Sweet Sixteen

Not a college basketball reference. Not a basketball fan. The squeak of sneakers on hard wood has always been an annoyance to me.
I never really got the game either.
Even when I played it. Yes, my middle school basketball career was brief. As was my play time each game. In fact, it was made up of the minimum required time that a kid had to play in each game. I don't remember how much time that actually was...but I do remember it wasn't much. Two minutes a half, maybe?
This was thirty years ago.
Back in the day when kids could actually play a game without both parents present and cheering their every move....no matter how bad those moves were.
Back when we were not awarded big shiny trophies when we ended the season 1-9.
We didn't get ice cream after we won (or lost) a game. Shit, we were lucky if someone remembered to pick us up after the game. (No, I was not neglected or abused. It was just a different time.) My parents worked and we didn't whine about it. It was a treat when they made it to a game....but I mostly felt guilty because they got to see me in the game for two minutes a half. No more, no less. Notice I purposely didn't use the word "play" in that sentence. Because I didn't play. The good players were told to keep the ball away from me for those two minutes. Coach "B" (yes, there is a really good chance the "B" stood for "bitch") was mean. And, she would set her watch to allow me only the play time she had to. I am not kidding. She would make a point of fiddling with her watch right before she did it. "Wilson in," she would bark and jerk her thumb toward the court. "Wilson OUT," she would yell loudly as soon as she could.
Don't get me wrong, I was a pretty obnoxious middle schooler and didn't shine on or off the court...at least in her eyes. I spent a fair amount of time making the other girls laugh as I screwed around while she tried to do her job. She wasn't one of those people that appreciated my unique middle school personality. That is cool. She may have been warned by one of the administrators that "although I had a tremendous talent to lead, I generally used that talent for purposes that were not positive." Read: she is a handful. Watch out for that one. Listen, I get it. Sometimes, it takes a while for me to grow on you. Sometimes, that growth doesn't happen. We can't all be Reese Witherspoon, right?

Here is the thing....my sport was field hockey. Oh, the glory days of high school field hockey. Totally different story. Wait, not about the ability part...but about the coach part. I kinda' sucked at field hockey, too. But I loved the frock...and our game day breakfasts were the team favorite for years. My field hockey coach didn't want to like me....because...wait for it... I generally screwed around and distracted the other girls while she tried to do her job. But in this case...even though she didn't want to like me...she did. She liked me. Her face would turn bright red right before she was going to yell at me to stop doing whatever I was doing. Once it was accidentally scoring on my own goalie at the start of the second half. It was a gorgeous shot. And, it counted for the other team. "WILSON OUT!" Her face was red and her hands were on her hips...but as I got closer to her, I could see she was trying not to laugh. She would turn around from the front seat on the bus to catch me doing something vulgar to someone in the car next to us. Her face would turn red. She would try to reprimand me but more often than not, ended up laughing instead. For whatever reason, what one coach did not find even a little bit funny, another coach did. Heck, that still happens to me with regular people on a regular basis. No accounting for taste, right?



OK....I know you want me to go on and on about my stellar athletic career...but you can buy the book. I can't give this stuff away for free, people.

Sixteen out.