Hey, Coach!
ch. 15

"My mother thinks Sheila is the greatest. 'She's so smart,' my mother says. 'And some day she's going to be a real beauty.' Now that's the funniest! Because Sheila looks a lot like the monkeys that Fudge is so crazy about. So maybe she'll look beautiful to some ape! But never to me." – from Tales of a 4th Grade Nothing









The look on the face of the eight grade girls' basketball coach, the eighth grade Girl's own mother, when Scotty threw the ball back into the court, could tell a thousand tales.  Imagine the set-up if you have a moment: the Girl's mother was more than likely an original eight Grade Girl herself, way back, when basketball was still fairly new.  She knew her own team was not really much a team at all, but a loosely connected group of girls who were mostly bound by the sheer greatness of her daughter, The Girl. Today three players were gone -- they had five.  Now, any coach who has ever coached a basketball team knows that playing basketball with five isn't really playing basketball, but sort of pretending to play another team.  One day coach decided that she would take it upon herself to defend  against the team offense.  At first the girls didn't take this seriously and coach was able to rush up to high post, defend, recover, then take away the baseline drive.  She was getting a bit too old for this.  She decided to sag on defense. Her daughter, the Girls, decided it was time to teach mom a lesson and decided to actually start passing the ball around, calling out numbers like 'three' (for at least three passes), or even as high as 'five' (for five passes). The girls didn't have to move around much, but the coach was downright dizzy by the third time around. Needless to say it was frustrating for all.  When the new boy threw out the ball to her, let us just say she had a brief idea. Corey walked out onto the floor after Scotty.  "Ah, hi, ma. Like, we know we're pretty short on players this year, right?" She smiled a very large and cheesy smile, the kind that only showed up in generally pleading opportunities. "Well, here's the thing," she said, looking back over her shoulder to the sidelines. These are fifth grade boys."
"Hi" said Scotty, raising his hand.
"Now, they have players. But they have a little problem.  No gym and no coach."  The Girl's mom could see the wheels spinning and spinning.  In her own mind, what did she see?  She saw immediately a slight reprieve from 5 on 1 basketball, her no longer the abused 1. She blinked.
For the boys standing behind them, a rag tag bunch if there ever was one, heights so varied you might not guess their grades if even in a pinch, attention spans so rapid that you might not have time to say their entire first names without them experiencing an injury or flagging a question about getting water or going to the bathroom, they could only look at this particular coming set-up with a bad case of fifth grade doubt.  Luckily for their case, Scotty had already started shooting fifteen footers with with the eighth grade girls. The coach could hear the fabric of the net twinkle.  She knew it wasn't her players.
"Say no more," coach said. She gestured to the bunch over on the sideline. "Come on out.  Show us what you've got."