Aselin

I can’t be a fan. Watching the Super Bowl I felt both exultation and wanted to vomit. Jumping around the room , throwing things at the television, the interceptions, the 101 yard returns, safeties, I just can’t take it. How can I love so deeply and hate so fiercely a bunch of men I’ll never meet. Stupid football.

This behavior is usually confined to the privacy of my own home. My real challenge comes in watching my kids play sports. My son is in a basketball league that has some cooky rules. In the name of skill development, players can’t steal, block shots, or play any defense except stand there with their hands straight in the air. If they bend forward even slightly the other team gets a point. It’s stupid.

So this weekend, in a tied, overtime, sudden death game our team gets stolen from, off the dribble. No call. Sitting in the stands surrounded by parents from the other team I go ballistic. My husband immediately reaches over with his his hand and palms my face, effectively muzzling me and causing me to flail my arms wildly. He’s had to do this before and has become quite adept with practice.

The final play was a penalty, called on my son, for using his hands to block a shot. The other team gets the penalty point and wins the game. My kid runs out of the gym shedding little man tears, bypassing the snack mom, believing he singlehandedly lost the game. I’m torn. Do I catch up with my son to comfort him or do I go “mama bear” on the inept, underpaid, probably volunteer ref. You know where this is going.

Scott sees it too... he palms me again, and with his other hand lifts me by my waistband and carries me from the gym. Arms and legs flailing, not being able to speak or walk, I have time for reflection and to cool off. Once in the car I return to normal mom mode and comfort my little superstar. As we drive from the parking lot, my husband yells out the window “Thanks ref. Good game!” He meant it. He really is that mature.

Stupid good sportsmanship.