June 3 – “Basketball”

We made a trip to Mansfield yesterday.  There was not a crisis or anything.  It was just that this week was the only window of opportunity we had for what could be a long time.  Chris' Mom and Dad both have more and more doctor appointments coming up.  I have a few weddings scheduled.  Camp is the middle of June.  Even trying to get here next Saturday for Zakary's fourth birthday party was looking bleak.  As it stands, Chris and my Mom will try to drive back up next Friday.  I have a wedding that Friday evening.  Then Saturday I will get one of the cheap Southwest Airlines flights from Houston Hobby Dallas Love Field.  Then we'll all drive back together after the party Saturday afternoon.  Sounds like it'll work.  We'll see.   We got here in time to go with Josh and Christi to their church youth group.  It was finals week, so Josh let them have a rec night in the gym.  At one point one of the boys – the son of one of our good friends up here – came over and invited me to join them in playing some basketball.  Now how could I pass up an invitation like that?  Chris gave me one of her "looks," but she knew I had to give it a try.  So I emptied my pockets, took off my glasses, took out my hearing aids and ambled out onto the court.  Not a pretty picture.   Someone tossed me a ball.  Gently.  I noticed he was being kind to the old man.  This was the warm-up time, so three or four balls were always flying toward the basket.  A perfect opportunity to test out my shooting.  I knew I'd be rusty, and no one likes to be totally shamed before the game even starts.  I took up a spot inside the three point line.  I didn't want to start too far away.  You know, slowly build up to the harder shots.  I turned and let it fly.  Now part of the story involves what happened with the ball, so let me get that over first.  It never reached the basket.  I would like to tell you that there was a really tall kid there who plays center on the high school team and can jump like deer.  And I'd like to tell you that he saw my shot coming and leapt into the air and swatted it away.  I'd like to tell you that he came down and threw his fists into the air and pointed at me and said, "I stuffed you, Old Man!"  I'd like to.  But none of that happened.  The ball left my hand and began its arc, which was more like a slightly modified straight line.  It traveled a fairly short distance, then began its downward movement – way too soon.  It fell to the ground, a totally spent missile, missing the rim by at least  two feet.  Nowhere close.   Meanwhile, back at the source of the takeoff, the launch site was slowly attempting a recovery.  My fingers and wrists were burning.  I knew that I hadn't properly used my knees, because they felt fine.  I chuckled nervously and walked over to pick up a ball for another attempt.  I moved in a few steps more this time.  Didn't want to press my luck.  I took a little more time.  And this time I thought about my knees.  So they went into action, almost of their own accord.  Now, everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.  The crouch, the crackling, the snaps, the pops.  It sounded like a breakfast cereal had unleashed the shot.  And the ball traveled with … well, with about the same result as before.   Now I was determined.  After all, I was a basketball coach for years.  I knew the proper procedure for shooting.  I even thought about the little story I used to tell my teams that ended with "Every Body Has Eleven Fingers."  E- Eyes on the basket.  Since my cataract surgery, I could actually see the basket pretty well with my right eye.  B – Balance.  The cocktail of medications I have been taking do a number on my balance every so often.  And it does hurt to bend my knees.  H – Hand position on the ball.  My fingers throb most of the time, but they are not always this swollen.  And the red spots on my knuckles are just weird.  E – Elbow perpendicular to the ground.  My left elbow has never stopped hurting, but I was shooting right-handed, and that side is not near as bad.  F – Follow through.  My wrists are right up there in the same category as my fingers, throbbing most of the time.  But I was ready now.  I could do this.  I moved to the free throw line.  I could always hit one from there if I concentrated on the steps.  A few dribbles.  The shot is up.  The fundamentals have proven effective.  The ball hits the front of the rim, barely, and falls to the ground.   Undaunted, I leaned over to pick up another ball and try again.  My back barked at me.  I gave it a second to calm down and realized I had a smaller girl's ball, so I shot again.  Closer, but still a miss.  Now determined as well as aching all over, I moved up next to the basket and shot a layup.  And scored!  Not exactly cause for celebration, but satisfying, nonetheless.  About that time Josh walked up and struck up a conversation, thus distracting me from my intensity and no doubt saving me from further embarrassment.  I never did get into a real game last night.  Most definitely the blessing of the day.  For everybody.   Nehemiah 9:5-6 says, "Blessed be your glorious name, and may it be exalted above all blessing and praise. 6 You alone are the Lord. You made the heavens, even the highest heavens, and all their starry host, the earth and all that is on it, the seas and all that is in them. You give life to everything, and the multitudes of heaven worship you."   Father, thank you for the ways you have blessed me with my family.  Amen.