Courtzite: 100 teams compete in Chewelah’s very own 3-on-3 basketball tournament
Just below Quartzite Mountain rests the idyllic town of Chewelah, Washington.
With a population of about 2,500, Chewelah is a quiet, serene place perfect for retired folks, parents looking to raise their kids in the countryside or anyone who wants a break from the hustle and bustle of the big city.
But sometimes a little bit of excitement isn’t a terrible thing.
On Saturday, the sound of bouncing basketballs, hollering players and fans cheering from the sidewalk drowned out the chirps of bluebirds, meadowlarks and the occasional logging truck chugging its way through town along U.S. Highway 395.
Cleverly named after the lumbering giant towering above the hoops, Courtzite is a one -day, 3-on-3 basketball tournament set up in a similar fashion to Hoopfest. Spread out across 13 courts, 100 teams showed up to play this year.
The boosted bass in the back of Colin’s red Pontiac rattled my brain as we slowed to a steady roll to find parking a couple of blocks away from Main Avenue. It only took Jake, Colin and I about three minutes to find our last teammate, Nick, and two of our friends, Josh and Dylan, who came to both coach and support us.
Once we got our blue Courtzite tote bag that had four red shirts inside for each of us, we made our way to the outside of Sporty’s Bar and Grill to find our hoop. Along the way, we noticed all sorts of things: middle -schoolers wearing NBA jerseys arguing over foul calls; men in their 40s breathing heavily on the makeshift sidelines; and two teams at the far end of the tournament grounds wearing Sharpie-marked, bright pink shirts in the co-ed division. Right in front of the post office, the elite division players battled for rebounds. Thankfully, we didn’t have to deal with that. We were playing in one of three men’s recreational brackets. All in all, it looked, sounded, felt and smelled like a good day to play basketball in the hot sun.
Having been from the area, there were a lot of people whose names I didn’t know, but faces I recognized. Whether it was from local pick up runs or a player on a rival team from my high school days, I couldn’t go very far without bumping into someone I remembered from somewhere.
Game 1
Our game started at 9 a.m. sharp. I’m sad to report that before the game began I committed a cardinal sin in basketball : I wore indoor hoop shoes outside. My only other alternative was a pair of old, faded Lebrons with zero grip on the bottom.
So after making a quick prayer to the basketball gods and begging for forgiveness for my insolence, I watched as my teammate Jake lost in a game of rock, paper, scissors against the other team, meaning they got the ball first. Unfortunately, that would not be the last time.
We started the first game strong. Our opponents were about our age, size and strength, but we were able to take advantage of Nick’s size. Dishing it down to Nick on a post up, he would wait until a second player came to double before one of us cut for a wide open layup. Mix that with some stellar shooting and our early lead developed into a commanding one. Winners are either the first ones to score 20 or the team ahead after 20 minutes. Our first game ended with a win, 19 -10.
Moving into the next game we had a few things to work on, the biggest being communicating defense. But as Colin pointed out, trying to play good defense and moving your feet while talking can become difficult out of breath. Or in my case, out of shape.
Because all we had for breakfast was cold slices of pizza that sat like stones in our stomachs, the six of us elected to walk four blocks over to Safeway for some grub. With two hours left to burn until our second game, we sat outside of the grocery store on some benches where our only other company were the Safeway employees on break.
One employee with two chains around his neck, diamond studs in both ears and a purple vape in his hand started to ask us questions about the tournament. We never did find out what his name was but we did learn that he played point guard.
“It’s just like Hoopfest,” We told him. “You lose twice, and you’re done. You lose once and you can still work your way back up the bracket to the championship.”
Game 2
Our second game started at 11:30, and we felt fairly confident going into it. Our opponents: four guys approximately 20 years older than us. The game plan was to run circles around them and hope they got tired after a few minutes of chasing. After a while it became clear that these guys had played together for a long time. They knew how to cut at the right time, how to feed the ball to their big guy and could shoot the ball from anywhere. One of these guys, who looked a lot like a modern depiction of Jesus, celebrated vigorously after every made jump shot. His excitement was contagious for their team and our inability to stop their big guy in the paint led to a 20 -12 loss.
Feeling dejected and sore, the six of us found comfort underneath the shade of a tree right outside Sporty’s, the business sponsoring our hoop.
