Ballin!

"I wish I was good at basketball," my roommate Katie said as we watched the Butler vs. Virginia Commonwealth Final Four game.

This sparked a discussion about how none of us were ever very good at basketball.  We have friends who play, we like to watch it, but none of us are very talented when it comes to this sport.

I did play basketball for two years, though.  Third and fourth grade I was on a team with one of my best friends.  Hannah's dad and my dad coached our team of nine- and ten-year-old girls, and it was really only because of this setup that I played at all.  I probably would have done anything Hannah did.

Saying that I wasn't very good at basketball may be an understatement.  I was pretty terrible.  I usually didn't even attempt to steal the ball from anyone.  I was abnormally short and skinny, so I guess I was pretty intimidated by the girls who, like my friend Hannah, stood above five feet tall.  I was pretty fast and never ran out of energy, but all I ever did was run from basket to basket, following the ball and hoping to catch a rebound, which I would then pass to Hannah so she could go score.

My dad made constant bribes to try to get me to play more aggressively.  I remember him offering to take me and Hannah to McDonald's if I scored a basket.  Eventually his standards were lowered and I was offered ice cream just to shoot.  The next year when my dad coached my Little League team, he paid me just to swing at the third pitch, but that's another story.

Like I said, I was terrible at basketball.  But Hannah was pretty good.  Actually, I think we had quite a few talented girls on our team.  I'm pretty sure we won a lot of games (not that I paid much attention to the scores).  While I was running around aimlessly, Hannah was scoring, passing, even fouling!

One particular game Hannah fouled out.  I could tell she was really upset sitting on that bench, so I decided I would foul out too.  The only reason I played was to hang out with Hannah, anyway, so I would rather sit on the bench with her than run around on the court without her.

So as a member of the opposing team ran toward the basket, instead of waiting for a rebound I ran straight toward her.  Instead of trying to block her pass, I just grabbed the ball, which was still in her hands.  My first foul.

"Good job, Abby!" my dad yelled ecstatically.  The opposing side must have thought he was crazy.  Most coaches would have been upset about a pointless foul like this, but my dad was happy.  And the fouls kept coming.

I needed one more foul before I could join Hannah on the bench, and the other team had the ball.  I ran and met the girl in possession at the half-court line, where I grabbed for the ball.  This girl wasn't having it.  She grabbed it and pulled back.  I pulled harder.  I may have been small, but I guess I was pretty strong because the girl ended up on the floor.  And she still didn't let go of the ball!  So neither did I.  I grabbed the ball, trying to pry it out of her hands and dragged this poor girl about three feet across the court before I finally heeded the ref's whistle-blowing.

I had fouled out.  I don't think my dad had ever been so proud of me.  I walked, smiling, over to the bench and joined Hannah.  Two years I was on that team, but I think that ten minutes was the most basketball I have ever played.