“If we are going to win, you all have to be shooters. That means if you have the ball, shoot. If someone is covering you, then pass. Only as an absolute last resort are you to dribble.” Now, this might be good advice for Manute Bol, but you do not teach this to 3rd-5th grade beginning basketball players. You also don’t teach them to do reverse lay ups. And you absolutely absolutely absolutely absolutely absolutely absolutely absolutely absolutely (it should be noted here that my strong opinion here is such that I refused to cut and paste) do not fail to even talk about defense in the first practice (and only practice before the first game). You don’t put them on the spot to shoot from any distance outside of 10 feet as an “introduction.”
I vowed long ago never to yell at any of my kids’ coaches (exceptions include safety concerns and abuse….well no still no yelling. Just take him out back and “explain” that it is unacceptable), but within he first .023984320482309 seconds of Cole’s first practice, I almost staged a coup.
I am afraid that if I write more about it I will lose the last vestiges of self control that I have left, so I will move on to other rantings, namely the universe.
First off, I bought some new shoes yesterday, and I must say that they are wonderful. Finding that pair of shoes that fits just right is kind of like when Harry Potter finds the right wand, or after sniffing and walking in circles my dog find the perfect place to crap, or finding that place that makes the perfect burger.
Now I have developed a deep and sincere love for these new shoes. The overblown (I mean come on, they are just normal running shoes that look like every other pair of shoes that I have ever owned) happiness that I have felt must have somehow screwed up the universe, and the universe does not like to be screwed up by me. The universe only likes to be screwed up by Ms. Universe. The universe has a little quote from the bible that it likes to tell in situations like this.
The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.
So just sit right back and hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip that started in San Mateo aboard a tiny little VW Jetta ship. The mate was a mighty sailing kid. The skipper always on time. Two passengers set sail that day for a 2 hour tour, a 2 hour tour.
The weather started getting rough, the timetable was tossed. If not for the courage of the fearless crew, the day would have been ruined, the day would have been ruined.
The crew set ground on the middle chair of this uncharted UCSF floor with Cole, and Nurse Sarah too, the guy who bought a lottery ticket and hopes to be a millionaire but not his wife(who was working). The doctor dude. The case manager and other patients here at UCSF (for 6 bleeping hours).
I had it in writing that today was supposed to take 2 hours, but noooooooooooooooooooo. We (while reading this section you should have kind of a whiny, nasaly, annoying voice to do the paragraph justice) want you to stay for 6 hours. We think that doing more testing that could potentially help to cure you from cancer and save the lives of countless other kids is important. (Back to normal (or in the alternative a husky valley girl) voice) WHATEVER!! (What I just did there was AH-MAZING…SO AH-MAZING.
The UCSF visit was fine, nothing noteworthy. After we were done, I drove so fast the hounds couldn’t catch me. Down the 280 to the San Mateo. Got home. Grabbed Logan while Cole did a superman change into his gear. We piled into the car and broke a section or two of the California Vehicle Code, arriving at the practice facility precisely 7 minutes before practice is scheduled to start.
Hello universe (I bet you forgot that this whole story is about how the universe tried to make me his gimp today). Thanks for coming by.
Practice does not actually start at 5. Noooooooo(start normal voice, then slightly raise the pitch until the closest person to you smacks you for being annoying.), it starts at 5:15 because there are girls playing volleyball on the court. Really, volleyball is not even a sport. First off there are 6 girls on a side but you only get to hit the ball a maximum of 3 times. That means that each volley will, by rule exclude half of the team. I saw that movie and it was called mean girls. No thanks. 2) There is a codified do-over. There is even a hand signal for it. Lame-o Blame-o C) the only good thing about volleyball is the spiking. Spiking is an integral part of volleyball and spiking should be done all the time. In fact you have my permission to go up to any volleyball person and ask them to teach you how to properly spike. Make sure you use the word spike a lot so that they know that you are serious about your craft.
Some of you are thinking that the universe threw me a bone by giving me a 15 minute cushion. My answer is two fold. 1. Did not need it. Crackerjack timing, that’s me. 2. Pushing the start of practice back 15 minutes, necessarily (that is a really hard word to use without the “not.” Only other example I can think of is “Playing volleyball, while not a sport, necessarily requires all persons involved to spike all the time.), pushed the end of practice back 15 minutes. Normally I don’t care because more time in the gym usually = more awesome time. However, (see above), also it pushed dinner back 15 minutes, and homie don’t play dat.
Today is February 4, 2014. For those of you counting, we have eclipsed the three year mark since diagnosis. Personally my anniversary date is February 11th, because that is the day that we started the first treatment of chemo. That is the day that we started kicking Cancer’s ass. That is my birthday. That was the worst day of my life (kinda strange that getting the initial diagnosis was not as bad, but for me chemo day 1 was the worst because it was not real until the nurse hung that bag of fucking poison and pushed the button).
Peace out yo.