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“Class C” - A Review

March 4th, 2008 | by Craig |

(As I’m writing this, I’m finding that it’s a mish-mash of a movie review and my own remembrances of tournament time. I ask your indulgence.)

Saying that “Class C,” is a film about basketball is like saying that “The Bridge on the River Kwai” is about some guys who build a bridge.

Basketball is part of it, to be sure, but it is also the story about drinking and drug use in our rural schools, teen pregnancy, divorce, alcoholism, the disappearance of the family ranch, and the emptying of the great plains.

For my out of state friends, allow me to give a little background on how schools are organized in our state. Schools are organized by enrollment numbers. In the top tier, you have the AA schools, which are in the major cities. Billings and Missoula have 3, Helena, Great Falls and Kalispell have 2, Butte and Bozeman round out the field with one each. These are the urban schools, with graduating classes in the 500’s or more. There are 14 of them, and the state tournament consists of a field of 8. In Class AA (spoken as “Double A”), you have a better than 50% shot of making the field, just by showing up.

In the middle are the “A” and “B” schools. The “A” schools are what might be called “rural urban,” which are the smaller cities, such as Glendive, Anaconda, Miles City, Billings Central, Butte Central and Laurel, to name a few.

The “B” schools are the larger towns, such as Baker, Whitehall, Three Forks, Townsend and Big Timber. How do you differentiate between cities and towns? My own rule of thumb is this: If it has an actual stop light (not just a flashing red), you can probably classify it as a city. If it has — at an absolute minimum — a bar and a post office, it’s a town.

Finally, there are the “C” schools. Medicine Lake, Opheim, Sheridan, Drummond, Philipsburg, Gardiner and 85 other schools, most of which you’ve never heard of.

As to my own bona fides, I grew up and played sports in Ennis, which has been Class B for about 10 years, but is moving back down to C next year, I believe.

There is so much to write about that I’m not sure that I can do it without spoilers, so you are hereby warned — possible spoilers in the extended entry.

Subtitled “The Only Game in Town,” the documentary follows five teams: the Chester Coyotes, the Scobey Spartans, the Rocky Boy Northern Stars, the Twin Bridges Falcons and the Reed Point-Rapelje [RA(as in 'rat') - p'l - jay] Pirates.

The film’s director and cinematographer is, like me, a product of good old Ennis High School (whose old gym makes a brief appearance), and the photography is nothing short of stunning. There is an iconic shot in the title sequence that is a time lapse of clouds over a deserted schoolhouse. I’m not 100% sure, but I think that the schoolhouse is off of I-94, just outside of Terry. There is another marvelous sequence of a freight train running along the horizon with nothing at all behind it, which I think was taken in Chester. There are shots of kids riding to practice, shots of buses driving under snowy mountains, and all of the sequences do a fine job of capturing the sights of Montana, as seen from the backwaters. Another iconic shot is one of a theater — in shabby shape — with the sign on the marquee saying (paraphrased) “No Show — See you at the tournament.”

The score was written by yet another Class C resident, Phillip Aaberg of Chester. It provides an understated, but no less powerful counterpoint to the ups and downs in the movie. It is simple, elegant, yet doesn’t force your attention, as some soundtracks do.

And the icing on the cake was the interludes from Montana native Phil Jackson. Yes, that Phil Jackson. Since we watched the second showing, which coincided with the pledge drive, we got to spend a bunch of time with the producers and directors and that was definitely worth the time. It was during one of those breaks that we learn that Jackson’s commentary was entirely off the cuff. One of his most poignant observations was that, in many towns, you can still see the welcome signs where they still proudly show that their team won State Championships in the ’60’s and ’70’s. There is a real identity that grows around the titles. You can see them as you come into Ennis, for the football teams in ‘78 and ‘82, and the girls basketball team of ‘90.

The story focuses on the girls quest to reach the State Class “C” tournament, which is referred to, simply, as “State.” You can hear the capitalized “S.” Tournaments start at the District Level, where the teams that have been playing each other for most of the year mix it up one last time. The top two teams from District go on to the Divisional tournament, and finally to State. At tournament time, everything grinds to a halt.

