Dribble #SOLSC24 30/31

Last night I laid my head on my pillow and heard an echo, the sound of basketballs smacking a gym floor, each searching for net, some kissing orange rims, many slapping the rim and rejecting the invitation to swoosh through the net before smacking the ground in a disappointing thud.

Yesterday I listened to the cacophony of orange globes hurling and swirling, twirling and floating in a sort of basketball scavenger hunt with one objective—to find net and sink balls into the basket.

Balls awaiting bouncing and their turn at the basket.

The eclectic collection of students in the gym looked more like a group gathering for a pick-up-game than an organized class. The uniform only required students to be fully clothed. One roundballer wore a backpack. Two sat the *bench* and told me they had doctors’ notes. I offered to help them with English.

This scene played out in a loop four times, the metaphorical four quarters in a game; only this time each quarter lasted 75 minutes X 4.

Storage are w/ four abandoned balls.

During the first quarter several players abandoned the team, aka class. I, the substitute coach, did not find them in the locker room, so I sent an email alert.

During the second quarter a ball whizzed past my head, landed on the table behind me, bounced twice, miraculously missing my coffee mug and water bottle, and fell to the floor.

Don’t worry about it. I told two boys whose faces read: Panic.

I’m rather glad that happened because it gives me something to write about.

Halftime arrived in the guise of third period, and I retired temporarily to the coach’s lounge.

Resuming play in the third quarter, aka fourth period, three boys asked if I wanted to join them in Bobsledding. After explaining I don’t know what that is and learning it’s three on three, and after divulging what a terrible athlete I am and telling the young ballers to kick me off the team, I trotted onto the court.

I missed numerous shots, chased a ball and slid to my knees after tripping. I sunk one basket, but only because the boys let me shoot until the ball dropped through the hoop. I lasted a few minutes before remembering I’m 65. I hope no one has video!

I was ready for the final quarter, fifth period. The largest team arrived. A couple boys helped me with the roster. I took a seat at the officiator’s table where I planned to read poetry and didn’t see the ball knock my water bottle to the floor.

Reaching from my feet to the table, the area my water bottle watered.

The bottle was open and sprayed water across a large area. After standing and guarding the spill fifteen minutes while awaiting a custodian, a female player said she saw a mop. Before I could stop her, she began mopping water with one of those giant brooms used to sweep gym floors.

Oh well. We agreed the broom will dry.

I survived the day in Boys’ PE! Score!

And as quickly as the thumping had begun, a muted hush fell over the gym signaling five minutes remaining in the period, so the players headed for the locker room, leaving only a squeak from noisy sneakers and an occasional quiet voice as evidence they had been here, players in this game we call school.