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Thursday, June 06, 2013

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Derek.forehand.1

This is a tough sport. It requires no pads. No one has to wear a helmet. Some may use mouth protection, but you don't see it often. All you really need are a good pair of shoes, a fresh can of balls and a decent racquet.

And exceptional hand-eye coordination. The the ability to fly around the court. Chess-like decision-making skills. Endurance. Mental toughness. An opponent who has a strong understanding of sportsmanship and ethics.

Joshua.forehand.1

These kids go out on the court and take care of business. They don't have line judges and chair umpires and ball boys. They call their own scores. They call the outs. They come to the net and work out disagreements. 

It's hard. 

It's hard to be that competitive and look at a ball you want desperately to be out and call it good. But for the most part, I watch kids do that every weekend. And they do it well. There are some bad calls, but there are bad calls in professional matches with chair umpires. 90% of the kids in the tournaments I've watched do their best to make good calls.

There are resources available to kids in a tournament who feel their opponent is not making good calls. They're allowed to leave the court and find an official and ask that official to watch the match. I've seen it a few times, and I've seen those officials go out, act impartially, and help everyone on the court by being there.

This past weekend, however, I saw the worst sort of playing and officiating. I was thankful that it wasn't on a court with one of my boys, but it did happen on a court with a boy that trains with mine. He's one of those kids that is completely straightforward in his game. He makes good calls - sometimes he's a little too generous with his lines. He is calm on the court, rarely making any triumphant "C'mon!" calls, rarely showing any displeasure when he makes a mistake. He just wants to play, play well, and win. And he does.

I watched him play a match on Sunday against a boy who was a good player. The first couple of games seemed pretty even, but that's about when the cheating started. The opponent started calling balls out a little more regularly. He started making late calls, based on where he thought his ball was going. He tried to change the score. He started being disruptive. So, my boys' friend, let's call him Honest Bob, went to get an official. The official came out, watched the match for a while and then was called to another court.

The other boy made excellent calls while the official was on the court, of course. He started his nonsense right back up as soon as the official left. Honest Bob would get an official again. Official would come out. Cheaty McCheaterson would start up again.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

The first set went to a tiebreak, which Bob won.

Flash forward to the second set. It's tied up at three games each, McCheaterson serving. He lost three points in a row, making the score 0-40. Bob hit one wide on the next serve. McCheaterson drops the balls on the court and starts walking to the score board to give himself the game. The score should be 15-40...a long way to go before winning the game.

Honest Bob stops him - asks what he's doing. Cheaty says he just won the game. There are words at the net, and Bob leaves the court, yet again, to get an official. When he comes back, it's with a different official than the one who's been on the court umpty-four times already. He talks with the boys.

Typically, in such situations, the official will ask each boy for his side of the story and try to get them to agree on a score. If the official wasn't on court at the time, he can't make a determination about who is telling the truth. In the stands, we all start to assume they're going to have to replay the entire game, if they can't agree on any points. 

Instead, we all watched in disbelief as the official walked over to the scoreboard and flipped the card on McCheaterson's side to 4. After listening to both boys, he decided that Cheaty must have won. The spectators in the stands erupted. Bob ran off the court to get a higher official.

Long story short - well, shorter - the head official takes the game back to 30-30. Bob goes on to lose that game, the set, and eventually the match. The emotional strain had overwhelmed him, which was, of course, exactly what Cheaty McCheaterson was going for. He didn't care if he won that game. It was a calculated effort to disrupt the mental game of Bob. 

And that's ridiculously sad.

Sadder still is the official who decided to make a ruling based on the acting skills of a boy who had set up the whole thing. He acted as if he had the power to change the game score, to accept the word of just one side, and he didn't. His entire role was to be a mediator, not a judge. It's pretty clearly outlined in the guidelines what to do in the case of a dispute, and he didn't do it, not by a longshot.

What he did was undermine the credibility of his position. We tell these boys all the time - if there's a problem, get an official. If you think someone is making bad calls, get an official. How many of the boys that were watching that match will want to go get an official when tensions erupt? How many times will Bob go and get help after that match?

It's unfortunate, but in the long run, Bob will continue to get better and Cheaty will start to falter. Cheaty actually lost his next match, and Bob went on to win a couple more. I talked to Bob after his match, and he was so discouraged. He just wanted to go home - to give up, because that just sucks the fun out of the game. But he didn't. He processed the loss, found some positives to take away from it and moved on. And I was proud to know him, in that moment.

Because sometimes wrong wins. Sometimes bad behavior succeeds. Sometimes cheaters prosper.

But nothing feels better than an honest game. Nothing feels better than getting into bed at night, knowing that whatever you did that day, win or lose, you did it with integrity and honor. And nobody can truly beat you, if you hold onto your standards and do the right thing.

Good work, Bob.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Do You...

