In a game the boys ended up losing, J.P.'s teammate, Braden, hit his team's first basket. The next time down, J.P., playing wing, took a pass from Cooper, dribbled to his left, then shot a 10-footer. In it went. The very next time down the court, Cooper fed J.P., who was a little deeper on the left wing this time. Without hesitation, J.P. let a 12-foot jumper fly. Nothing but net! I could hear Marv Albert in my head screaming "Yessssssssss!"
I turned to Jude and Joe, sitting to my right behind me, and yelled "heat check!" Jude looked puzzled and only understood later, after I explained to her what a "heat check" was in basketball. Joe got it, and later told Grandma and Grandpa about J.P.'s "heat check" game.
Our boys rebounded the ball and headed down court again, setting up the offense. On a designed play, J.P. ran the baseline and set up on the left side. Braden fed him the ball and I was almost on my feet - ignoring the fact that I really shouldn't cheer or coach from the scorer's table - as he let fly 15-footer. The ball hit the rim, rattled and fell through the net. His third basket in a row. His teammates were standing on the sideline, screaming. Our fans behind me were cheering. I looked back at Jude and Joe and yelled, loudly this time, "HEAT CHECK!!!!"
J.P. ran back down the court to get in position to play defense, an impassive look on his face, complete devoid of emotion. That's when I knew he was in "the zone," that place in sports, especially basketball, where time slows down or stands still, there is no sound, the basketball feels natural in your hands and the basketball goal looks as big as at the ocean. You have no idea what the score is or how much time is left on the clock. Every shot you take feels like it's going to go in and they all do.
I've been there, but as an average athlete, only a handful of times. The most memorable was during an early morning basketball game at Cedar Springs Presbyterian Church in Knoxville during my third year of law school, 25 years ago. Thankfully, my friend and fellow lawyer, Carl "P." Spining was there to witness it. Every time we discuss it, he still shakes his head in disbelief at how hot I was that morning. I never experience anything like that in basketball again. For one morning in one game, anyway, I knew what it felt like to play the best basketball I was capable of, and I still remember the feeling.
That's were J.P. was yesterday morning, even though he might not realize it. Cooper fed him again the next time his team had the ball and J.P. took his fourth consecutive shot, which rimmed out. It's probably for the better, because my head would have exploded if he had hit four in a row. Simply amazing.
Joe and I went to visit my mom after J.P.'s second basketball game. We watched "Planes" with her for a little while, then drove back to the house so Joe could change clothes for his game.
Our close friends, Russ and Susannah Allen, brought J.P. and their son, Cooper, to Joe's game at Eakin ES. