The trouble with moving, as my wife and I have done three times in recent years, is it prompts you to inventory the useless stuff you've collected. And the trouble with going through your stuff is finding things, like this old newspaper photo, that trigger memories of events you'd rather forget.

It's a December 1953, a night that will result in the most embarrassing athletic experience of my life (to be surpassed 10 years later in Akron when I strike out – twice, yet – in a slow pitch softball game). The Solvay High School basketball team (that's me in the dark uniform, looking for an exit) is in Binghamton to play that city's Central High.

At the time, the Syracuse newspapers pay scant attention to high schools out of their circulation area, so we know little about our opponent or our precarious situation when we enter Kalurah Temple, an old building that seems designed for almost anything but basketball. Yet when we climb the stairs to the main floor, we find a court laid out between two rows of bleachers squeezed beneath pillared balconies on both sides.

High above center court looms a huge chandelier; which is slightly intimidating; after all, it could come crashing down on us. It's a scary reminder that we're in an old theater, perhaps one haunted by The Phantom of the Kalurah. The team benches are behind one of the baskets, on a stage, four feet off the court. Entering the game will be a test of agility.

WE CHANGE into our uniforms in a dressing room built for actors, aware that players from both teams will later shower together under one – count 'em, one – shower head. It will have the force of Chinese water torture.

We take the court and do the layup drill. We see our opponents for the first time. They seem a lot bigger than we are. Our coach, Bob Demperio, informs us just before tipoff that Binghamton Central is one of the best teams in the state. Worse, this is a special night for them, an annual Christmas-time game to which alums are invited to watch their alma mater crunch a weak, unsuspecting foe. We congratulate ourselves, for we were selected as 1953's sacrificial lambs. We are like the opponent in a Harlem Globetrotters game.

Demperio's advice: get the opening tip and put the ball in a deep freeze. Pass it around, hide it under our jerseys, deflate it. But don't shoot it – unless an easy opportunity presents itself.

That the coach feels we can control the opening tip is testimony to my peculiar ability. I'm 6-foot-4, but I don't jump well. And though I'm often the tallest kid on the court, I'm not a good rebounder. But I almost always control jump balls, maybe because I anticipate them better than my opponents, or maybe because I cheat by beginning my jump a nanosecond before the referee releases the ball and I tap it on my way up.

So the game starts and I outjump the taller Binghamton center, Jon Cincebox (guarding me, above), and we go into a stall offense we have never practiced.

WITHIN SECONDS, the boos begin, but we manage to pass it around for nearly two minutes before one of our guards, Frank Romano, finds himself with an open lane to the basket, a gift from our hosts who are anxious to get their hands on the ball. We score and take a 2-0 lead. It lasts for about 15 seconds, which is how long it takes Ted Parke, said to be a Duke recruit, to hit a 15-foot jump shot. (We'd been told that Parke was the star of the team, though Cincebox probably was more deserving. Whether Parke actually was recruited by Duke I do not know; he wound up attending Syracuse where he clearly was outshone by Cincebox.)

We take the ball out of bounds and keep to our hastily devised game plan until about the four-minute mark. Then we get another easy opportunity and retake the lead, 4-2. Again Central scores almost immediately, but it's halfway through the first quarter and we're tied.

But the crowd reaction rattles us; on our third possession we take a quick shot – and miss. Long story short, Binghamton winds up beating us, 99-49, scoring 34 of their points in the final period. Why didn't they ease up? The next day's lead headline in the sports section of the Binghamton newspaper featured a nickname that provided the answer: Century Club Misses – by One Point.

We'd been humiliated, but some wise guys congratulate us for holding 'The Century Club' below 100 points. Like that was our moral victory against a team that unnecessarily poured it on in the fourth period. But we weren't upset with them. Our gripe was with our coach. I don't know what we expected in the way of game preparation – after all, we were a fairly lackadaisical bunch of underachievers – but what we certainly were NOT expecting for a pre-game pep talk was a terse announcement that we were about to be slaughtered.

AS WAS my habit, I fouled out early in the third period. Ed Showerman, who replaced me, also fouled out, leaving it to 5-foot-11 Bill Hall to guard the 6-foot-7 Cincebox. That alone was worth the price of admission, but, then, Hall was always fun to watch. More on him later. Cincebox wasn't that tall, but he was wide. The photo above is deceiving. It makes him seem taller than he really was because he fell for one of my fabulous fakes and went airborne, coming down againt my left hip and thigh. Can't remember if he was called for a foul, but it made no difference. I'd have missed the free throws. (The Solvay teammate behind me in the photo is the late Jack Merrill, who was probably wondering, as I was, if the game would ever end.)

Cincebox scored 29 points that night, about 15 of them while I was guarding him. I scored only 9, but four of my points were memorable because they came on two two-handed set shots. (Remember them?) The plan was to lure Cincebox away from the basket, so I went to a corner and fired my first set shot with Cincebox in my face – so much in my face that I had to step to my left and look around him to follow the ball toward the basket. How it went in, I'll never know. Naturally, I couldn't resist taking another. And when that went in, I took yet another. That was pushing my luck. At least, in those days, crowds didn't shout, "Air ball!"

