(The only-slightly-fictionalized account of the night "my baby" got "the spirit")
In our last little installment we reviewed how Dan, Sam, and Micah came to be at a little private school and how they all three managed to make the basketball team. If my math skills serve me correctly, (and my mother will tell you they rarely do,) my boys collectively comprise 20% of the team. Now they rarely play at the same time, due to the differences in their ages, skills and sizes.
Little Micah, you will recall, is well----- little. A fifth grader, Micah stands a whopping 4'8"---we just got out ye olde tape measure a few days ago. Sarah likes to compare him to one of her favorite PBS characters, George Shrinks, who is also the shorty pants in his family. (Of course, Micah does not like the comparison, because George Shrinks is about three inches tall!) It is likely that Micah got the majority of his genes from his two grandfathers. His father and I do not see much of ourselves in him. Micah has his Pappy's ears and his GrandDan's height. GrandDan is around 5'8", so we figure Micah only has another foot to grow during his teen years.
Meanwhile, while we know exactly where Micah got his traits, it appears that Sam, our middle child, did indeed crawl out from under a rock. He favors no one that we know of. While he has enough of his daddy in him to assure his paternity, his physical characteristics are still under investigation. Sam certainly did not get his metabolism from his dad or me. He eats like a horse but never gains an ounce. He already wears a size 14 shoe and is somewhere around 6'1" or 6'2". There are plenty of tall men in Sam's lineage, but we just cannot figure out which one gave him the majority of his physical traits. I'll keep you posted on the status of the investigation.
I should interject here that I have had witnesses to all the births of the children, and we are pretty sure that none were mixed up at the hospital.
And then, there is Daniel. Daniel is probably the easiest of the kids to dissect. He looks so much like his daddy that it hurts, as they say. However, Daniel has finally hit the place at 18 that he has outgrown his father. He is 6'1" according to the measuring tape, although he just "knows" he is bigger than that. He does seem a lot taller than that to me, but the mark on the kitchen doorway does not lie. We did it three times, turned the measuring tape around two different ways, and still came up with the same numbers. What we have here is a case of boys exaggerating their height! The whole basketball team thinks they are 3 inches taller than they actually are! They claim the doctor told them they were 6'4"! But that's another story.
But back to Daniel. I guess it is true what a girlfriend told me 20 years ago. First babies are special. It is not that you love them any more than the others. It is just that you seem to recall everything about their babyhood so much more vividly, I think. At least, that is the way it is with Daniel. That is why I am simply not believing that my baby is 18 now, and it is just so hard to think that he will be out on his own sooner than I am ready to let him go.
As far as I am concerned, though, Daniel is giving me my money's worth out of his senior year. He is participating in many activities, but basketball has been the most prominent thusfar. We go to state in just two weekends now. However, there was one night--just one game--this year that if that had been the only game of the year, it would have been worth all the effort. That was the night that the Red Bull met our version of Shaquille O'Neal.
I have heard many mothers tell about how their sons have rituals that they do before sporting events. There was the one story about how one kid had his lucky undershirt that he wore under his football jersey. He would not let his mom wash it all season as long as they won. I have heard similar stories about other items of clothing not washed--socks, jocks, shoes, and jerseys. (All I can say is that I am extremely glad my child lets me wash his clothing, because his socks alone could be used as a weapon of mass destruction.) Other kids have a series of special movements that they must go through before the big game, like napping, eating, and meditating, or something like that.
Well, as the year has progressed, Daniel has come up with his own ritual that must be completed prior to game time. First, he comes home and sleeps for as long as he can between school and the game. When he gets up, he likes to consume some rice or pasta, but nothing heavy. Then, he dresses and we head for the gym, where he likes to be half an hour early so that he can "shoot around." Then, right before the game starts, he consumes his secret weapon---the Red Bull.
"Red Bull" is a new drink out on the market that is in the family of drinks designed to boost the mental acuity of all of us overworked, overstressed, sleep-deprived people of the 21st Century. It taste like a combination of Mountain Dew and urine.
(I hear my mother's familiar little voice again..."And how would you know what urine tastes like?" O.k., Mother, it tastes like what I imagine a combination of Mountain Dew and urine tastes like!)
It is certainly not on my top ten list of drinks to grab from the convenience store cooler, as I would take a Dr. Pepper anytime over any of these new-fangled brain-booster drinks. However, Daniel has come to believe that he cannot make it through 4 quarters of play without a Red Bull.
And so, a few weeks ago, we had traveled south to a neighboring town for a match-up between schools that have a history of strong rivalry. Apparently, year after year, these two schools have met, and being in such close proximity to one another, the kids know one another and "talk smack" to one another before games. Our kids had heard that their kids had really been "talking smack" and apparently, that is the worst thing that rival teams can do to one another--this "talking smack" thing. So we were already loaded for bear when we stepped off that bus.
