Mel Lindsey is usually prepared for anything.
The longtime basketball coach has an answer for when opponents switch defenses. And if a player on another team catches fire, he knows how to adjust the defense.
He takes great pride in his preparation and his players credit his ability to think on the fly as why he’s such a good coach.
On Jan. 14, he found himself in a situation he wasn’t at all prepared for.
And one a coach should never find themselves in.
That cold morning, Lindsey gathered his players in the coach’s office, but it wasn’t to do what he usually does. He wasn’t calling a meeting about their upcoming opponent or to talk about a new play.
While leading scorer Noah Scurry was getting in his mom’s car to head to school, he was shot multiple times and was killed.
Nobody knew what to do. Not Lindsey, not teachers, not school administration.
And certainly not the players.
“It was terrible,” said junior point guard Isael Moronta Mendez, a junior point guard. “I couldn’t believe it. I was in class and they called me in. Everyone was looking at me. At first, I thought we got kicked out of the playoffs or something like that. I walked in and everyone was looking at me. They said ,‘Noah, he got shot.’ My principal walked in and I asked if he was dead. They said yes, I dropped and started crying.”
The news was shocking. It was worse than anything they could imagine.
Not only were they going to be without the leading scorer, the on-court leader and the guy everyone turned to when they needed something on the court, they lost the guy everyone turned to off the court. And this wasn’t an injury. This wasn’t him not going to be around for a few games, or even weeks.
Their friend was gone forever.
“I was thinking about a lot of things, I was just upset,” said senior point guard Justin Reed. “It was really hard for me, I couldn’t believe it. It was so unexpected.
“I wanted to really get better. I wanted to get back to basketball. It motivated me. I used it as a good way. That’s all he wanted. He wanted to play. It was weird. I can’t even describe it. Something was missing ever since the jump ball we had after he died. It’s like I know he’s here.”
Scurry never returned to the court, but his teammates said he was there every time they took the court.
And after his death, Fels went on to win 12 straight games.
“Since he died, it’s been really hard but it’s like he’s helping us,” point guard Shamar Parker said. “It’s like he’s right there with us. He’s always been there.”
“I looked up to Noah, he motivated me to get better. I was really in disbelief, I didn’t know how to move forward without him. At first, I was mourning, but then I started going to the gym and it started to get better,” Izaaz Kornegay, a junior wing, said.
After Scurry’s death, the team did exactly what it did while he was alive.
The team looked to him for inspiration.
When he was there, he was the first one to tell a teammate to keep shooting if they ran into a cold snap. If someone got caught out of position on defense, Scurry was there.
He wanted to win, but before he wanted that, he wanted his teammates to be happy. So he would teach. He would be the teammate who cared for everyone.
“He made us go harder,” guard RJ Williams said. “I feel like we haven’t been at 100 percent all year. We had injuries, so we were always missing a player. Then with him passing, we had to be a unit. It wasn’t groups in the team. We were all together. He’d be super proud. That’s all we talk about is about him. He should be here with us, but he’s proud.”
“It was hard,” junior Olivier Francois said. “It still is. Before our first practice without him, it felt like he was here. Until games, it hit me. I believed after, we played harder. Certain things he’d say, I’d do more. Like playing harder in general, doing certain moves, and being more vocal. He was the most vocal guy on the team.
“We have each other. When I first came here he brought me in. It’s like a brotherhood. From the coaches to the players, on and off the court we are together. We are trying our best.”
Their best was pretty good.
Fels advanced to the Public League championship. It fell to Imhotep, then fell to Roman Catholic in a play-in game for the right to go to states.
It wasn’t the way they wanted to end the season, but it’s hard to be disappointed. The season’s motto was “More for Four,” representing the No. 4 jersey Scurry proudly wore across his chest.
And while the season didn’t produce a banner, it produced much more than that.
The season was full of tears, but more than that, it was a group of men who came together to honor their fallen friend.
Never easy, but it was all about Noah.
““It was hard for me because Justin was like a best friend to Noah,” said Justin Reed Sr., an assistant coach and father of Justin Reed. “They did everything together, both seniors, they were experiencing high school the same way, they could relate. It was hard watching my son go through that.
“He was like a son to me, a second son. Justin is my only son, I would always have Noah around. Such a great kid. He was just a kid. People forget that. He was a kid trying to have fun and live life.”
And there’s one thing that will never be forgotten. That’s how much Noah meant to his teammates.
This isn’t the type of memory that stays with a team for a season. This is a lifelong bond.
And if there’s any comfort to be found, it’s that Noah would wear his ear-to-ear smile after seeing what his team accomplished for him this year.
“Listen, Noah had the biggest smile in the world,” Lindsey said. “He’d be super proud. He called them his little bros even when they were older than him. He attacked every workout. He was always on the best player on the other team. He’s been to (every game since he died). We haven’t lost since his untimely death. We won 12 straight games, beat some damn good teams. I know full well that’s Noah.
“That’s what the key is, we rallied together. The one thing I instill in all my teams is that family environment. We lost Noah, it’s almost like he injected parts of his game and mentality into the team. He pushed them and they wouldn’t do it because he wasn’t here. This is the first time they heard it, he would push them, they do it now.
“As men, they know how I’m wired. Most of our conversations are about being a man. The basketball stuff will handle itself. That’s 32 minutes. That won’t make or break us. The man that’s left, that’s part of my legacy. Lawyer, golfer, whatever. These men were there for Noah’s family, for each other and for me. As a coach, I couldn’t be prouder.”