But after a few minutes, Jake and I headed to the 3-point contest qualifier. Participants got 25 shots, and the top shooters went to the elite court to face off at 2 p.m. I didn’t qualify, as I only made 10, but that was three more than Jake, which was all I really cared about.
Looking around Courtzite and the people mulling about, I noticed some things were a bit different, mainly the elite court. Dakota McQuain, the tournament director, said he started the event three years ago to cultivate a stronger culture of basketball in Chewelah. He said Courtzite is only possible because of volunteers and local businesses who sponsor the event. This year McQuain found a soft-tile court for the men’s elite bracket after donating $2,500 to the city of Springdale, Washington, which happened to have one lying around after a tree damaged it and the city’s insurance gave them a replacement. Anyone who’s played knows there is a huge difference on your joints between playing on blacktop and playing on a softer, kinder tile court. The elite court this year was sponsored by John Lynch Construction, who donated three times more than any other business making them the sole platinum sponsor.
When McQuain isn’t busy organizing a 3-on-3 tournament, he’s either doing office work for a dispensary, coaching middle school basketball in the even smaller town of Valley, Washington, or raising his 2-year-old daughter. This fall, McQuain will be a student teacher at Liberty High School as he wraps up his bachelor’s degree.
“Maybe basketball is not everyone’s favorite sport,” McQuain said. “But, I mean, hey, there’s not much going on in small towns on a Saturday, and this event is pretty poppin’. There’s bars, there’s restaurants around where you can get a meal and maybe just stop in and see what’s up. It’s not like you got to hang in the sun all day.”
And while spectators don’t have to hang in the sun all day, if you’re a player, you don’t really have a choice.
Game 3
By the time our third game rolled around, we were overheated but determined not to go home.
The team we were playing wore customized blue jerseys. That level of organization and commitment to the bit is usually never a good sign. Right out of the gate, we were hot from range. As the game progressed, so did our confidence and the trash -talking between us and the other team escalated.
Then with only about two minutes left, Nick was elbowed in the stomach and vomited across the court. Luckily, McQuain was there with a bucket of fresh water, a wad of paper towels and a trash bag to clean the mess so we could continue. The impact left Nick, our strongest guy and best post player, shaken and queasy. But even with Nick taking a break, we were able to win 19 -12.
Game 4
Our fourth game came an hour later. By this point, a good portion of teams and spectators had gone home. If we won the next three games after this one, spread out evenly every 30 minutes, then we would win the bracket. By happenstance, our fourth game was against the team we beat at 9 a.m. Thinking it was going to be a walk in the park, we planned for who we might play next .
Jake, Colin, Nick and I attempted to keep the momentum we’d built from the last game, but our collective gas tank was on E.
We started losing, 6 -2, before attempting to mount a comeback. At some point, Jake said something to his defender wearing pit vipers that turned the entire situation rather hostile. The heat, in fact, does make you meaner. While we were able to mount a comeback and tie the game at 6-6, everything went downhill.
The other team refused to miss while our team was unable to hit the ocean from the beach. Mix that with the fact that the entire crowd was now rooting against us and the result wasn’t pretty.
Our spirit broke with five minutes left in the game and I watched as our interim head coach, Josh, sat down on the curb and shook his head in bewildered disappointment over how quickly our team had fallen into shambles.
It served as a good lesson in the importance of humility and not getting too ahead of yourself, but it stung nonetheless. We played poorly; they played better.
Each of us had reasonable excuses, such as it was hot, we were tired, our biggest guy felt ill from losing his lunch, my knee hurt, and more; but none of it mattered.
We gathered our shoes and water in relative silence and worked our way past the other two recreational men’s brackets, past the men’s elite court, past the high school boys and girls brackets, then finally past the elementary and middle -school brackets until we got to the intersection at Main Avenue and Highway 395.
Looking down Main, where an orange and white “Road Closed” sign was displayed, I relished the moment.
Losing is never easy, but losing a game you love with friends you’ve known for half your life makes the pain slightly more bearable.
As the sun beamed down on the concrete and people slowly began meandering home, I got a sense of what it was all about. Thoughts about the shots I should’ve made became less frequent as they were replaced with highlights from the day. The funky celebrations after a made shot, the people who came out to support, even the not-so-friendly banter were things I could take away from the event. We climbed back into Colin’s red Pontiac, and the bass reverberated through my brain as we headed south on 395 and left the sound of bouncing basketballs and excited fans far behind.
At least until next year.