The Tyler Harvey Story, In His Own Words

As a society, we love to root for the underdog.

Usually, that entails rooting for the 12 vs 5 upset or for the VCU’s and Butler’s of the world in the Final Four.

But what about a specific kid on one of those teams with Cinderella aspirations? What about a kid who was told no by every high school coach and college scout? A kid who was cut from the high school C-team as a freshman and didn’t make varsity until he was a junior.

This personal account, written by Tyler Harvey, and posted to Medium.com details how perseverance, hard work and faith brought the overlooked guard from Torrance, CA to where he is now: playing in the NCAA Tournament as the nation’s leading scorer.

"Silence.I heard a lot of it growing up. It filled the air after I left basketball camps in grade school and junior high and never heard back from the college coaches running them. It filled the pages of response letters I never received from the D-I schools I sent my tape to. It crept in at night, after I’d take those last few shots at the park near our house in Torrance, California, when I’d fall asleep wondering what I had to do to get noticed.Sometimes the silence was deafening.But now, as the nation’s leading scorer, helping lead my team, the Eastern Washington University Eagles, to a share of the Big Sky Conference regular-season title — and hopefully into the Big Dance — I’m hearing a lot of noise. A few publications have written about me, recently. I’m not really used to that. It’s nice to be noticed, and I’m glad those pieces can help bring positive attention to our school and our team.But one thing the articles neglected to mention about me was that I’ve never let the silence win.When I was three, my mom gave me a basketball hoop for Christmas. My mom is my hero for many reasons, not the least of which is that she introduced me to the game of basketball.My obsession from that moment onward, she always said, was shooting baskets. It was all I ever did.Growing up, my dad would take me to games at UCLA. I remember watching Russell Westbrook and James Harden play and thinking to myself that some day I could do what they were doing, too. I was also blessed with a unique vantage point to watch the games from: front-row seats. Pops just happens to be a college ref. (No, he doesn’t work any of my games.)After he’d get home from officiating a game, he’d take me down to the 24 Hour Fitness near our house. We’d get a lift in, and then I’d shoot for hours, sometimes until two or three in the morning. My dad was instrumental in helping me develop the work ethic I had then and have tried to build on today.I worked. And I worked. And I worked some more. By the eighth grade, I had developed a quiet confidence. I wasn’t the flashiest guy on the court, but I believed I could hang with the best players in school. Others didn’t necessarily see it that way. I wasn’t picked for drills or scrimmages at conditioning camp for my high school team, Bishop Montgomery. I tried out for the school’s freshman summer tournament team. I didn’t make it. It was frustrating, but I would just have to work harder, I told myself. I would go home after tryouts and shoot until my mom called me to come in.I didn’t make the varsity team until my junior year. Maybe it was because I was closer to five feet than six feet tall. Maybe it was because I was a skinny kid who didn’t seem athletic enough.The silence doesn’t give you answers.My senior year, I sent letters to schools like San Diego State and Loyola Marymount, asking for a chance to get a foot in the door at their programs. Strangely, I was never told “no” by any coach or any school. Rejection was never outright. Coaches and schools said “no” by saying nothing. They said “no” by ignoring me.It made me feel like I didn’t exist.I watched my teammates Justin Cobbs and Richard Soloman go on to play at Cal. When I saw them play on television, I envisioned myself playing along with them. I was happy for them, of course — I have all the respect in the world for those guys. But I felt confused and angry, too. Where was my chance? I wondered if it would ever be my time.The closer I got to my freshman year of college, and the harder I worked to make a D-I team, the further away my dream felt.But even though it didn’t make sense to me, even though letters weren’t coming in or things didn’t seem to be falling my way, I didn’t panic. I knew that if I kept my faith in God that he would have a better plan — the right plan — for me.By chance, after my dad officiated a game in Spokane one day, he ran into Coach Jim Hayford at the airport. Coach Hayford was coaching one of the highest-ranked D-III teams in the country at the time, Whitworth. They discussed my situation, and Coach Hayford said on the spot that he would give me a chance to walk on at his school. It wasn’t Cal or UCLA, but it was a chance, and believe me when I say that I was more than grateful for it.A few months later, also by happenstance, Coach Hayford got the head job at Eastern Washington, and I followed him