Tonight, my basketball team had its first junior high game scheduled. This means that us sophomore ladies get to sit on the end of the bench and watch everyone else play.
Most people consider this boring.
Au contrair, my friend. (Au contare? Au contrar? Au contriar? Whatever.)
Sarah, Johnna, Mel and I deserve our own show on ESPN. We observe every play with eagle eye. Our lungs should be bronzed. And our advice? Impeccable. We are the Queens of Commentary.
We sat faithfully at the end of our bench and cheered on our middle school ladies. We got bandaids for Haley, who always has something bleeding. We fetched waters. We did the wave (but never all at the same time). We shouted out helpful advice such as,
"Put your hands up, Caroline!"
"Put my haaands up, they playing my song-"
"No, Sarah. Not Miley. Caroline."
We shrieked and mourned over the many hideous calls made by the refs, fought over the best viewing seat, cheered so loudly our coach told us to be quiet, and faithfully screamed every play that was called to be sure that no one on the floor misunderstood:
Coach: Run swing!
Us: SWING RUN SWING RUN SWING SWING IT SWING IT SWING SWING RUN SWING RUN SWING!"
And like every good benchwarmer, we told each girl as she came out of the game all the good suff she'd done.
"Hey, do you remember that amazing steal you had?! The one where you left everybody in the dust and got that awesome layup?! You should do that every time, okay? You rock!"
All I know is, we won the game. And we discovered halfway into the third quarter that fans were taking pictures of us. I have a feeling that those photos will come back to haunt us someday.
Oops.
Well then.
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