If it weren't for the thrill of taking charge in practice, voluntarily letting a first-teamer strong-arm his behind into the hardwood floor, guard Adam Highberger thinks the best part of his day might just be lying in bed.
A walk-on's success cannot be measured by replayed game highlights on the jumbotron, simply because those would be sideline shots of him or her chatting it up on the bench as glorified cheerleaders -- separated from lights that are brighter than the practice courts
by a couple of feet and a lopsided
score.
When sophomore walk-ons Clay Scovill and Will Leiner entered Saturday's game with 57 seconds left against Michigan State, the Penn State basketball team was already doomed to a 91-64 defeat, and their substitutions didn't incite even the mildest fan reaction.
Instead, there were "We want Norwood" chants arising from the student section late in the blowout.
Jordan Norwood has only just started to watch sports from the bench. Norwood, who already had a football scholarship, recently added basketball walk-on to his résumé, making him a two-sport athlete.
Walk-ons, the human crash dummies for the starters to run laps around, are critical to any basketball team, but they aren't handed any undue glory or mentioned specifically by name.
"It's a different perspective on competing, and it's something I look forward to," Norwood said near the start of his walk-on experience. "However I can help the team, help this team get better."
It was never a point of grave concern, but Penn State's five-man scout team, lacking a substitute, was starting to suck wind as the Big Ten season rolled on.
"Our walk-ons have done a great job; we just thought they needed a little bit of a break," Penn State men's basketball coach Ed DeChellis said. "They were getting worn out as well. I think [Norwood] adds a little bit of a different speed to the scout team right now that was maybe not there for us every day."
After two seasons as Penn State's second-leading wide receiver on the football field, Norwood's role on the basketball team is to firm up the scout team. In preparation for the Indiana game two Saturdays ago, he joined the unassuming ranks of Highberger, Leiner, Scovill and a couple of scholarship players donning red practice jerseys.
Starters, still in their blue practice attire, then had to scrimmage against their ragtag teammates as if they were the enemy; as if they were the Hoosiers.
"Basically, you look at it like you do anything you can to make the team better," Scovill said. "If you are not playing, if we win a championship and you win a game, you are still a part of that."
If you saw Scovill, Highberger or Leiner on the street, you probably wouldn't recognize them as Penn State basketball players unless they were joined by a pack of their abnormally tall scholarship buddies.
The walk-ons look pretty average, with none reaching more than an inch or two taller than 6-feet, or 10 pounds on either side of 185.
On the other hand, many Penn State alumni would remember Scovill's father, Brad, a seventh-round draft pick of the Seattle Seahawks as a tight end in 1981. Brad Scovill never had a NFL career, but Clay has seen enough highlight tapes to know what kind of player he was and the work ethic involved in being a part of Division I athletics.
Practice is where Clay Scovill's greater successes have occurred, whether it's a steal off of an unsuspecting first-teamer, blocking a lazy shot, or crossing over a flat-footed defender. Any of which can be a scholarship player's nightmare. A walk-on's job is to check a starter's urge to slack, which means the walk-on can never slack off.
Essentially, a walk-on has to repress the urge for minutes, refocus every bit of his energy toward something outside the realm of self-importance and let the scholarship players represent them during games.
"I know my role. I know what I have to do to make the team better," Highberger said. "While some guys, theirs is to play in the game, mine is to come out here and bust these guys' tails in practice to make them better."
Highberger can only claim 38 seconds of regular season playing time in his Penn State career. The experience, during the waning moments of a 17-point blowout of Morehead State, was such a shock to his routine that he can't recall exactly what happened after stepping onto the floor.
"I told my dad I don't remember being in or anything," Highberger said. "Everything just went so fast. It was just awe-inspiring."
It is not like Highberger hasn't experienced greater athletic highs -- just not in front of so many people. About this time last year, Highberger would be finishing the final moments of a 2,096-point prep career in Blairsville, a speck of a town with about 3,500 people.