Remember When


  • Summer was heralded by the frantic scribbling of pencils on paper, scented with aroma of eraser debris and the heady smells of mimeographed exams?
  • Parents didn't scramble to find something to occupy their children during the weeks of summer vacation, they just made sure that the hosepipes were functional and the locks sturdy?
  • Three bowls of sugar-laden cereal didn't seem all that excessive, and in fact were considered a well-balanced breakfast?
  • Scabby knees were badges of honor, regardless of gender? Their protrusion between the hems of shorts and the tops of tube socks were a sign that trees had been climbed, hills had been conquered and bicycles tamed.
  • Speaking of bicycles - do you remember wearing helmets? Me neither.
  • Bologna sandwiches were excellent lunches? 
  • Barbie and Ken broke up because Barbie had the hots for G.I. Joe? Or was that just at my house?
  • Bottle-rockets were fired from one end of the street to the other as a part of the on-going war that was Camellia Lane? And somehow, no one lost an eye or a thumb?
  • The street lights went on and everyone started running, calling out see-you-laters and same-time-tomorrows?
I do. I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember the street and the people on it. I remember the red rubber ball that we played four-square with. I remember calling out "CAR!" and moving out of the way. I remember my white bike with the banana seat and the white plastic basket on the front that was covered with plastic daisies.

I don't remember what my mother did. I assume she was around, but she had her own friends and her own things to do. I guess she was running errands and taking care of my little sister and gardening. And making bologna sandwiches. Sometimes they even had fried bologna on them, but only when we were being particularly good.

I wonder what my children will remember. Likely, it will be all the time spent in the car to get to this thing or that thing. They'll remember time spent hitting tennis balls and time at the neighborhood pool. But they won't remember the freedom that they had, because kids just don't have that any more. Even when I send them out to explore and ride their bikes and have a great time, they come back...there aren't any other kids out exploring. We go to the pool and it's just us and the toddlers until 4 or 5 in the afternoon, when the parents are off work and the kids can finally come out to play.

All the other kids are at day camps and day cares and math tutoring sessions and art classes and music intensives. Because summer is the time to get ahead and make up lost ground and pushpushpush so we don't get behind.

And I'm sorry for them. I'm sorry that they never shot a bottle-rocket at their friend and watched in horror as it hit the bill of his ball cap and flew straight up in the air. I'm sorry that they haven't perfected the art of manufacturing fake blood out of Karo syrup and food coloring and scaring their mom half to death with it. I'm sorry that they never got lost in the woods behind the neighborhood and worried they'd never find their way home but then realized that they were only three houses away. I'm sorry they never played kickball in the street with the four-square ball and had to quit when Jason's mom called him home early and he had to take the ball with him. 

I'm sorry they never picked up the hose when they were thirsty and just drank out of the end of it instead of coming in the house and getting water from the fridge. Because that burst of cool water, after all the hot water that had been sitting in the hose all day ran out...that was the stuff of legend - the nectar of the summer gods. And once you had your fill, you gently placed your thumb over the end and sprayed all your friends and the droplets of water hung in the afternoon heat and created prisms of light. 

And nothing was more perfect than that.


Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Ego Trip

Mum.annotated

Last week, when the Smarty came home from DC, we headed south to see his folks in Alabama. We hadn't seen them since Thanksgiving, and so even though my folks are just another hour and a half farther down the road, we had decided to keep this trip about his mom and dad. I saw my mom a couple of weeks ago, and she and my niece are coming back very soon, so at first glance, that seemed to be the right thing to do.

But, with everything going on with my grandmother, once we got to Birmingham I decided to head on down and pay a quick surprise visit. I severely underestimated the reaction I would get. Let's just say I made my mom cry, I made my dad cry, I made my sister cry, and I made my niece cry.

I was only able to stay a few hours, but it was long enough to have lunch with my parents, visit with my grandmother (who smiled and smiled and smiled) and be with my mom as she met with the home healthcare providers that are going to be helping with my grandmother on weekends. It was long enough to reminisce over photo albums with my sister. It was long enough to watch my niece's dance routine that she used to try out for the high school dance squad. It was long enough to sit and drink a cup of coffee and just listen to my mom talk.

It was long enough to just love my people a little bit and let them know that even though I'm not there in the midst of their trial and turmoil on a daily basis, my heart is there. 

My heart is theirs.

Monday, May 13, 2013

Having a Ball

Ball

School is winding down for the year, and we are rather frantically working to make sure we've completed all the work required.

And by "we," I mean me, of course.

There's no frantic in my boys. There's a lot of eye rolling and Dear-God-WhyAren't-We-Finished-Already-ing. If they could just figure out a way to harness all the energy required to keep up the constant sighing, we'd be done already.

One of my children is the most amazing procrastinator I've ever seen in all my life. Please bear in mind that I'm an outstanding procrastinator. World-renowned, even.

He tops me by a mile.

One day last week, he spent five and a half hours doing his schoolwork.

And completed nothing.

NOTHING.

Then, in one three hour session on Friday, completed five science lessons, a vocabulary test and a grammar lesson.

Crazy-making, is what that is.

The other one just gets done what needs getting done. He chips away at it every day, little by little, and has actually completed the required lessons in all but one subject, two weeks ahead of schedule.

We've always said that if we could combine them, they'd make one amazing super-human.

Wednesday, May 08, 2013

Rain

After the Rain

It's been a soggy few days - but the benefits are outstanding!
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