The double Double-Double

The day dawned bright and clear and thankfully warmer. The wind blew like banshees, but this IS Oklahoma, after all, and, somewhere down the road, the Goddess promises Spring will come. All in all, it was perfect weather for basketball.

Ann and Janie are good friends, maybe best friends, and split the court responsibility for post forward. Even though it was game day, they were slow out of the sack this morning, not because they are slaggards but because they are teetering on the edge of adolescence. Despite being only 12 (Janie is two months older than Ann), they both burn a lot of energy stepping into their respective genetic heritages. Ann's father is 6'3" tall and, prepubescent, she has just reached 5'5". Janie's father is 6'4" and his sisters both edge him out. Janie is less than an inch shorter than Ann. You don't have to be a tree among sixth grade stumps to play round ball but it helps.

Ann and Janie have an easy relationship. Even now they seem to recognize what the future might show. I doubt they would want anyone to know that most of our pre-game evenings find them piled up in Ann's bed, Ann reading her latest favorite book or magazine quietly to Janie for hours at a time. Oh, Janie can read well enough and does but they seem to have fallen into this sweet pattern that mesmerizes them both. As a mother, I am glad they are yet not frothing for boys or on the phone every minute. As a coach, I acknowledge the unspoken communication both are developing. Coming together as a real and winning team requires that each individual player have a distinct bond with the others. When I was 12 (and 14 and 17 and finally 18), I learned that it was as important for my teammates to do well as it was for me to be a star. No one taught me that or coached it into me. I came to that understanding because I loved them.

We took the court at 10:45 am, warming up opposite a team decked out completely in black. Ann's six foot sister, Jessica, was in the stands by then, supporting what Jess generously admits is her little sister's prescient magic on the hard court. Jessica waved to Ann as I stalked around dispensing advice: watch for the trap and the screen; short, point girls forgo rebounding to play deep in the opposite court to thwart a drive or a nasty surprise; if the game is close, I will ask you to foul; do not hurt anyone. I had a feeling about this game.

Ann's Grandfather and Grandmother arrived significantly before the tip so she could see them and sat beside Jessica and her boyfriend of the moment. Family members of the other players filed in and took up a goodly number of seats in the bleachers. Yelled kudos pumped the team and only Janie was unrepresented. You see, her mother is seriously mentally ill with substance abuse problems. Her father was at work and Janie's mother is not allowed to drive. I suspect Janie is accustomed to being alone that way.

Ann leaped for the tip but it was swept to the other team, who drew first blood within seconds. My team didn't seem to notice and, sucking a collective deep breath, went to work to demonstrate all those complicated skills we have practiced over the last six weeks in a cold gym twice a week, playing mainly against boys. Sixth grade county basketball is never enlightened. There are times, however, when it can be damned good.

I will always believe that they were on fire the moment they took the court. It was our time to win hard. Two minutes into the game, though, something called my attention to the crowd and there I saw our high school coach. Her team, the big girls as we call them, washed out of regionals yesterday afternoon. Our coach is 35 or so, newly married with a motley congregate of five sons and must have needed to do laundry, if nothing else, on a Saturday morning. But she was there, to watch my daughter, and Janie, and all the other players. Just as I have sat behind Coach's bench and shouted direction I never thought was heard, now she sat behind mine.

I talked to Coach at length a while back. She wondered who would save Janie from her family and how tall Ann would be. We spoke of the game and how it shapes the female psyche. We passed time about how Kierstein was suddenly no longer afraid to possess her space in the world. Coach wondered, and I wondered. Could they live up to their potential? Only time will tell. Every paid coach needs a legacy, though, a tale to tell, a championship to hearken back to. She knows my girls are her hope.

I don't know if they played for her or for me today. Honestly, I don't care. Where Ann was not, Janie was. They spoke without many words, demonstrating the beginnings of a game that might influence their futures. Looking like the awkward 12 year old that she is, Janie nevertheless swished the net from beyond the free throw line. When Ann was open, Janie led her, and Ann tried for her sweet spot where the ball kisses the backboard to fall in as a short shot. They missed more than hit but the magic was clearly there and they tried again until they got it right.

Serious game wasn't the sole possession of Ann and Janie. They played with the whole team. Little Holly of the blond braids played deep and handled Janie's baseball throws down court to stick a basket that made her grin at me as she raced to the back court. Tiny Lexie jacked one up like I told her to. You cannot win unless you try; you cannot score unless you shoot. Lexie's shot went in and she puffed up to play defense so soundly that she forced two turnovers.

I pulled the two posts with a minute left to play, replacing them with players that felt the lack of them but guarded our edge. As Ann and Janie left the court together, the crowd stood, applauding. Their Coach was among those who cheered. We won by nine and, in the tradition of Courtney Paris, both my girls double-doubled, Janie with 16 points and 18 rebounds; Ann with 10 points and 14 rebounds.

Just for a minute, we were big heroes.

We went to eat after the game but neither Ann nor Janie could finish their meals. We boxed the extra food and I rushed on to give Janie what she really wanted: to tell her Mama. Back at home, I made it a point to go in the house and take the Mama aside. Janie did good, I said. Ann did good.

Janie's Mama was a ballplayer, before her sickness took her. Somewhere deep inside, she knows how ballplayers feel. Her eyes filled with tears, envisioning a game she did not see.

It was good enough. Their Coach was there. At 12. they double-doubled.