For the past two months I have been a proud member of the YMCA.
I recently heard about pick-up basketball games that happen every few days in the afternoon, and was pretty stoked. So, today, J and I strapped on the knee braces and headed down to "The Y" for a few games. I apologize in advance...this is going to turn into a long post.
It's never a good sign when a 50-year old man says, "We'll take the girl", on his last pick.
It's also not a good sign when middle-aged men need to take their shirts off to remember what team they are on.
Let the record show that I know my way around a basketball court.
I am also no stranger to opposition and condescension when it comes to women (I'm sorry, "girls" as my gym-mates from today would say) playing with men. It is incredibly hard to get respect, let alone a wide-open pass, from some. Granted, motherhood and an occasional Sprinkles cupcake may not have enhanced my game in any way, but I can still out-shoot any guy on the court.
I can't even begin to describe my experience from today. As I mentioned earlier, my name for the game was "girl", while everyone else was "Tom", "Joe", or "Chris". Grown men, within ear-shot of the preschool gymnastics class, shouting obscenities at one another. From my estimation, none of them had played organized basketball, yet, they were attempting to command the floor with haughty insults and ego-centrism. I don't care how "competitive" you are or how into the game you get, it's pretty pathetic to watch Tom and Joe cussing each other out because they can't decide who they want to guard. And this wasn't just typical trash talk and scrutiny. Every time we ran down the court, there was some kind of contention or argument...literally, we stopped the game every time we ran down the court. Josh and I were noticeably annoyed.
The ringer for me was after my last shot. During this entire hour of playing, I was passed the ball about 6 times. I shot three times from the 3-point line, and missed each time. Finally, I made the fourth shot and won the game. While walking back to the side lines, one of the men said, "I knew you would make one eventually! You were just so nervous." (Obviously, these balding, tube-sock-wearing, overweight men caused me such great anxiety that I was too intimidated by their awesomeness to play!) Another pulled me aside and said, "You know, I was looking at all the players on the court, and you're the prettiest!"
Yup.
No patronizing remarks for the other guys that missed 90% of their shots, or talk of how "nervous" Joe looked after missing all of his open court lay-ups. And let's be honest, my husband didn't have his shirt on, so I know I wasn't the prettiest one out there!
These men were very unimpressive. I don't want to cast any judgment upon them, but I'm pretty sure some of these guys would whine if their kid beat them at Candy Land...especially if their kid was a girl. In conclusion, I have an awesome husband. He's competitive, alright, but he is a good sport. I am proud of the example he sets for Axton about the greatness of humility and sportsmanship going hand in hand. He encourages me and definitely is my biggest advocate and fan. I'm a lucky....woman!
