This Might Be the Last Year

Matt's birthday is coming up. Each and every year I play him in a one-on-one game. We go to 15, basket out, call your own fouls. Last year, the wife and kids sat at the sideline and loudly rooted for Matt to beat me.

He lost. 15-10 or so. But did he really lose? I basically couldn't walk for a week.

Earlier this year, he wanted to try me again. Granted, it was before the gout, but I beat him again. "You're too big," he said. "I can't muscle up."

And I believe that I will conquer again this weekend, and not because my skill sets are such that I can't be beat. No, this is all about Matt, and growing up, and facing fear, and believing he can do it.

He's still afraid of being hit in the paint. He hasn't yet figured out that he has to play without fear. He will cower, somewhere along the way and I will win. Yet he's getting there. He's starting to set a bit of a bolder course, and he continues to work hard - (at least at basketball and intermittently at school work).

I remember the exact moment when my brother Jeff beat me at hoops for the first time. We were working in California - he was 18 and I was 24. The week before, when he'd been playing on my team in a pick-up game, I'd told him to pump fake when he had his defender in the air.

During our game, he pump-faked and I went for it, jumping high in the air (I was at least four inches off the ground), my ankle hit the ground bent sideways, he scored and I spent the next twenty minutes writhing in pain.

Being the solid guy that he was, Jeff went to the apartment for help - he returned with a bottle of tanning lotion - "Here you go, looks like you'll be there for a while."

I tore ligaments that day long ago, but my brother took the lesson and beat me with it.

I have a lot of lessons to teach Matt - just hope I don't finish crumpled-up on the driveway to get my point across.

Wish me luck!

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