Locusts and Travie McCoy
Dear That’s Life,
The enthusiasm with which we embrace our local high school sports teams makes this place feel like rural Wyoming. I have no idea what made me pick that state over any other in the Union which, in my imagination, lives and dies with their high school football team’s wins and losses. It’s all of those of sports movies I have watched over the years – but that’s what I think of when I sit at a high school basketball game, screaming my head off, cheering on our school and losing my voice as a result.
Monday night was no different and my nephew’s semi-final varsity basketball game was exciting, smelly and spirited. The tension in the room was palpable, each point and basket leading us to an eventual double overtime. It was not good for my blood pressure and the fans from both schools got out of hand. Who could help it? The underdogs gave the incumbents a serious run for their money and the game was unbelievably tight.
Despite their begging and pleading, I did not bring any of my children with me to the game. It was in Brooklyn, homework was not complete nor was piano practice and we were going to be home late. Bringing them with us would not have let to happy children in the morning. In the end, it turned out to be a wise move because our team did not win and we all sat there shell-shocked. My eldest daughter who had been the unhappiest about our parental decision ended up being thrilled that she stayed home. Winning concert tickets on the radio will do that to a person. Had she gone to the game, she never would have won and so she decided that winning the tickets was a bracha from Hashem for staying back. I would have argued with her that she may have been over thinking this a bit, but she was too busy jumping up and down on my bed in excitement, while I was laying in it.
Sometimes your kids want to do something that you as the parent know will never lead to anything so you humor them by giving them your permission, and blessing, to go ahead and try. That is exactly what I told my daughter when she texted me during the game to ask if she could try and win concert tickets from Z100. She made me promise I would take her if she won. I laughed at her request, as if her winning was near impossible and there was nothing for me to worry about – but the joke was on me.
My phone rang incessantly during the last quarter of official play but the gym was noisy and the game so intense that I could not answer. I saw who was calling but ignored it, knowing I’d be able to call back once the game was over. When the score was tied and right before OT began, my husband walked over to me and said that our oldest had called him, too. “Hope you enjoy the concert,” he said coyly. “What?!” I replied. “Are you kidding? She WON?” It seemed that yes, in fact, she had been the 100th caller and had given the correct answer and now we were going to see Travie McCoy. I could not believe it.
The game went into double overtime and when our boys lost, our hearts went out to a team that was supposed to win it all. To make it worse, my nephew injured his hand during the game, played through the pain but would have to go for x-rays once we returned to the Five Towns. “First, we lose the game,” I said to my friend in a text, “then I have to go to this concert which offends my classic rock sensibilities and now he needs to go for x-rays.” What’s next?! I wondered. Locusts?
No, not locusts. Just Tuesday. And a concert.
It’s all good.
MLW