there. I still had to walk on as a freshman to make the team. And as a redshirt, I didn’t play.At night, in the farmlands of Cheney, Washington, silence is everywhere. Though I felt like I had taken steps, the silence said otherwise. I was going to have to keep working. Heck, I was going to have to work even harder.I remember midway through that first season, though, we played UCLA back home in Los Angeles. Even though I never logged a minute in that game, I remember sitting on the bench thinking: Wait a minute. I grew up watching UCLA. And now my team is here playing them.Finally, God’s grace was helping put me on the path toward achieving my goals.Relationships between players and coaches are complicated. Coaches are father figures, of course — the good ones, anyway — but they aren’t there to coddle you. They are there to bring out your best.Coach Hayford talks a lot about decision-making. He constantly quizzes us on the mental aspects of the game, making sure we’re focused on what we need to be doing on the court and off of it. My roommate and teammate, Parker Kelly, sums up the man pretty well. “Coach will figure out whatever your best is, and then he’ll hold you to that every day.”I’d guess that my bond with Coach Hayford is unlike that of any other player and coach in the nation. I would follow the man anywhere. Into the classroom where he teaches. Into March Madness. I’d follow him into a war.Why?Because he’s the only coach who has ever said that he wanted me to play for him. Ever.This week, my teammates and I are going to follow him into the Big Sky Conference Tournament, and if we play together — if we play as a team—I have no doubt that we will earn a bid to the NCAA Tournament.Recently, people apparently started noticing I was leading the nation in scoring. It was the excuse writers needed to come and write about me. Honestly, it’s the only reason why you’re reading this right now.The thing is, that label doesn’t really define who I am. I didn’t even know I had averaged the most points in the country until Coach Hayford pulled me aside after practice one day and broke the news.“Tyler, you know you’re the leading scorer in all of Division I right now, right?,” he said.Huh? Really? I am?I may or may not finish the season as the NCAA’s leading scorer. Either way, it won’t matter. Honestly, when the postseason’s over, I won’t even go check.All this newfound media attention? It’s flattering to be noticed, but I haven’t paid much attention to the articles.Someone asked me recently, “Tyler, what do you think about not being named the MVP of the Big Sky Conference this year?”What do I think? It’s out of my control, so I don’t think anything about it.I‘m not concerned about individual accolades or awards because those things don’t have anything to do with winning basketball games. Trophies and recognition are about ‘the self.’Today, there are a lot of players out there too obsessed with idea of ‘the self,’ and how or whether they’re respected or disrespected. Players become addicted to recognition. More often than not, the addiction comes at the expense of team goals and, most importantly, winning.When you are at your best, you needn’t worry about people noticing you. I keep focus every day by surrounding myself with the right friends and family in order to keep my influences positive. I also don’t feel the need to fill in the silence. I don’t say more than I need to say.And, I work. Being your best means you put in the work to achieve everything you were put on this Earth to do.When I came to Eastern, my mom gave me a gift. It’s a small sign that reads, ‘Your dreams don’t work unless you do.’ It hangs on the wall in my room, and every night before I go to bed I look at it to remind myself that my work isn’t over.To all of those people out there who feel invisible, to those who hear nothing but the silence, I implore you to do one thing: keep working.If you work hard enough, you’ll force those who mistakenly looked you over the first time (and the second time, and the third time) to look again.And then it won’t really matter what they used to think or say — or, more likely, what they didn’t think or say — about you. It won’t really even matter what they say now. Eventually, you can make them say something. You can make them take notice.You can make them fill in the silence."

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This is the most impressive piece of writing I have read in a long, long time. Harvey is going to have a lot of sucess in his basketball career. Only being a sophomore, he will most likely finish his Eastern Washington career as one of the most prolific scorers in NCAA Division I history on his way to a shot at the NBA.

But the Tyler Harvey story isn’t about basketball. It’s about a kid who learned to ignore the rejection.

If you want something, like REALLY want something, but you can’t catch a break, keep working until you do. THAT is the Tyler Harvey story.

Next: Five Reasons Gonzaga Can Reach The Final Four

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