Once at Athens, Tennessee’s Believe Prep Academy, he struggled making the A team. They didn’t have any scholarships left to give, but Preston had some newfound hope. He only bothered to give his dream path the old college, er, prep school try after his decision to tag along with some friends to an AAU tournament resulted in attention from a coach at UNC Asheville. Preston eventually ditched J school for prep school on a wing and a prayer, hoping that an extended basketball career might still exist somewhere. It’s startling (and quite cool) to realize that there are even that many parallels. We got into college, enrolled in journalism programs (Preston at the University of Central Florida, me at Marist College), sent blind emails to blogs, and prayed. But we both mapped out similar plans in hopes of capitalizing on our passion for basketball and dreams to remain close to the game. When we did receive playing time - him for the Boone Braves, I for the Schroeder Warriors - we’d be lucky if it was any more than a few minutes (let alone if we scored more than a few points he averaged two, I doubt I averaged one). We spent a fair bit of time forming butt prints in chair cushions as we watched our high school teammates thrive at least we had a front row seat. Something I discovered recently: Jason Preston and I are a lot alike.
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