So what did good ol' Coach Demperio give us as a reward? He scheduled another game against Binghamton Central the following December. Unfortunately, illness prevented me from making that trip. My absence was appreciated, however, because this time we lost by only 38 points, 93-55. The good news was Binghamton had a new gymnasium where players didn't worry about being hit by a falling chandelier and teams had separate dressing rooms and showers that would please Jerry Seinfeld and Cosmo Kramer.

I HAD ONE CHANCE for revenge against Cincebox. It was in a tournament after my senior season, but I was relegated to second string behind a former Solvay teammate, Pete Corbett, a seven-footer who'd transferred to Christian Brothers Academy in Syracuse. He and I were on a Syracuse all-star team selected to play in an annual Polio Benefit Tournament in Binghamton. Also on our team was Pete LeFevre of Solvay, though most of the players were from Syracuse high schools that played in the City League.

Corbett was supposed to be our star – he'd put up big numbers in the City League and his CBA coach, Don Blaich, was in charge of our team – but, in fact, our real star was one of the best players in the Onondaga County League, Jim Weeks of Marcellus. Weeks was built like Cincebox, but about four inches shorter. However, he rebounded like he was 6-foot-9. Corbett was too thin, too slow and too nice to be effective against Cincebox.

Except for his mindset about Corbett, Blaich and I got along very well. LeFevre and I joked that Blaich made us work harder in the few weeks we played for him than Demperio had in three years. The two Solvay players were the only ones on this team who appeared to be out of shape. However, LeFevre and I enjoyed the experience. It was good preparation for basic training. Also, for me, it was a slice of what might have been. Like Corbett, my father, Buster Major, transferred from Solvay to CBA. My father played baseball, basketball and football for both schools. He wanted me to attend CBA, but didn't force the issue when I said I preferred to remain at Solvay.

Anyway, we beat an Elmira all-star team in the tournament opener, then faced Cincebox and the Triple Cities All-Stars for the championship. Cincebox, though five inches shorter, manhandled Corbett. Weeks kept us in the game, however, and when, in the third period, Blaich decided Corbett needed a break, I naively thought I might help our team pull off a victory. I couldn't have played much better. It's no lie to say I outscored and outrebounded Cincebox – for all of two-and-a-half minutes. Then I was summoned back to the bench to keep Blaich company. He must have missed my analysis – I was like Jay Bilas to his Dick Vitale, or maybe it was the other way around – and we resumed our running commentary as Triple Cities pulled away for a convincing win. (If I had it to do over again, I would walked Corbett back to the bench and told Blaich if he wanted me out of the game he'd have to get three or four guys to drag me off the court.)

As mentioned, Cincebox went on to play at Syracuse University. I think he still holds some of the school's rebounding records. He also competed in some three-on-three tournaments several years later. I believe he and his teammates were national champions two years in a row. I entertained the idea of getting a couple of guy to enter one of those tournaments in hopes of playing against Cincebox. I'm sure Bill Hall would have been anxious for a rematch.

Corbett, who was featured in a Life magazine article along with Wilt Chamberlain and other high school seven-footers that season, went to the University of Detroit, but had little success on the basketball court. Tragically, Corbett died as a young man.

AS FOR HALL, he is best remembered for his potential. He was, simply, the best shooter I'd ever seen. At least, to that point in my life. It boggles the mind what he might have accomplished in the three-point era with a different coach and a different attitude.

Example: Solvay played in the league's smallest gymnasium, a perfect place to set up a zone defense. So Coach Demperio would have the varsity set up a zone against five players from the junior varsity, one of them Hall. The idea was for the jayvees to attempt to penetrate our zone, but Hall would disregard the instructions and take a two-handed set shot from 25 feet. And almost always make it. He didn't seem to understand why Demperio was upset.

Hall and I fed each other during foul-shooting practices. He'd usually get into a groove, and stay on the line until he missed. Twice he made more than 100 in a row, which is why no one at Solvay was surprised when Hall became the first two-time winner of the Onondaga County high school foul-shooting contest.

Bill and I both went to Kent State, and a few years later I worked in Akron and he in nearby Barberton, and we occasionally played basketball together. By then we were in our late 20s. One night a couple of kids fresh out of high school challenged us to a two-on-two game. They obviously were in much better shape and probably thought we were older than we looked because Hall and I still used the quaint two-handed set shot.

Bill wasn't worried; he simply instructed me to lure the guys inside, then pass the ball out to him. He'd take it from there.

Those two kids didn't know what hit them. When they challenged him, Hall would back up and extend the length of his shot. Didn't make any difference. Every shot seemed to go in. I loved the expressions on the faces of the two kids we beat. It was like seeing Bob Demperio all over again, but in duplicate.

– JACK MAJOR

The painting of the Solvay Process limestone pile, once one of the village's best-known landmarks, was done many years ago by artist Edith Noble, a teacher at Solvay High School.