The end of basketball season is here. Thank God.
I am a girl who likes her sports. I struggled to write on Saturdays and Sundays during National Novel Writing Month, because football season was in its peak. And even though my beloved Cubbies never do much, September and October have to be some of the most exciting months of sports watching. I even devote hours to watching golf or Sports Center with my broomies.
But when basketball season rolls around, I tune out. Maybe my aversion to the game started when another girl pushed me down and I skinned my knees during my middle school leagues. Maybe I find the constant squeaking and running back and forth exhausting. Maybe I hate having to watch the Lakers game every Christmas. I do not know. Basketball just does not do it for me.
Imagine my horror when this winter one of my broomies announced basketball was his new favorite sport. I know he was bummed by his favorite football team’s lackluster season (he is a Colts fan, poor dear), and our local TV rarely features hockey. I feel his pain. I really do.
But why did he have to make basketball his alpha sport? Was he punishing me for not unloading the dishwasher promptly or mowing the lawn? When I lived on my own, I preferred to leave the clean dishes in until the dirty ones in the sink outnumbered them, but I changed. And we renegotiated lawn duty. I pull weeds for half an hour every week, and the broomies will deal with the mowing business. See, living together is easy. All it takes is compromise. Unfortunately, when it comes to sports, compromise is off the table.
I mourned the NBA settling its collective bargaining agreement at the eleventh hour. For one shining moment, I thought we would have a blissful year free from pro basketball.
I celebrated when both of my broomies’ favorite teams lost early in the playoffs. Apparently, that does not matter. Those boys kept watching, even after one broomie said he wished both teams playing would lose.
Basketball season was not a complete bust for me, though. Being a younger sister, I had years of practice and natural instinct on my side, which enabled me to be as annoying as humanly possible.
For example, during the tournament’s second round, I taught myself Spanish – in the same room they watched the games. “El equipo juega mal.” “The team plays badly.” “Mi hermano es enojado.” “My brother is mad.” “No me gustan huevos verdes y jamón. No me gustan ellos, Sam Que Soy.” “I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam I Am.”
In the finals, I cheered for the Heat, because, as I told the broomies, ESPN showed footage of Lebron James reading The Hunger Games. The annoyed looks I received gave me more joy than anything else all season.
Laura Chapman is a journalist, blogger, book reviewer and yet-to-be published novelist. In 2010, she founded Change the Word, a blog that follows her writing career and offers book reviews, author promotions and writing tips. Based in Lincoln, Nebraska, she has two completed novels in editing and is hard at work on her third, which she is adapting for a web series. A regular contributor at Good Humor Girl, you can read all Laura's articles and find out more about Laura.