It's a holiday weekend and we were up at o'dark thirty preparing
for a day at the gym. Evan's team picked up a new player this week, and when I
saw this kid on the court Monday, I thought we had reached basketball heaven.
This kid has been blessed with some awesome basketball skills, and since our
team seriously lacks real talent, I just knew he was our answer to scoring out
of the single digits. And I dare say, I thought we might have a chance to win,
too. Our miracle player played well, but it wasn't enough to overcome the Jazz.
The Jazz coach arrives to the games with a clipboard, a marker board, and
colored markers. He has a play book. Our coach had the wrong game time, and
according to Evan, has only one play in his play book. It's called
suicides. However out-matched we might have been, Evan had two three point
shots and scored a total of eight points.
Keagan's team lost by one point in the last 20 seconds of the
game. Eight hours later it is still too painful for me to discuss. After the
game, he walked right past the mom holding the snack bags, skipping his thrice
daily carb high, and headed straight for the car. That's when I knew he
saw the injustice of the last minute loss as I did, and I would have to be the
adult and help him calmly walk through his anger and disappointment.
Then I saw these shots on my camera, and who could remain so sad?
He scored, he played his heart out, and he had parents we didn't even know
congratulating him with a job well done.
We will do it all over again next Saturday.
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