I’ve been going to the boys’ basketball games for, I don’t know, maybe four years now? And I’m married to a guy who watches NCAA basketball religiously. (especially Duke, but please don’t hold that against me!)
So it seems fitting that at some point, it’ll sink in. (No pun intended.)
Today, I went to 2 games. And for the first time, I understood every call. I could even tell you the calls the ref missed.
It was a turning point in my basketball life.
I liken it to the phases of grief:
- Shock is the first stage. I can’t believe I have to go sit through all those damn games.
- Denial follows. I am not going. You go without me.
- Bargaining. Fine, I’ll go if you go the grocery store for me. And to Target. Okay?
- Guilt. They wanted me there. I wasn’t there. Oh, I feel awful.
- Anger. I resent that I have to spend my weekends (not to mention every March) watching baskeball. It’s not fair.
- Depression. I guess I have to go. And I have to sit there and pretend I care about Duke. But I don’t have to like it.
- Acceptance and hope! I understand this game. And maybe I’ll even like it one day!