”

With better alignment, I knock down one, two, three, four, five in a row.

“Okay, now move back a bit,” Barb says. “And now, you need to use your legs more.”

First three shots are short.

“LEGS!” Barb yells. I knock down the next five.

“There may be hope for you yet,” Barb says.

“Who is the best free throw shooter you have ever seen,” I ask Barb, hoping to distract her a little before we line up for our best-of-ten.

“That guy on Utah, not Stockton but the other guard,” Barb says.

“Hornacek?” Giggy pipes up.

“Yeah, Jeff Hornacek,” says Barb. “That guy had great form and he never, ever seemed flustered. I admire that, particularly in all the big games he played in.”

I ask Barb where she learned to play basketball, again making a feeble attempt to stall enough so that maybe she will cool down before we shoot.

“I was big into AAU,” Barb recalled. “I played all the time and my dad was really into it. He never coached or anything, he just came to all the games. I guess I learned to block out a lot of the distractions that go along with playing, by learning to block him out when he would start yelling at the refs or my coaches.”

Here, Barb starts to laugh again. “I guess I never realized how much he was helping me.”

“Okay, let’s get this over with already,” Giggy interrupted. “Barb has places to go and I’ve got game notes to write. Let’s get this mercy killing over with, shall we?”

“Ladies, first,” I say in my most chivalrous voice, as I bow and sweep my hand over the free throw line.

“Why thank you, kind sir,” Barb says, batting her eyes.

Barb goes into her routine. Ball up…MISS! She missed her first one! I’m screaming in my head…YES, I HAVE A CHANCE!!

“We don’t start counting until you make the first one,” Giggy pipes in.

Damn! Now, they are making up new rules. But I agree as I quickly assess the situation and figure that this will be good for me later when I am shooting. And we may be here a while because you never know when I’m going to make my first.

Next shot for Barb…ANOTHER MISS! Holy smokes, I may really have a chance! Her confidence has to be diminished.

Next shot…1-1. 2-2. 3-3. 4-4. 5-5. 6-6. 7-7. 8-8. 9-9. 10-10.

Ten in a row, after missing her first two. Suddenly, I HATE the number 10…

Barb steps off the line as if she is stepping down from the podium at the Olympics. Calm, cool, collected. The casual confidence of a seasoned veteran athlete.

“Ain’t no thang, but a chicken wang on a strang,” says Giggy in a nasally twang from White Men Can’t Jump as he slaps hands with Barb. “See ya…and I wouldn’t wanna be ya!” (Another Wesley Snipes movie, New Jack City)

“How can guys remember all those lines from movies?” Barb asks. “Girls don’t do that.”

“That’s because most of you have lives,” Giggy explains.

I don’t care about movies right now. I’ve got to make 10 of 10. Houston, we have a problem.

Alright, no worries. Just remember your mechanics, remember your routine. Ten in a row isn’t too hard. You have done it before, haven’t you? My mind races. That was 10 three-footers in a row on the putting green at Sylvan Glen. This is a bit different.

First shot. Swish. Holy moley, I’m 1-1!! Whoohooo!! But now they all count…is that Freddie Mercury in the background, I hear…”under pressure…under pressure” or maybe it’s Vanilla Ice.

CONCENTRATE WIEME!

Ball up. 2-2. “Ice, Ice, baby….”

Ball up. 2-3…SSSCCCRAAATTTCCCHHHH goes the record and pop goes the weasel ‘cause the weasel goes pop. .

The dream is dead! Doesn’t matter now. 2-4. 3-5. 4-6. 4-7. 4-8.

“Okay, Wieme, you have to make these last two to come out with some dignity,” Barb says as she rebounds for me. She almost sounds encouraging. “Knock ‘em down.”

5-9. 6-10. Quick calculations: Farris 100%….Wieme 60%.

“Not so bad, Wieme,” Barb says, not rubbing her victory in too badly. “I’m sure you’re much better than me on the golf course.”

Are women always so nurturing?

“And when you first started shooting, I didn’t think you were going to make any!” She could barely get the words out before busting into that famous Farris belly laugh and falling all over Giggy, who is hysterical as well.

So much for that nurturing thing.

“Thanks, Barb,” I said. “I think this will be a really great piece. Lots of instruction and some good shooting tips. And, of course it will be good for me, if I get feeling a bit too big for my britches.

“So, now what do you do?”

“I’ve got to run, I’ve got a hair appointment before the game tonight,” Barb laughs.

“Cornrows?” I ask.

“Noooo, Wieme,” Barb says. “Who do you think I am, Bo Derek?”

Looks like a perfect 10 to me.