Be the Shark

On Saturday we played the best. Could our rag-tag cast of chaos-creators compete against a team of AAU ringers? Read on to find out.

“True competitors derive their greatest pleasure out of playing against the very best opponents, even though they may be outscored.”

John Wooden, Basketball Coach.

On Saturday, we played the best.

A team of AAU players who use the rec league for extra reps against our team of ragtag chaos creators. They opened as 5.5-point favorites according to FanDuel. Then, last Tuesday, the line jumped to 7.5—which is like 41 points in real basketball—when news leaked our team held a pizza and pop party and instead of practicing short shorts and layups we tossed around nerf footballs, kicked soccer balls into brick walls, and spilled so much grape cola the court looked like a purple slip ‘n slide.

To h**l with Vegas, though.

Because when your team's average age is six and a half years, having fun is the only score that counts.

---

My bones felt full of basketball when I woke Saturday morning. I checked our league app, saw the line had settled at an even 6 points, and liked our odds.

We tipped at 10 AM, so I headed out early to a nearby park. The sun had climbed into the sky and pushed off any clouds. Standing on the empty court, I spun the rubber ball in my hands, closed my eyes, breathed big, and smiled thinking back on being a kid and waiting through January’s snows and February's whipping winds for March mornings like this.

Mornings when the air warms just enough so you could work up a sweat outdoors.

When the court plays damp, still soggy from the snow that soaked into it for three months.

When the basketball flies as the sun shines, and March Madness looms around the corner.

I ran up and down the court, filling it with smoke off my heavy breaths and the loud rim rattles from bad jumpers. I thought back and pictured spring mornings in my driveway. I felt the ball roll in my hands as I spun it once, twice, three times—imagining the next foul shot counted on more than just the scoreboard in my head.

I hoisted pull-ups and step-backs, cross-over pretend defenders who could never seem to stay in my way. I went coast-to-coast like Tyus Edney.

I pulled up at the elbow, raised the ball above my head, and let fly. I wanted to shoot like Ron Mercer down in Lexington.

With the imaginary game on the line, I drove a step inside the foul line, jumped and double clutched, floated in a game winner—Ray Allen besting Allen Iverson with Madison Square Garden cheering.

Last Saturday morning, my chest heaved and sweat slid down my cheeks as I stood alone on the court soaking up a few more rays of sun as a light breeze tickled my face.

I looked around and thought a final time about those March mornings—mornings when winter had faded just enough to let the courts open, the basketball to start early, the games to play all day, and the memories to stick around a lifetime.

Heaven, I thought, truly is a playground.

But now, we had a game to play.

Pre-game

Ten minutes till game time and their side executes a coordinated layup drill while the lone player from our team who has made it for warmups heaves shots backwards with me rebounding and cheering.

Five minutes till tip, I watch them run a three-person weave. The ball never touches the court. The players move as if blessed by Baryshnikov. They end with layups made casually with the left-hand.  I’m awestruck for a moment. The way they run. The way the ball jumps person-to-person. The way they listen. It’s poetry in motion.

We have two players with actual game shoes on and a half dozen just showing up.

Sixty seconds to go and they all stand over a clipboard talking strategy.

I kneel with our squad in a small huddle. Spring climbs on my back.

"What’d you do last night?" I ask.

JJ, Spring's older brother speaks first. "We watched a shark movie!"

Spring crawls off my back and shouts "And the sharks ate all the people!"

"No! The shark ate the whale,” JJ laughs.

“It’s time!" the Ref hollers.

"And…… the shark ate the people!" Spring screams.

As a coach in high stakes 6-8-year-old recreation basketball, it’s important to meet your team where they are.

"Well, then,” I chuckle. “Let's go be sharks. Hands in. Defense on three..."

We are so ready to play.

First Half

• Steal, layup. Steal, layup. Steal, layup.

• Our meticulously crafted defensive strategy of yelling, ‘go get the ball’ triggers chaos in all the right places. We race to an early 6-2 lead.

• They call timeout.

• Their coaches furiously scribble on the clipboard. I remind ours about the donuts we’ll have for Sammy's birthday after the game. I look up. Spring races to half-court. “A shark dance,” JJ says.

• "Chaos. baby," the scoreboard operator fist pounds me. “Every game, y'all create some chaos." I smile and sip my coffee.

• They charge back and take an 8-6 lead. We tie it at 8, then have a shot roll across every part of the rim before falling out as the halftime buzzer sounds.

• In every contest, but especially in youth recreation basketball, it’s not the size of the dogs in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dogs. And the oddsmakers who predicted our demise underestimated our fight.

Second Half

• They race to a 14-8 lead. I look down our bench. One kid plays toss-a-water bottle. Two are in the stands across the court. Another found a bag of fruit snacks. “Subs!" I call. They're as game ready as they’ll ever be.

• “Be the shark," I yell as Spring crouches low on defense near the three-point line. She turns and smirks, then growls playfully before blitzing their dribbler like a predator slicing across an open ocean.

• Steal, layup. Steal, layup. It’s 16-14.

• "Nooo…. Stop that…. Come on…. Ughhhh," Possession after possession, Spring charges the point guard. She speeds up their decisions, causing dribbles to go out of bounds and passes to lob high in the air.

• Ash steals one, darts past their team, and lays it in.

• A clipboard is tossed. Another timeout gets called. Pandemonium erupts from our side of the stands. It’s 18-16, and they’re flustered.

• "Chaos," the scoreboard operator laughs. I wink at him.

• "Be the shark!" I holler again. Spring turns, giggles, and growls again. A blink later and she launches herself onto the basketball as they try to dribble it along the three-point line. She wraps her whole body around it and swings in a circle with both feet flying in the air as two players from their team try to wrestle it from her.

• The ref blows the whistle. Jump ball. Possession arrow to us.

• Spring high fives the Ref and fist pumps as she sprints down the court like prime Dennis Rodman.

Post-game

In the end, more of their shots rattled in than ours did. They win 20-18.

After the game, we gather for donuts and JJ and Spring lead everyone in singing happy birthday. We smile, laugh, and enjoy a little treat.

Sure, we came up a little short on the scoreboard.

But dang, if we didn’t play one heck of a fun 6-8-year-old basketball game nestled inside one heck of a March basketball morning.

Friends- we love you, and we’ll see you when we see you.