The theater with the “See you at the tournament sign” is not an exaggeration in the slightest. These small towns do virtually close down the whole city for the tournament. Some establishments stay open, but you can bet that the radio is tuned to the tournament, and the 1/2 of the town that couldn’t make the trip is gathered in bowling alleys, cafes and bars.

I don’t know if this is still standard practice, but at tournament time, 3 or 4 of the JV players — usually sophomores or an exceptional freshman or two would be called up to the tournament team. At game time, they would most usually “ride the pine,” but it was always a good bet that the kids who made tournament team would be assured a spot on the varsity squad next season.

The Twin Bridges segment focused on head coach Rob Lott and his daughter, Whitney. Rob is a Class C product, through and through. He grew up in Twin Bridges, went to college at Western Montana College, now known as the University of Montana - Western, a scant 28 miles from Twin Bridges, student taught at Ennis, coached at Sheridan and finally landed back in Twin, as the town is known in Madison County. How do I know this? Well, I remember when he taught at Ennis, and I had friends in Sheridan who played basketball for him while he was there. Montana is a small town with long streets, after all.

Coach Lott made one of the truest comments about Class C ball (of any flavor) that I’ve heard. He likened it to a poker game where you got five cards, with no draw. You just play the hand you’re dealt. Unlike some of the larger schools, where you can work your way up through programs, and coaches can pick and choose who plays at the varsity level, often times the smaller towns have just enough to field a team, and that’s how they play. I remember many of the smaller schools would have barely enough to field a varsity and JV squad, and half the JV squad would also suit up for the varsity game — and even get playing time.

One of the recurring threads through the show is how many of these girls seem wise before their years. Maybe it’s just been a long time since I’ve been around kids that age, but to hear Whitney wonder how her parents would be able to continue working their small ranch as the surrounding ranches get bought up by corporations and out-of-state interests.

There’s the young lady in Scobey who wants nothing more than to be able to come back and run the family grocery store. She hopes that she’ll meet a guy whose only desire is to be a grocer, and tears well up in her eyes as she talks about how the people keep leaving her town.

There is the team captain in Chester. She starts off her story talking about how her family used to own the restaurant in town, but fell upon tough times. She says that her mom left and her dad ended up closing the restaurant and going to work on the local farms. She talks about how she is self-sufficient and pays her own way for shoes, socks and all her gear. Then, she slips in the fact that her mom is an alcoholic and can’t keep a job, and her dad actually is in Maryland working. Some of the shots are of her working in one a bar or casino, waiting tables.

There is the young lady in Rocky Boy who missed her junior year, as she had a baby. She is back to make a go of it, and finish school. She talks about how she understands that basketball is fleeting, and won’t continue for her. “No one ever makes it out of here,” she says. And she believes it. The despair is palpable, and she looks to be no more than fifteen, even though she is a senior.

There are the sisters in Reed Point who were part of a team that placed second at State the previous year, and are feeling the pressure to get back and redeem themselves. They talk about how they not only want to do it for themselves, but to prove the town naysayers wrong.

The coach in Scobey is a bartender who got the job after the previous coach left for greener pastures in the west. He told one of the school board members that if no one else would step up, he would do it. He was offered the job, almost on the spot.

As tournament time begins, we rejoin the teams in their quest for the top spot out of 91 teams. The Chester Coyotes are without their team captain, as she got kicked off the team for breaking training. At tournament time, she looks older to me. I can’t put my finger on it. She seems wiser, and she keenly feels her town’s disappointment in her. But she goes to the games all the same. “I can still scream my lungs out,” she says.

Getting kicked off the team for drinking is a tough thing in these small towns. As she says, “There’s not much else to do in Chester but drink.” I’m quite certain it isn’t a problem that’s unique to Class C schools, but it’s where you see the most impact. I remember that when I was in 8th grade, most of the varsity team got kicked off for drinking over Christmas break. It was a team that had placed 3rd at State the year before, and had great promise in making another run. After losing all but one senior, and a couple of juniors who spent most of their court time on JV, things looked bleak. The coach, however, took his inexperienced team to a 3rd place finish at Divisionals. No one thought that they could have made it that far. Their achievement was a testament to their own grit, as well as the coach’s will to make them better players and a better team.

