My son's basketball team is quickly proving themselves to be the worst in the league. I say that with pride, because I tell my son that they surely have learned the most of any team these last few months. But I also agree with him that losing sucks.
It's not that we don't have a couple of talented players who hustle and score. But many have little experience, and they have never played as a team before. We have one tall player, my son, and with that height comes expectations. I watch him improving and getting more comfortable, but basically he's a nice kid with little experience.
At this game, the opposing team had four very tall players, one of whom was a man-boy who looked like he should be in high school and shaving instead of in fifth or sixth grade. The coach had obviously grilled these boys to be piranhas. They were mean and lean. And all their shorts matched.
While they were making score after score, and foul after foul, our boys were ducking and crawling to keep from being injured. Watching a thirteen-year-old pubescent shove backwards into a small ten-year-old boy made you want to go down on the court with a large handbag.
We had some bad juju going on too. Even our wiry guys were off today. If I had a nickel for every shot that traveled around the rim and flew out, I would have had enough for a large Gucci knockoff. It was a blessing the scoreboard was on the fritz today, because the score was something like GNP to zip.
Our team has played together enough to know who scores. The other players respect that hierarchy, and have dramatically improved their passing skills. My son gets the ball now and again, being tall, and has gotten good at passing. But just once, for him, I would like to see him go for a shot. Or at least have one of his teammates pass to him on purpose.
To my delight, one time when he had the ball and we were not yet on the board, he took that shot. The ball arced beautifully towards the hoop and licked the lips of the rim, but bad juju made it fly out again. Dang. I saw the word on his face.
Sometime in the second half, after the sympathetic referee froze the other team's score, we got on the board. My son even went for a second shot with similar results as the first. We scored a couple of times, with parents going ballistic with every shot. The parents on the other team were barely watching, chatting on cel phones and with each other.
Then something interesting happened. One of our players made a shot and the ball landed on top of the backboard and stuck fast. The referee called for another ball--not to keep playing, but to get the first ball down.
A couple of our teammates took a few shots to knock it down, but wires and poles kept it from contacting the ball. Even the referee tried a couple times. My son tried once, and kissed the ball, but it didn't budge. Still, I could see his mind working.
That look on his face is one I have seen a hundred times. We have nine mature trees in our front yard which have been home to errant remote control planes, kites, paper airplanes, sticks, ropes, hats, and even a pair of scissors once. Our homes also have some low elevation roof lines which have served the same purpose as the trees: to challenge a little boy looking upwards and wondering how he's going to get his boomerang down.
I could see that look on his face now. He had no step ladder, no grabber, no extending pole for changing light bulbs. He just had a basketball.
Finally, his outstretched hands received the ball from a teammate, and my son walked around to the side of the backboard. He cooly assessed the distance, aimed, and shot. The ball bounced off the other, which started to roll slowly along the backboard. In slow motion, the ball made its way to the other end and fell off to the ground.
The parents cheered as if the winning point were dunked. "Ten-pointer!" Even the other side put down their phones for a moment. A couple of my son's teammates congratulated him. But more beautiful than seeing that ball drop was the expression on my son's face as he loped off. There was his big smile with maybe a hint of embarrassment in the pink of his cheeks. But overall, there was the distinct look of pride.
Epilogue: The last game of the season was quite exciting, with a fingernail-biting spread of no more than two points the entire game. We were up by two when the buzzer sounded, and our team and the crowd went wild. Finally, to know what it feels like to win. Very cool.
