Some mothers laugh about parents who become emotionally involved in their children’s sporting events. I used to be one of those. But that was before I actually attended one of Eamon’s basketball games a few weeks ago.
Early in game, I heard some obnoxious woman screeching, “Wooooooooo!… Go, Baby! That’s my kid!” I turned around to raise an eyebrow at her and was alarmed to discover that the offending party was me.
I resolved to keep quiet. I didn’t want to embarrass the family. But how could my heartless husband remain so calm? I sat tensely, clutching the hapless baby in my lap. When some bully of a child (just when exactly did they begin allowing 16 year olds to play fourth grade basketball?) elbowed my son, only in my head did I shout things like, “Yo, ref! Where’s the foul?!” I think.
Thankfully, Eamon’s coach happens to be a woman with even more “team spirit” than I. And fewer inhibitions. God bless her. She spoke for us all.
Toward the end of the game, the score was close. A frail-looking child on the other team was fouled and went to the line to shoot two free throws. He looked nervous and small standing in front of the packed gymnasium. I knew I had a serious problem when I found myself willing, just willing the poor child to miss. Just miss, kid. Miss. What kind of person am I?
Today is the final day of the boys’ basketball program and this morning’s events include a skills competition. I know it would be a shame to have any unsportsmanlike behavior, hair-pulling, or crying over prizes awarded.
So. I am staying home.