Our 13-year-old daughter loves to play sports. She is quite athletic and, in that, takes after her mother. She currently plays girl’s basketball, and her parochial school team made it to the championship playoffs.
No way were we going to miss that. On the day of the game, we were told to get there early so the girls could meet with their coaches.
I picked out a nice seat in the bleachers as my wife went to use the restroom. People started filling up the gym in droves, and by the time my wife came back, the bleachers were pretty much full. That’s when she noticed that I had chosen seats smack in the middle of the opposing team’s family and supporters. The game was about to begin, so we decided to stay put. A few moments later I saw that this was a bad idea.
Naturally I was rooting for my daughter and her team, but my wife was being a fanatic. She was on her feet yelling and clapping. Every time the referee made a call against our team, my wife would let him have it.
Pretty soon it became obvious that we were parents from the opposite team. Suddenly, the other mothers around us started cheering for their girls and the whole scene got really animated.
My wife would yell out, “Cap that little girl! Take the ball away!”
I started to shrink in my seat. The other mothers would have no part of this, and they laid down their own brand of smack talk. I felt like I was in the middle of the set of The Real Housewives of Honolulu.
By the end of the game, our girls won, and our daughter actually made eight of the 21 winning points.
As we left, it was as though nothing happened. All the ladies bid each other goodbye and good game as though they were having high tea at the royal wedding.
Women. I’ll never figure them out.