The Morning After
It was a tough loss. A close one that only got close very late in the game. Holy Family Academy's Crusaders played their hearts out but the victory went to St Joseph's of West St Paul. Congratulations, St. Joe's, Twin Cities Champions of 2013. You played a great game.
I think I may just not be cut out to be a sports mom. The excitement really gets to me. I'm not saying I was the one who yelled "HEY REF, YOU'RE MISSING A GREAT GAME!" in the MCYO playoffs. I'm not saying that at all. Nor would I dream of bellowing the admitted not-very-classy anti-ref chants I learned in college. But hey, that was hockey. Classy didn't feature in the deal at all.
No, I'm much more likely to be the person firing off the Hail Marys under her breath. Which I did for half the game yesterday. I did it without moving my lips. of course, or at least I think I did. I'd hate to look like someone's old Irish granny in the stands. Although I probably already do.
I never knew any former college before I moved to Minnesota. But here it's hard to swing a cat without smacking it into somebody who played basketball or volleyball or, obviously, hockey.
I have to say I've learned a lot from them. It's amazing how dispassionate they can be about any game going on in front of them. They observe, they analyze, they adjust. They root for their team of course, but they don't seem to get their guts in a know like I do. It's an enviable quality.
I had a revelation a few months ago about my own chosen work: I decided that from now on I would only write bestsellers. (You have to start somewhere, I started with that.) When I told am athletic friend about my decision, she responded, "You know, coming from a sports background, that seems like the obvious thing to do."
It had never bee made so clear to me before: St Paul was right (see 1Cor 9:24). If you're going to play, then play to win. It's the only thing that makes any sense.
And if that means occasionally pointing out that the ref may need new eyewear, well, somebody's got to tell him, right?
I think I may just not be cut out to be a sports mom. The excitement really gets to me. I'm not saying I was the one who yelled "HEY REF, YOU'RE MISSING A GREAT GAME!" in the MCYO playoffs. I'm not saying that at all. Nor would I dream of bellowing the admitted not-very-classy anti-ref chants I learned in college. But hey, that was hockey. Classy didn't feature in the deal at all.
No, I'm much more likely to be the person firing off the Hail Marys under her breath. Which I did for half the game yesterday. I did it without moving my lips. of course, or at least I think I did. I'd hate to look like someone's old Irish granny in the stands. Although I probably already do.
I never knew any former college before I moved to Minnesota. But here it's hard to swing a cat without smacking it into somebody who played basketball or volleyball or, obviously, hockey.
I have to say I've learned a lot from them. It's amazing how dispassionate they can be about any game going on in front of them. They observe, they analyze, they adjust. They root for their team of course, but they don't seem to get their guts in a know like I do. It's an enviable quality.
I had a revelation a few months ago about my own chosen work: I decided that from now on I would only write bestsellers. (You have to start somewhere, I started with that.) When I told am athletic friend about my decision, she responded, "You know, coming from a sports background, that seems like the obvious thing to do."
It had never bee made so clear to me before: St Paul was right (see 1Cor 9:24). If you're going to play, then play to win. It's the only thing that makes any sense.
And if that means occasionally pointing out that the ref may need new eyewear, well, somebody's got to tell him, right?
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