This past weekend, my granddaughter and some of her friends decided to extend their 'sleepover' by attending a soccer game in which one of the other gals would be playing.
When I inquired of DD later how the soccer game had gone, she responded by saying, "Not very well. She (the playing gal) accidentally kicked in the winning goal for the opponents." I said, "Oh, no! How did that happen?"
DD told me that there was a huge melee very near the opponent's goal line (I probably don't have the correct terminology here. ['goal line'?] I am almost completely soccer-illiterate. Please forgive my descriptive ignorance.) and, in the ensuing confusion, she (the playing gal) accidentally kicked in the winning goal for the opponents.
How embarrassing that must have been for her! I can only imagine what she must have been feeling.
This story reminded me of when I was playing basketball in high school. I hated the sport. Literally! Nevertheless, it was required that we participate as a part of PE (Physical Education).
Those were the days when there were separate rules for 'women' and 'men' ... we (or at least some of us, depending on the position we were playing) were not allowed to dribble, could take a maximum of two steps before passing off the ball, and my mind just refuses to remember the rest of the awful rules.
The game came down to the last final seconds. We were down by one point. I had the ball. I kept looking around for someone to pass to who could make the winning shot. There was no one.
People (in the back of my conscious mind) were screaming, "Shoot! Shoot!!" I didn't listen to them. The game ended as I was still frantically looking around for someone to pass to who could shoot and score the winning basket for our side.
My 'love affair' with basketball continued in college. I was a music major. As such, I can distinctly remember being part of a 'pep' band that had to play a little pep-like ditty immediately at the start of every timeout (and it seemed to me like it was every other second or so).
Otherwise, the basketball just traveled up and down the court, up and down the court, and up and down the court some more. I'm exaggerating here, I'm pretty sure, but if you were at all prone to dizziness (or your neck muscles were unused to such frequent gyrations), you might be tempted to faint or even throw up.
All that said, at heart I am a "homer". I've lived in Houston going on 40 years now, and always cheer (albeit from a far-distant sideline) for the Rockets. If the Rockets are not in it, then my attention vaguely turns to the Spurs or Mavericks.
I promise to write at least one more entry on basketball, one of which will be taxi-related, but don't ever ask me to attend a basketball game, OK?