Some in the community did not see it that way. Coach took a lot of heat for doing what he did, but he stuck to his guns. And paid the price. I don’t think that it was until later that the community realized what they had lost. Principle has its place, but sometimes in the small towns, it takes a back seat to winning.

Another team captain is missing from the tournament. The single mother from Rocky Boy quit the team. Not because of any outside pressure, but because of the internal strife of the team. She observes that she can’t be a mother to all of her team and her son. The Rocky Boy story has the added element that can be a sore subject in Montana, and one that’s hard to talk about without tempers flaring, and that’s life “on the Res.”

They play a different game on the Res. One of the best, most unflinching looks at basketball and life is “Shadow of a Nation,” by Gary Smith. The story appeared in Sports Illustrated in 1991, and chronicles the rise and fall of Hardin’s state championship team in the early 80’s, especially team standout Jonathan Takes Enemy. Hardin is a Class A school, but the story is all too common. In this case, the biggest difference between Class A and Class C is simply in the enrollment numbers.

(You can find bits and pieces of “Shadow of a Nation” here. If you can obtain a copy, it’s worth the read.)

I haven’t watched a native team play for years, but they play a fast-break hard-pressing game that leaves many teams winded and bewildered. They run up the court, they press on defense, and are always in motion. I’ve seen teams stand almost literally flat-footed, while the quicker team simply outran them.

They play a more aggressive game, too. The fans are not always the best-behaved. One team in southern Montana had to forfeit two games, because they roughed up the officials. Another team took forfeits rather than travel to “the Res.” I saw a game at State in ‘83 where one of the native players blatantly punched an opponent in the kidney while the refs were at the scorers table. Dropped him like a sack of spuds on the free throw line. Nothing was called.

As a senior, when I was actually on a State team (we placed 8th — two years in a row!), we were sitting with one of the native crowds — it might have been Plenty Coups — when one of the old-timers struck up a conversation with us. He told us that he knew the ancient magic of how to fly, but we’d have to get him a drink before he could show us. We laughed it up at the time, but now I’m more saddened than anything.

This is what I saw.

But I also saw elaborate ceremonies where the tribal players gave their opponents lavish gifts before the game. They did so with respect, and played the game well. Those were always moving experiences, and well worth seeing.

There is so much more to this film. If you hadn’t guessed, I was completely moved by it, simply because I know these people. They might have different names than they did 20 years ago, but they are still the same, and the game remains the same.

For many kids, this is the pinnacle of their existence. Things will never be better than when they played ball, or when they were on the state tournament team. Sometimes you can find them in the bars, still trying to eke out one last replay of that winning shot, or of the clutch shot that they missed.

As for me, I’ll tell you my story of playing at State, and if you deem it worthy, you can feel free to buy me a beer at some point. After all, I’m at the age where the older I get, the better I used to be.

I made the varsity as a pine rider my junior year. I wasn’t much use but for taking up space under the bucket, and never figured myself for anything more. I’d given up wrestling for basketball because I couldn’t stand the wrestling coach. We lost our first two games and found ourselves playing in the dreaded Saturday morning 11:00 a.m. game for 7th and 8th place, otherwise known as the Toilet Bowl. We were playing the team who’d beaten us at Divisionals, and at every other meeting during the season. The coaches had gotten together at one point, and decided that they would let the scrubs play a quarter, since we’d worked hard and might never get the chance to play in a State tournament again.

I told coach that if the ball got in my hands, and I was between the end lines, I was going to put it up just to get my name in the paper. I was, of course, joking, because you really didn’t want the ball in my hands much outside of 6-8 feet from the bucket.

But, as fate had it, a pass came my way, and I was open for the shot and took it.

It hit the back of the rim like a brick, and we went back the other way.

After we were replaced with the starters, Coach gave me a skunk eye — I think he thought I had taken the shot just to get my name in the paper, but I swear to you, I was open for it.

I did get my name in the box score, in 8 point agate: Sprout 0-0 0-0 0.

As for the film, I think that they’ve created a masterpiece. I don’t know how you could capture the highs and lows of winning and losing, wrap it up with the emptying of the plains and tie it into a 90-minute package that I didn’t want to end.

You can buy it at Montana PBS.