I don't know about the big guys. Seems like a bunch of overgrowns acting like hardly grown, to me... but I do know about the little girls. Bball Girl's winter basketball season is in full effect. Yesterday evening found me rushing home from work, swooping into the house like the kids' worst nightmare, rushing kids everywhere, hustling, shuffling and finally getting BBall Girl in the car to zoom to the mall to get basketball shoes for her assessment one small hour after the end of my work day.
Tell me why I didn't take care of this over the weekend? Or, any day prior to last night when the shoes were needed? Well, I can't answer that question myself, so it was a mad dash to get things done. Swooped (or maybe flew) into the mall, hit up Foot Locker and had already pre-determined that I would not be held up by Bball's shoe opinions. Knowing her like I do I prepped her with a clear "we don't have time to be selective." Why is it that my problem of not being proactive becomes her problem? I don't know, why is the sky blue? Why does this always seem to be the way of things. Mad-dash mom ran up in that store and tried to quickly get her to settle on some shoes. "Any shoes will be fine" is what wound up coming out of my mouth. But of course, because I am who I am, any shoes will not be fine. They can't be ugly. Duh. So I gave her a few options and of course she wanted to go outside of those options and go for some atrocious looking things. Good thing for me time was not on our side. Things moved quicker than she would have liked. We settled on some great Air Force Ones. White. She didn't want the white. They will get dirty to fast, she tells me. Doesn't matter, I tell her. Just play ball in them.
As a shoe connoisseur myself, I must tell you they look good on her. We sped (literally) over to the school for the assessment only to find out that nothing was on time. Should have known. Her time slot to show up was 6:30, but literally it was a free-for-all in terms of coming at whatever time you felt like coming. She signed in and got number 23 stuck on her back as her identifier for the coaches. You do know there is a draft for the players, right? Yes, they are 4th graders. I think the #23 was a sign. I'm conjuring up Micheal Jordan in all his glory.
Bball Girl was at least one foot smaller than every single other girl out there. But size indicates nothing, especially if you have speed on your side. The assessment consists of dribbling down the full court with your left hand and then back down with your right hand, making one shot in the process. This is followed by 3 foul shot attempts and finally a 10 minute scrimmage of 6 on 6. Poor Bball Girl was limited by an over-sized penny that was taking up way too much of her time to adjust and keep from falling off her completely and landing around her ankles. Despite that, her speed shined through. She had a few steals and worked brilliantly with a friend, and former teammate from last year, to take a pass, dribble down and shoot for the 2 point bucket. Considering it's been a year since she last played, she was looking like she is ready to have a great season.
Meanwhile, the dad/coaches - sit on the side in sports chairs with their clipboards in hand, taking notes about the players. There is a draft, friends. The dads/coaches will be meeting at the coordinator's house to complete their draft. That I would like to be a fly on the wall for. Good thing The Hub is coaching. You read that right (I wonder if he is personally trying to keep my blog in business). His coaching means my girl is not a free agent. Now, if he can just do his best finagling to get us a great team we'll be in business. I promise you, Bball Girl is more excited about the season than I am. Okay, maybe not.
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