Deja Vu
School is back in session at the alma mater, and as of late I have been making my way to a few CCHS basketball games. Last night was a home game, so I made my way over to the gym to watch Reuben light up the court. Oh, and contrary to "popular" belief, high school sports ROCK. And I love being "that guy."
The game was a little boring until, halfway through the second quarter, I thought I was in high school all over again. Why? Two reasons.
First, a strapping young man who I thought was my beloved ex-roommate walked through the doors of the gym. With his shirt off, tanned bod, short brown hair, dominating forehead, and soccer bag in hand, I almost jumped out of my seat. Nope. Just his brother, Dan, carrying the torch through a packed gymnasium. Anyhow, I joined him for a shower in hopes of a vicarious healing experience.
Second, my pops, Lyle, hit a new low. If you've ever attended a soccer game in which my dad has been present, you know what I'm talking about. He has a bad habit of saying really stupid stuff, mostly to officials. He was especially notorious in the late 80's/early 90's for getting ejected from games. Usually being the coach, that's not such a good thing. Well, it's been a while since he has coached one of his son's soccer games, and he has since grown out of that "phase." Reuben plays JV basketball, so my dad is forced to sit in the bleachers and remain somewhat removed from the politics of the game.
Back to the game last night. My dad volunteered to work the stat book at the scorer's table last night (a JV game versus a horrific Julian team on a Tuesday night is pretty low-key and laid-back). All of a sudden, in the middle of the third quarter, Reuben got whistled for a questinable foul at midcourt - right in front of the scorer's table. But when the ref walked over to the scorer's table to report the foul, he made a big fuss about the something. The crowd, confused about what was going on, watched in a hushed curiosity.
It soon became clear: the ref had ejected my dad. Either we had to find a new scorekeeper, or we forfeit the game. My dad had apparently yelled at the ref for the call, and the ref didn't like it.
When ridiculed about it at home later that night, he pleaded innocence, as always. Supposedly he was yelling at Reuben, not the ref. Likely story, as usual.
Last night, a new page was turned in my father's sports-spectaror career book. But let's hope it's not the end. Reuben still has a few more years, and there's always grandchildren. After all, if he can get ejected from the scorer's table of a JV boys basketball game at Calvin Christian High School, anything is possible.
The game was a little boring until, halfway through the second quarter, I thought I was in high school all over again. Why? Two reasons.
First, a strapping young man who I thought was my beloved ex-roommate walked through the doors of the gym. With his shirt off, tanned bod, short brown hair, dominating forehead, and soccer bag in hand, I almost jumped out of my seat. Nope. Just his brother, Dan, carrying the torch through a packed gymnasium. Anyhow, I joined him for a shower in hopes of a vicarious healing experience.
Second, my pops, Lyle, hit a new low. If you've ever attended a soccer game in which my dad has been present, you know what I'm talking about. He has a bad habit of saying really stupid stuff, mostly to officials. He was especially notorious in the late 80's/early 90's for getting ejected from games. Usually being the coach, that's not such a good thing. Well, it's been a while since he has coached one of his son's soccer games, and he has since grown out of that "phase." Reuben plays JV basketball, so my dad is forced to sit in the bleachers and remain somewhat removed from the politics of the game.
Back to the game last night. My dad volunteered to work the stat book at the scorer's table last night (a JV game versus a horrific Julian team on a Tuesday night is pretty low-key and laid-back). All of a sudden, in the middle of the third quarter, Reuben got whistled for a questinable foul at midcourt - right in front of the scorer's table. But when the ref walked over to the scorer's table to report the foul, he made a big fuss about the something. The crowd, confused about what was going on, watched in a hushed curiosity.
It soon became clear: the ref had ejected my dad. Either we had to find a new scorekeeper, or we forfeit the game. My dad had apparently yelled at the ref for the call, and the ref didn't like it.
When ridiculed about it at home later that night, he pleaded innocence, as always. Supposedly he was yelling at Reuben, not the ref. Likely story, as usual.
Last night, a new page was turned in my father's sports-spectaror career book. But let's hope it's not the end. Reuben still has a few more years, and there's always grandchildren. After all, if he can get ejected from the scorer's table of a JV boys basketball game at Calvin Christian High School, anything is possible.
posted by Aaron at 10:06 PM
5 Comments:
I love big foreheads
Yes Bill, but unlike my dad, I know when to say it...and how loud. I've never been kicked from a game before, any sport, ever. Although it has gotten me a yellow/blue card or fifty.
Ahh, NCYSA. I think my dad has been permanently banned from Kit Carson Park.
How did he pull the "I was talking to Reuben" story? Did he tell Reuben that he had made a bad call? Did he say, "Reuben, you are a terrible ref"? Your dad gets away with everything. He's my hero.
Yeah, it was the most ridiculous story ever. It was a pretty bad call by the ref, so there's no way my dad was yelling at Reuben. I don't even remember the actual words he used, they were so ridiculous. Something like "Hey Reuben, are you blind?!?!" or "Reuben, did you forget to wear your glasses tonight?" or maybe even "Reuben, what game are you watching?"
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