Basketball and a Son's Love for his Mother

Without question, I inherited my love of sports from my mom. 

For good or bad, sports of all types have been a huge part of my life for as long as I can remember and for that I can thank my mom.  When I was growing up, it was a race as to who would get the sports page first from the Tennessean and, in the afternoons, the Nashville Banner.  I practically learned to read by perusing the pages of Sports Illustrated.  When my mom gave me a subscription to The Sporting News and it arrived weekly with my name and our address on the subscription label, I thought I had arrived as an adult.  At the age of 8.

I accompanied my mom to countless Vanderbilt basketball games, sitting in our seats in the top row Bill Liggon, Willie "Hutch" Jones, Mike Rhodes, Charles Davis, Mike Rhodes, Tommy Springer, Jimmy Grey and many, many other players.  I, no we, lived and died with Vanderbilt basketball.  Even today, I can talk 1970's and early 1980's Vanderbilt basketball with the best of them.

So many nights, we left Memorial Gym together after a game and walked briskly to the car, my short legs struggling to match her long strides.  On the way home, we listened to the post-game show and celebrated a Vandy victory or commiserated over a Vandy loss.  In so many ways, my childhood is a patchwork of memories with the common thread of Vanderbilt basketball running throughout.  Vanderbilt basketball was our thing.

My mom was hilariously superstitious when it came to Vanderbilt basketball.  She always order the same thing when we arrived at Memorial Gym for a game - a coke, a candy bar and peanuts.  She always saved the peanuts of the second half of the game.  She and I always sat in the same seats, too.  That was a big one.  When a game was tight, late, she was forever elbowing me in the middle of an important sequence on the court.  Many times, in the second half of games, she left our seats - we sat in 2L two rows from the top - and stood in the concourse, smoking a cigarette and peaking through the small square window in one of the doors, too nervous to sit in her seat and watch the game.

We shared a common bond, my mom and me, in our love for all sports, but especially basketball.  Basketball was her thing and in many ways, it became mine, too.

My mom played basketball in college, believe it or not, for the University of Tennessee School of Nursing.  In the lat 1950's when she played, there was no "Lady Vols."  Hers was the only women's basketball team affiliated with the University of Tennessee.  This was in the days of 6-on-6 basketball and my mom was one of the players who played defense at all times.  She stayed on the defensive end of the basketball court and never crossed mid-court.  According to her coach, Jim Stockade - who is a family friend, expert on Lady Vols' basketball and a national treasure - at 5'8", she was a fierce defender and rebounder.  All elbows and not afraid to use all of 5 fouls during the course of a game.

My mom's not 5'8" anymore but damn, she still loves basketball.  Yesterday afternoon, when I was visiting her, she asked as she always does, "Are there any games on?"  And by that, she means basketball games.  When I left, I set her television up so she could watch, back to back, the Memphis-Grizzlies vs. San Antonio Spurs and the Golden State Warriors vs. Portland Trailblazers.  Although she has a difficult time following the game - a heartbreaking development in and of itself - she was content just sitting in her chair watching basketball.