He Passed It!

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I spent part of my Saturday at a couple of local gyms to watch my sons play in their basketball games.

"We win this week we go to the championship game," Sam told me as we headed off that way.

I knew that. They'd been talking about it for weeks. Win or go home. Both teams were still alive with just two weeks left to go.

I was a little late for Jake's game, but coming off last weeks one-point win I was a bit concerned about arriving. A few of the parents had grown incensed with the poor old ref who'd had the gall to call 3-seconds.

I had stopped going to games for that reason.

The parents who believe their kid is destined for the NBA and who trample everything in their path at a game for 15-year-old children absolutely sickens me. I've uttered about five sentences at such games.

"Good D, Jake."

"Break the press in the middle!"

and

"Good hustle!"

That's all the kids need to hear. They don't need to know that everyone sucks, or they'd been cheated, or the other team is playing dirty.

They'll find all that out as they live.

As I entered the parking lot I got a text from Sam:

"Jake is playing amazing. He has five points in the first quarter."

My sons root for each other even though they pretend they don't. Jake was in-bounding the ball a week ago and the gym was quiet.

"The in-bounder sucks!" Sam yelled out, and he and Matt laughed and laughed. Jake found them in the crowd and nodded a smile back.

Jake's team won comfortably and he waited for me to congratulate him. I did and even bought him a slice as we headed towards Sam's game.

Sam was on the floor for the entire game. He whiffed on a couple of free throws, but made a couple of real nice passes.

Yeah, passes!

The entire episode wasn't lost on my varsity coach who just happened to be in the crowd. When Sam's 2nd pass resulted in an easy lay-up my coach said:

"He passed it! He can't be a Fuzzy!"

Dad always had once piece of advice for me before every game:

"They don't put your name in the paper for assists."

After the game Sam asked me about the pass that helped his team win to move on.

"It was a beauty," I said. "But I might have shot that one."

"You shot every one!" he cried.

Two championship games next week.

Two chances to hear screaming parents yelling at everyone else and getting angry and berating refs. I won't be one of them.

I'll sit quietly and root for the boys.

To shoot!

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