Page 22 - LIfesOuttakes1

The Real March Madness Note, this is one in a series of 6 about the little girls’ basketball team. l March Madness always reminds me of the time my daughter, Trissa, who was six, asked me if she could play youth basketball. In my state of innocence, I could see no reason she shouldn’t. I drove her down to the city building to sign up. Outside, I saw some dads sitting in their cars. They would tell their daughters to go in and find out how much it cost, and bring the papers back out for them to sign. “What a bunch of couch potatoes,” I thought, assuming it was just a matter of laziness. “Why don’t they get off their duffs and just go in with their daughters?” I went in and found mostly girls, with a few moms. When we worked our way up the line, and were finally standing at the sign up table, the lady looked over her glasses and carefully sized me up. I realize now I must have had some invisible sign hanging on me that said “Sucker”. “Have you ever thought about coaching one of these teams?” she asked. I honestly had never thought about coaching any team, let alone one made up of small girls. I told her I hadn’t played team basketball since high school. “Oh, it’s no problem,” she said. “With girls this age, all you have to do is teach the fundamentals. You know, dribbling, shooting - that kind of stuff.” “Well,” I stammered, pausing to look at all the young girls around me. “I’m not sure.” 17