+ Jumpshot

My son had basketball practice tonight. The coach got all over him for not doing a very good job of playing defense. He seemed lost, not keeping up with his offensive counterpart, getting tired, maybe a little lazy. And it's killing me because of all the organized sports he's played (baseball, soccer, basketball), basketball is the sport I know best, played the most and actually cares if he succeeds with, not just have fun.

He's almost five. He's cute. He loves to play. He loves to try anything. Very curious about stuff, and really not very shy. He gets that from his mom. But he even sniffs a Hot Wheels, or a Matchbox is inside the same building he's in, he'll drop whatever he's doing and go play with those cars.

He's getting to the age where sports are fun. Better to play than to watch, of course. I grew up with sports, mostly from my dad and oldest brother (maybe that will be another post down the road—my earliest sports memories) and it's really nice to see my boy genuinely like to play sports. He loves to wear the uniform (he begged me to wear his basketball gear to school all day) and looks forward to playing and learning.

But basketball comes so easily for me and it's painful to see him struggle with differentiating such simple concepts as offense and defense: on defense, you are assigned to another boy, you lock onto him, you don't let him out of your site, keep yourself between him and the basket and you chase him around nonstop and do not let him have the ball. Oh, and keep your hands UP! On offense, you forget about the boy you are told not to let out of your site, you stop chasing him around, he's supposed to chase you now, and you run away from him, and try to get the ball.

I guess, separately, he kinda gets it. But the problem is, (and, really, for all the boys and girls) this offense thing can change into this defense thing about every 2.5 seconds because there is absolutely no coordination, and both teams turn the ball over endlessly. So, this leaves the kids perpetually confused because coaches and moms and dads and brothers and sisters all are yelling "go get the ball, you're on offense!" then 2.5 seconds later, "go get your man, you're on defense!" and this goes on for an hour.

I have to say, though, my proudest moment, this early in his career, the sight of him, in his oversized reversible YMCA jersey, came during a real-live-it-counts game when he happened to be in the right spot at the right time, and the ball, among ten scrambling kids, impossibly bounced its way into his hands, and he had the presence of mind to do what most kids, most professional athletes, want to do first and foremost: score. He had the ball, he turned, and his little body heaved it up towards the 8-foot high basket and it went in. I jumped off my duff and boomed my appreciation across the elementary school gym.

But, even better than that, was the fact that he searched me out of the crowd, found me with mutual, Joker-sized grin, and we gave each other our customary long-distance sign language of everything-is-okay thumbs up.

Then, 2.5 seconds later, it's all over and I'm yelling "go get your man, you're on defense!"