I spent most of my Sunday, 10:40-5:00, attending the "final four" basketball games of my biggest boy. I love watching him play basketball. The games only last an hour, they are fast moving, and always changing.
Most of his talent stems from the fact that I was voted MVP of my 8th grade junior varsity team. I was queen of the right handed lay up. Evidently the varsity coach didn't agree. I was happy though to play on JV as opposed to sitting on the bench on varsity.
My son often asks why I never played basketball in high school. I had to tell him that they didn't have any teams lower than freshman girls basketball, and I wasn't good enough to even make that.
My son's last game was played against a team from Las Vegas, the Fury...ooh. The mothers and fathers were adorned in white hooded sweatshirts which had a gigantic photo of their child screen printed on to the front with his number. Very proud parents.
The teams were equally matched and we were both playing for a chance at 3rd place. One man from their team was asked to shut his pie hole or he would get thrown out of the gym. Our teams parents are generally more quiet, shouting out a "Go Knights!" every now and then, and clapping when a basket is made. That is the extent of our cheering. Nothing too boisterous or attention grabbing.
The Fury's parents were ridiculous. There was one grandma who was shouting the entire time in a voice needed if you are a firefighter yelling for people to get away from a burning building. We stared at her enough to make her move her seat next to the other shouter on the team.
The other shouter yelled so loud that the boys from another team who were sitting below her, waiting to participate in the next game, kept turning around to stare at her. Even her fellow parent folk were amazed.
By the last quarter their team was up by 10 and it didn't look too good for our team. This gave the screamers even more fuel. At this point they began stomping their feet against the wooden bleachers, clapping, and shouting more loudly. Absurd. We just shook our heads.
Their team won. No thanks to the shouters. Our boys couldn't buy a basket.
If you ever see me at one of my child's sporting events, shouting more loudly than any other parents who's child is on the team, please tap me on the shoulder and tell me to shut it. I'm sure that my husband and child would be grateful, as well as the other parents sitting around me.
Most of his talent stems from the fact that I was voted MVP of my 8th grade junior varsity team. I was queen of the right handed lay up. Evidently the varsity coach didn't agree. I was happy though to play on JV as opposed to sitting on the bench on varsity.
My son often asks why I never played basketball in high school. I had to tell him that they didn't have any teams lower than freshman girls basketball, and I wasn't good enough to even make that.
My son's last game was played against a team from Las Vegas, the Fury...ooh. The mothers and fathers were adorned in white hooded sweatshirts which had a gigantic photo of their child screen printed on to the front with his number. Very proud parents.
The teams were equally matched and we were both playing for a chance at 3rd place. One man from their team was asked to shut his pie hole or he would get thrown out of the gym. Our teams parents are generally more quiet, shouting out a "Go Knights!" every now and then, and clapping when a basket is made. That is the extent of our cheering. Nothing too boisterous or attention grabbing.
The Fury's parents were ridiculous. There was one grandma who was shouting the entire time in a voice needed if you are a firefighter yelling for people to get away from a burning building. We stared at her enough to make her move her seat next to the other shouter on the team.
The other shouter yelled so loud that the boys from another team who were sitting below her, waiting to participate in the next game, kept turning around to stare at her. Even her fellow parent folk were amazed.
By the last quarter their team was up by 10 and it didn't look too good for our team. This gave the screamers even more fuel. At this point they began stomping their feet against the wooden bleachers, clapping, and shouting more loudly. Absurd. We just shook our heads.
Their team won. No thanks to the shouters. Our boys couldn't buy a basket.
If you ever see me at one of my child's sporting events, shouting more loudly than any other parents who's child is on the team, please tap me on the shoulder and tell me to shut it. I'm sure that my husband and child would be grateful, as well as the other parents sitting around me.
Comments
Also, your star poster looked awesome!
It wasn't until my Mom showed me a video of one of Hunt's games and I was the only thing you could hear that I realized I needed help. I've since founded the ISMA (insane screaming mothers annonymous) and I've noticed a lot of progress in myself. Maybe you can pass my information along to The Fury. Just a thought :)
Erin