I was taken aback when we walked into the gymnasium of this opposing team. It was the tiniest little gym I had ever seen. Around the court, there was about 3 feet of space between the boundary lines and the wall on 3 sides. On the 4th side, there was maybe 20 feet of space. There was just enough room to put 3 rows of folding chairs, and this is where the parents were expected to sit. Nearly every chair was filled, and there had to have been another 100 people standing where they could. There was a hint of excitement in the air that I had not sensed before. This was going to be an unusual game--I just knew it!
Tim looked nervous. He was on crutches, still, and I could tell that he did not like the idea of ten sweaty, gargantuan boys fighting over a ball ending up landing on his torn up knee in a sea of folding chairs. I did not particularly like the idea of Hannah ending up as a greasy spot on the floor should that scenario happen, either. But it was what we had to work with, so we found a chair and settled in for the game.
What followed reminded me more of a hockey game than a basketball game. I have never seen such hitting, punching, slamming, jamming play in a high school basketball game before. The refs tolerated more than they should have, and by letting the roughness go, it escalated as the game progressed. I personally did not see unsportsman-like conduct, really, although I was told later that some sneaky punches were being thrown here and there. Being down on ground level, I saw more of what the players see than ever before. Our kids were shooting into the hoop on the far end of the court during the first half, so we could not see as well until the second half when they came down to shoot on the spectator end of the gym.
Now Daniel has had this habit of looking somewhat like a deer in the headlights during the first half of most of the games this year. Granted, he has only been playing basketball for two years now, and he has come an awful long way in the time he has played. The coach told us he has rarely ever let a second year player play, much less start, in games in the past. Daniel has practiced and practiced, and his size does not hurt either. But we have all been frustrated that it takes him a whole half usually to get rid of his nerves.
Plus, he is not a good dribbler. The coach has told him in no uncertain terms to only dribble when he has no other choice. His job is to pull down rebounds and block so that the skinny little good dribblers can use him as a screen to get around to the goal and score. He has been quite a useful player in that role this year.
So, on this particular night, things had been really ugly so far, and prospects for winning did not look good. Our crowd was quieter than usual, having been taken out of the game somewhat by the harshness of the play and the unusual officiating, or lack of it, that was being done. Nearly every player had hit the floor hard due to some sneaky move by the opponents. By the fourth quarter, battered and bruised, we were 15 points behind. The way they had played, it was a wonder we were not further down than we were. We were beginning to resign ourselves to going home to tell of a hard-fought near-win against our dear arch-rivals.
Then, the Red Bull kicked in.
It was like when Bill Bixby changed into the Incredible Hulk! We saw it in his eyes. Daniel got mad! And you know what happens when Bill Bixby/Daniel gets mad. He transforms. Except Daniel did not transform into the Hulk---he transformed into the Shaq!
Yep, right there before our eyes, my mild-mannered, too-polite-to-play-ball "baby" transformed into a basketball player. Woe be to that player that hit Daniel in a bad spot. In the next moments, he was up there grabbing rebounds and feeding them to his slightly-shocked teammates. As soon as the ball made it back across to the opposing team's side, he would steal it and send it on back down our way! When our point guard could not find a way in to the goal, Daniel would just take the ball, plow in, and shoot! The score began to tighten! The cry started going up---"Get it to Daniel, get it to Daniel!"
"Brother Lloyd," the man who announces our home games looked over and caught my eye. By now, Tim and I were both standing on the wall with a host of other cheering parents. "What has gotten into Daniel?" he asked with a huge grin.
He presumed it was "the spirit." I knew better. It was the Red Bull!
With every steal, every rebound, every field goal, the intensity in the gym mounted. The crowd was on its feet. The cheerleaders looked like they were lip-syncing, as they could not be heard over the roar. As we overtook the opposing team in scoring for the first time all night, an even louder roar went up. We just might win this one!
The opposing coach was livid. He told his players to turn it up a level. Our coach was on his feet, but for once, he was pretty speechless! I don't think that he could believe that Daniel was flawlessly executing all those plays that he draws on the clipboard while yelling at my blond son.
The officials stopped the game, put all ten players in a huddle and told them to settle down and quit being quite so physical. It was too late for that. Shaq was in the house!
Our team had new life, and with some of the prettiest playing I have seen in a long time, they moved ahead and won by 10 points. It was not just Daniel. The whole team was working like a well-oiled machine. Together, they managed to score 25 points that went nearly unanswered in the fourth quarter(only two points for the opposing team). By this time, the Baptists were sure that Tim and me (but especially me) had "gotten the spirit" too! I was jumping up and down like a school girl of 16 as Dan made play after play. Hannah and Sarah were delighted that their "old Mom" actually still had some life left in her. Tim was throwing in a few "That's my boy" 's.
It was a special night for me. Every parent needs at least one night like this in their life. For those of us that do not have super-athletes, it is fun when they have one game where everything goes right.
As I said, we have State Tournament in two weeks. We'll be there, carrying Daniel's stash of Red Bull. I think we just have to get him to drink it a little earlier--that's all! I'll keep you posted on whether or not there are any more Shaq sitings.
And who knows what could happen if Sam gets hold of a can of Red Bull. "Michael Jordan" just might show up at a high school game!
Wish us luck!
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