Basketball Jones Revisited

And I loved that basketball
I took that basketball with me everywhere I went
That basketball was like a basketball to me

I even put that basketball underneath my pillow
Maybe that's why I can't sleep at night

-Richard Marin and Thomas Chong

(better know as Cheech and Chong)

I coached both of my sons during their important ‘formative years.’  You know, those years when a young boy develops and refines the important things in life: Their shooting, dribbling, passing and rebounding skills in basketball.  Of course coaching my sons also meant I was responsible for coaching seven or eight other parents’ sons as well, and if you’ve never had that (hmmm…) opportunity I suggest you try it sometime to see what you’re missing.*

*Countless second-guesses, unsolicited coaching advice and more ‘why don’t you play my boy more’ than anyone deserves to hear in a thousand lifetimes.

With those vivid memories forever burned into my brain, it was with great restraint and reluctance I didn’t offer my assistance to the young man coaching my grandson in his first season playing on a basketball team.  That doesn’t mean, however that I didn’t have a hand in doing a little ‘preparatory work’ before Krischan took the court for the first time as a player for the Peachtree City Panthers.

I took Krischan to the basketball court at his elementary school several times during the summer to teach him the aforementioned important things in life.  Although we were practicing on a 10-foot basket (his team would ultimately be playing on eight-foot baskets), he did pretty well for someone just over four-feet tall playing a sport he had never played until after his sixth birthday.  His shooting was sound, regardless of it requiring all of his strength to get the ball high enough to reach the basket.  His dribbling was solid, even if he had to look at the ball while he was doing it.  His passing was his strong suit, both the chest and the bounce varieties.  His rebounding was…well, three out of four wasn’t too bad for this tiny hardcourt neophyte. 

A couple weeks before Krischan’s first organized practice with his team I brought my portable (and adjustable) basketball goal home from work, the same goal both of my sons and I wore out over a generation ago in the driveway in front of the house.  (I took it to my warehouse a decade ago when we started holding annual free throw shooting contests.  I was the champion in 2009, I might add.  Not important, just an important piece of history you should be aware of.)  I set the goal up in the driveway, lowered the basket to eight feet and just as it was with both of my sons when they were Krischan’s age, my grandson took to playing basketball after school like Nike took to Michael Jordan.

Playing basketball after school until the sun went down became the norm.  Krischan would ‘win’ our daily one-on-one competition, usually by a basket or two but always with the reddest face and sopping wet hair, a testament to how hard he was playing.  One afternoon I went inside the house and when I came back out he told me he made eight baskets in a row.  He then proceeded to miss his next three shots.  When he made the next one he said ‘nine in a row.’  I asked him if he knew what ‘in a row’ meant and he gave me an explanation that sounded so plausible it actually made sense, similar to an explanation he gave me earlier on another subject.*

*Once at the dinner table Krischan finished his meal and said he was full.  A few minutes later I got some ice cream out of the freezer and Krischan said he wanted some.  I told him I thought he was full and he held his hand up to his chin and told me he was ‘this full’ and had the room above his hand (essentially his head) for the ice cream.  He then burped, lowered his hand a couple of inches and said ‘now I’m only THIS full.’

Krischan was coming along so well I couldn’t wait until he got to his first basketball practice.  I was surprised—and not in a good way but more of a ‘WHAT THE HECK IS THAT?’ kind of way—when he took to the court for the first time.  Not only was his dribbling the basketball WITH TWO HANDS, he was also shooting at the basket with both hands UNDERHANDED!!!  It was all I could do to restrain myself from running out onto the court and offering unsolicited coaching advice.  I quietly bit my tongue and made a conscious decision to save my two cents for the next afternoon when we practiced in the driveway.  Later that evening he bumped into a teammate and fell to the court, landing on both knees and when he rose to his feet he was crying. The coach rushed to his aid while the other boys looked on.  There’s nothing like a little drama on the first practice of the year, right?  I’m glad to report the only thing hurt was his pride, or should I say his G-Pa’s pride.

Krischan went on to cry at the second practice (jammed finger while getting a rebound) as well as the third (another boy stole the ball from him; I found out later the league has a ‘no steal’ policy for the young’un’s and Krischan didn’t have any experience having the ball stolen from him).  Needless to say Krischan and I had the ‘no crying in basketball’ talk as well as a little show-and-tell regarding how to brush things off rather than allowing them to make you cry.  After his fourth practice (I couldn’t attend so his dad took him) when I asked him how he did, all he said was ‘I didn’t cry.’  Mission accomplished. 

As for those countless second guesses, I’ll admit I’ve had my share.  (Second Guess #1) During the second practice the coach had the team line up at half court and instructed the boys to take the ball to the basket using a crossover dribble (alternating dribbling from one hand to the other).  Suffice it to say: Less than half of the team could dribble with one hand let alone two.  (Second Guess # 2) During the third practice the coach divided the team in half and told four boys they were ‘offense’ and the other four boys they were ‘defense.’  Over half of them had no idea what he was talking about since they didn’t have any experience playing an actual game.  Being the ex-coach that I am, I bit my tongue and will continue to in the future.  (Lord, give me strength.)

Unfortunately I was out of town for Krischan’s first two games; one on Saturday and one on Sunday.  After Saturday’s game Krischan called me afterwards and told me how things went.  ‘We won the game!  No, I think we tied, 14 to 14.  But maybe we won; I’m not sure.  I had fun and I didn’t cry.’    That brought memories back to my coaching days.  Our team had just lost an important game.  Afterwards I gathered the boys around me and tried my best to both console them after the loss and build up their excitement for our next game.  I asked them if they had anything they wanted to say.  One boy raised his hand and asked ‘what are we having for a treat today?’ 

After Sunday’s game I didn’t get a call.  Krischan’s team lost and for reasons unknown he didn’t want to tell me.  I found out later he played a good bit and even took his first official shot (a miss, but still…). 

Fortunately someone took a photograph of Krischan dribbling during the game and I’m proud to report he looks like he knows what he was doing.  That is if you discount the fact he was three feet out of bounds at the time. 

Then again I’ve always been a ‘glass half full’ kind of guy so it looked perfectly good to me.