First game. There they go. They’re totally doing the astronaut walk.
Little dudes/ette need a theme song.
I’m getting him stilts for his next game.
He stuck to the person he was guarding like glue. I’ve never seen anything like it. That guarding thing is the sole reason I hated playing basketball. Well, that and the running back and forth chasing I don’t know what. And shooting layups. And the knee socks.
Well. Truth be told, I only played sixth-grade basketball, and we had to play in our jeans because it was a private school and we couldn’t show any leg. I was awful. My Goldfish is not.
He’s on the bottom right. Number 3. But you can’t see the number 3 right now.
He didn’t even concern himself with rebounding, because he was guarding, by gosh.
They look like they’re playing basketball in Heaven. All that pearly white everywhere, like bouncing on clouds.
The Terror did what he does best. Terrorized. And ate cheese.
And then we nearly lost him on the court. Oy.
I love their little legs and feet. I’m excited to see him grow, but part of me mourns that this day, every day, is so fleeting.
Look at him, just fighting for that ball. He doesn’t know how to give less than everything he is. I admire that in him.
See that photo on the right? I actually yelled, “Jump ball!!” But wouldn’t you know it, they don’t do jump balls at this age.
That was the only part I did like about playing basketball in the horrible sixth-grade. That part didn’t mess up my femullet.
His coach is probably telling him, “Don’t worry that your mom is crazy. We all have one of those.”
Doing the side shuffle, baby. He rocks the side shuffle. Check it.
You know it. Even when everyone else is dropping like flies, he’s leaping over them all in one huge side shuffle.
This next pic is classic Goldfish. I actually saw butt cheeks here. And as a bonus, I got the coach looking like he’s being exorcised. Either that, or he needs to go the bathroom. Perfect.
We all had to regroup after that display. Nothing can quite prepare the spectators OR coaches for 5YO butt.
And, um, who is this kid?! He was all over the ball. I think he’s 11. He dribbled low and in control and I swear I saw him do that through the legs trick.
Showing how to hustle. And how to be sweaty. And stinky. Oh, and can you find the Terror Toddler in this pic? Look left. He’s disguised as a dust mop.
They’ve got some squirrelly moves, don’t they? I can’t tell if they’re just moving to move or they need to go the bathroom.
Teammates, waiting for the sign to attack.
Oh boy. Leaping side shuffle, watch out.
Well now they’re all just showing off.
I’m pretty sure that this is what his first school dance is going to look like.
I’m totally signing up to chaperone that sucker.
Get down witchu bad self.
I don’t even know what to say about this one.
But this pic? Oh man. This play nearly undid our boy. See the fella in blue almost throwing an elbow?
This is what happened next. When a fighting-back-tears-of-frustration-Goldfish got back to the bench, he said in a cracked voice, “He’s NOT SUPPOSED TO PUSH. Coach said WE’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO PUSH.”
Oh my heart.
And he would not listen to the truth about basketball. There is pushing. There’s leaning. There’s messing with people. But nope. He had heard a rule, and by golly that boy broke it.
Took us nearly the rest of the day to recover, but a little Nutella on a strawberry did the trick.
Hey, it always shines a little sun on my day, too.
And here’s the last pic of basketball in Heaven.
I dig the big huge skylights in the gym. Makes for a nice airy feeling, yes?
Oh, and even though they don’t keep score at this age (What the?! I don’t understand it. Moronic.), he had a great time and left feeling like a winner, albeit a pushed around winner. He had a blast, and that’s all I need to know.
I think I’ll have the Terror grow a mullet. Total homage to my sixth grade basketball career.
I think he could pull it off, in a Joe Dirt-ay kind of way. Don’t you?