Realizing Provision

The three illustrations in this post are by my artist brother Ricky Martin. If you want to see more delightful drawings by him, check out his website. He posts a new drawing every day. http://drawit366.ca/

I like to think that I have a really good reason for choosing to dislike the sports I dislike. It’s not only because I am not good at those sports, (what kind of reason is that, anyway?) but I see not participating in certain sports as a way to love my neighbor, so to speak.

You see, I have a bit of a history with certain sports. In reading through my history with various sports, you may be able to spot a pattern.

Hockey:

I am one of those rare Canadians who does not like hockey. Is it fun to glide around on smooth frozen water? Yes. Is it fun to try to maneuver with a curved stick a little black puck around other people and sticks while keeping your balance and looking around to see where you need to pass to? Not particularly. Is it fun to stand nervously in front of the net trying to keep track of all the spaces between your skates and stick that the little puck can very easily pass between while an opposing team member breaks away down the ice toward you? No. Not for twelve-year-old Kerra, at least.

When I was in Gr. 6, we had a class party in the form of a good old hockey game on my friend’s backyard rink. As much as I tried to avoid playing “back,” the position wherein I had to protect the net, at times there was no way around it. In one of those such times, the puck went behind my net, and I skated back to retrieve it. You know the type of shot called a wrap around? (Please don’t make me try to explain it.) Well, I think one of those happened soon after. I would like to say that, in a sudden burst of enthusiasm and energy, I skated that puck past all the opposing team members to the other end of the rink, arrived behind the opposing team’s net, faked out the goalie, and wrapped that puck around right into their net. (Pardon my ignorant hockey language.) But that didn’t happen. What actually happened was even more miraculous, or at least beyond my understanding. I came around the net, and I must have been trying to pass the puck out in front of it. (Never a good idea.) It was like the puck suddenly got a mind of its own. It careened into the corner of the net instead of out in front of it. I believe that I had “wrapped around” into the very net I was supposed to be protecting.

Soccer:

I don’t have a lot to say about soccer. It’s not a bad sport. But there is a lot of running necessary, and there is just a lot that can go wrong. This was confirmed for me in Gr. 7 or 8 in a game where I was playing my favourite position—defense. Someone kicked the ball high into the air toward me, and I did what came naturally to me. I stuck my knee out to meet the ball. (Trapping isn’t in my credentials.) My knee did meet the ball, but it wasn’t an agreeable meeting. You see, my knee redirected that ball straight toward the net behind me, right past the unsuspecting goalie and into the net—MY team’s net.

If this is getting painful for you, you may not want to read the next section entitled “Basketball.”

Basketball:

Basketball has some things going for it. Of course, it can be a pretty dramatic sport. At least it was when girls at my school played it. But dribbling, shooting, and blocking can be quite invigorating. There is a form of net, of course, in basketball. However, the nets are high and small and hard to put the ball into. One would think that basketball would be quite safe even for one with a history such as mine.  In fact, I had made it successfully to my last year of high school before . . . it happened. During a game, my team had the ball in the opponents’ end, and a teammate passed back to me at the 3-point line. I must have had bigger and better things on my mind because I, as they say, “got a little turned around.” I knew that sometimes directions were challenging when driving places, but on the basketball court? Honestly. I quite clearly remember two things from my quick trip down the basketball court—the trip in which I was travelling the wrong direction. I remember thinking, No one is even guarding back here! Why is no one guarding me right now? It probably should have been a clue. But then, I heard my teammate yell “Go, Kerra!” from the sidelines. It was all the encouragement I needed. I dribbled to the net, shot, and scored 2 points—for the other team. I later learned that my teammate had not yelled, “Go, Kerra!” She had yelled “No, Kerra!”

These stories bring me to my defense of my two sports of choice: baseball and volleyball.

Baseball:

What can I say? Baseball does not have a net. And while you can make mistakes that let the other team score runs, I have not yet figured out a way to score runs for the other team. Of course, you can strike out, and in slow-pitch you can lead off of first base to lose the game (both of which I’ve tried, unfortunately). But you can also play first base where most of what you need to focus on is catching the balls thrown to you. And once in a while, when hitting, you might really connect with a ball and get to watch it soar. And even if you get put in right field, you can sing “Playing Right Field” while you wait for balls that are few and far between.

Volleyball:

Volleyball has a net, but it’s not one you can score on. I do give points to the other team when I play volleyball, but most people do at some point. Have I found ways to embarrass myself in volleyball? Indubitably. You can rotate at the wrong time, you can trip over people, you can announce the score loudly across a gym that just turned quiet when you thought someone asked the score but no one did, etc. But those things don’t hurt anyone. So, in my mind, volleyball is a good sport.

Disclaimers:

This post is just for fun. I realize that my only reasons for not liking certain sports is that I’m not good at them. Therefore, my comments at the beginning were written tongue in cheek. I should also add that there are contexts in which I enjoy the sports that I have had bad experiences with. I loved playing hockey with my family at our winter cottage. I even wanted to play so badly one time that I wheedled Rolin into playing.* Soccer in the backyard with Ricky was always thrilling. His net was 5 meters long; my net was a slow pitch board. Our games couldn’t have been tighter. (He’s really good, ok?) And one-on-one basketball including unlimited fouling was Renee’s and my go-to youth retreat free time activity for years. If I put performance pressure aside, every sport can be a really good time.

And if Andy Andy Over counts as a sport, I think I will add it to my list. That’s a good one, too.

*Bonus: The Story of Wheedling Rolin:

At the cottage, the family gets ready to go outside to play hockey. Rolin does not, as he has said earlier that he isn’t going to play hockey tonight.

Me: (approaching him with my hand extended for a handshake) Do you like chocolate?

Rolin: (reaches for my hand to agree that he does indeed like chocolate)

Me: (hurriedly, right before he shakes) Willyouplayhockeywithus?

And he is sucked right in and shakes before he realizes. And although his agreement to play hockey shouldn’t count, he still plays with us. He is a good big brother.