Daddy-Daughter Game
I went to a basketball game last night. This was a game involving my alma mater, Drake, which is traditionally a downtrodden program. The season started off well as they rushed to an uncharacteristic 11-8 record, but followed that with a characteristic run of losing eight of their next nine, including their last three by a combined six points. Nevertheless, last night was their final home game of the year, and my final chance to personally endure another loss for about nine months.
There was no way I was getting out of the house alone and leaving Ellie with three children, so I took Abbie with me. I didn’t want to bring the twins into a crowded arena during cold, flu, and Death Virus season, so they stayed home with Ellie. The twins are too young to watch the game anyway, and could spend two hours napping and staring the lights just as well at home. While Abbie and I watched a men’s basketball game together, Ellie and the twins watched American Idol together, thus completing our shredding of traditional gender-based activities.*
I wanted to buy season tickets at one time, and that time is defined as “before I knew about the twins.” Therefore I had no ticket, and needed to buy one at the game. Some of you who follow popular programs may wonder what kind of seat I could get buying a ticket minutes before tip-off, but don’t forget I described the team with the word “downtrodden” and the phrase “losing eight of … nine.” As I approached the ticket window, another fan asked if I needed a ticket. I said yes, and he handed me a spare season ticket, a generous offer that allowed me to save money to buy formula after the game, and a Sprite during the game.
Once we passed the crazed ticket-taker who told me Abbie’s ticket would cost $4 and didn’t flash me a “just kidding” smile until I walked past him, we found our seats. I ignored the seat assigned to my ticket and opted for the mostly empty bench seats that allow Abbie to roam freely without disturbing others. I threw our coat and diaper bag in an empty can clean spot, sat down, and encouraged Abbie to do the same. Abbie opted to stand instead, showing a remarkable amount of spirit for daddy’s team. She stood and shivered for the first several minutes; I don’t know if she was cold or frightened by the aural assault that is a college basketball game, but she eventually calmed down. By halftime she was sitting, albeit in the walkway between the designated seating area, but I didn’t see any spilled substances, so I assumed it was okay.
I don’t know if she got anything out of the game. She seemed to stare at the action most of the time, but never really reacted to the game.* She’d clap when I asked her to, but otherwise looked blank like she was struggling to understand why people were screaming, why people were chasing that ball, and why that guy kept shooting threes when he obviously wasn’t making many of them. I think we bonded a little bit sharing the experience of watching a game together, and that’s what was most important about last night. And when I say that I of course mean that my team lost, this time by two on a tip-in with 3.1 seconds left.
* The men competed on Idol last night, so it wasn’t a total reversal.
** She did, however, react to the Sprite.
There was no way I was getting out of the house alone and leaving Ellie with three children, so I took Abbie with me. I didn’t want to bring the twins into a crowded arena during cold, flu, and Death Virus season, so they stayed home with Ellie. The twins are too young to watch the game anyway, and could spend two hours napping and staring the lights just as well at home. While Abbie and I watched a men’s basketball game together, Ellie and the twins watched American Idol together, thus completing our shredding of traditional gender-based activities.*
I wanted to buy season tickets at one time, and that time is defined as “before I knew about the twins.” Therefore I had no ticket, and needed to buy one at the game. Some of you who follow popular programs may wonder what kind of seat I could get buying a ticket minutes before tip-off, but don’t forget I described the team with the word “downtrodden” and the phrase “losing eight of … nine.” As I approached the ticket window, another fan asked if I needed a ticket. I said yes, and he handed me a spare season ticket, a generous offer that allowed me to save money to buy formula after the game, and a Sprite during the game.
Once we passed the crazed ticket-taker who told me Abbie’s ticket would cost $4 and didn’t flash me a “just kidding” smile until I walked past him, we found our seats. I ignored the seat assigned to my ticket and opted for the mostly empty bench seats that allow Abbie to roam freely without disturbing others. I threw our coat and diaper bag in an empty can clean spot, sat down, and encouraged Abbie to do the same. Abbie opted to stand instead, showing a remarkable amount of spirit for daddy’s team. She stood and shivered for the first several minutes; I don’t know if she was cold or frightened by the aural assault that is a college basketball game, but she eventually calmed down. By halftime she was sitting, albeit in the walkway between the designated seating area, but I didn’t see any spilled substances, so I assumed it was okay.
I don’t know if she got anything out of the game. She seemed to stare at the action most of the time, but never really reacted to the game.* She’d clap when I asked her to, but otherwise looked blank like she was struggling to understand why people were screaming, why people were chasing that ball, and why that guy kept shooting threes when he obviously wasn’t making many of them. I think we bonded a little bit sharing the experience of watching a game together, and that’s what was most important about last night. And when I say that I of course mean that my team lost, this time by two on a tip-in with 3.1 seconds left.
* The men competed on Idol last night, so it wasn’t a total reversal.
** She did, however, react to the Sprite.
posted by Matt at
10:25 PM
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