That's My Boy
"Are you coming to my game?" Sam asked as soon as we crossed paths yesterday morning.
I decided to make him sweat it out a little. "I went to your game last week and you got blown out," I said. "It was 38 to 8."
"We'll be better today."
A half hour later we had this exchange:
"Are you coming to my game?"
"Are you going to shoot?"
"As often as I can," he said.
And boy, did he. Two minutes in he missed. Then he missed at least three more. A couple that were halfway down before popping back up.
He looked at me and shrugged.
Moments later, in rapid succession, he took two more shots that were off the mark. This time, he didn't glance up. His head found the ground and there was a real sour look on his face.
Yet the kid has something that I never had. His court sense is good and he is always in the game, battling for his shot, playing D, and bringing the ball up court.
At a short break he looked at me again.
"Don't be afraid to keep shooting," I said.
He nodded.
When his first one went in, I knew that the sour look was gone. Nothing cures a shooter like finally knocking one down.
Then a long bank shot.
Two shots from the corner.
A drive down the left side for two.
Another mid-range swish.
When it was over his team had gone down again but it was a better game - a 28-23 final.
Sam had scored 12.
We headed towards the car. He seemed a little concerned with his poor first half shooting and the fact that they lost.
"You're a good player," was all I said.
I gave him the old man head rub, and he smiled. He's recently pulled a couple of teeth from his head, and his smile looked a little weird, but it was a wonderful smile anyway.
My boy is a gunner.
I'm so proud.
I decided to make him sweat it out a little. "I went to your game last week and you got blown out," I said. "It was 38 to 8."
"We'll be better today."
A half hour later we had this exchange:
"Are you coming to my game?"
"Are you going to shoot?"
"As often as I can," he said.
And boy, did he. Two minutes in he missed. Then he missed at least three more. A couple that were halfway down before popping back up.
He looked at me and shrugged.
Moments later, in rapid succession, he took two more shots that were off the mark. This time, he didn't glance up. His head found the ground and there was a real sour look on his face.
Yet the kid has something that I never had. His court sense is good and he is always in the game, battling for his shot, playing D, and bringing the ball up court.
At a short break he looked at me again.
"Don't be afraid to keep shooting," I said.
He nodded.
When his first one went in, I knew that the sour look was gone. Nothing cures a shooter like finally knocking one down.
Then a long bank shot.
Two shots from the corner.
A drive down the left side for two.
Another mid-range swish.
When it was over his team had gone down again but it was a better game - a 28-23 final.
Sam had scored 12.
We headed towards the car. He seemed a little concerned with his poor first half shooting and the fact that they lost.
"You're a good player," was all I said.
I gave him the old man head rub, and he smiled. He's recently pulled a couple of teeth from his head, and his smile looked a little weird, but it was a wonderful smile anyway.
My boy is a gunner.
I'm so proud.
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