Cold Case In Ellyson

Readers of my blog know how much I enjoy watching sports of all kinds, but in particular those in which my sons play. As the oldest recovers from his football injury, the almost 13-year-old has picked up the mantle of live entertainment, and in this case, basketball.

In some ways I think basketball is Connor’s best sport. He’s a defensive octopus on the court…arms, legs, heels flying trying to get that ball. In his last game, he had several traveling calls, but not for not dribbling. Going up awkwardly for the rebound, three separate times he lost his footing clutching the ball, hit the court and slid mere inches on his rear. Whistle blow. Travel. On the third such call, my baby, my mellow fellow, slammed the ball onto the court. High bounce. Whistle blow. Technical. The game was tied at that point. I saw Connor standing in the midst of his team at half court watching one free throw drop in. Out on that court I could see his chest rising and falling in barely under-control anger.

I’m worried, now, about how he’ll conduct himself in these last minutes. I am relieved to see something I’ve never seen in him. Let’s call it focused determination. A teammate brought us ahead by one, and the other team drove down and took a shot. Miss. Connor rebounds. Arms encircle the ball; he, on sturdy legs. Whistle blows. Game us.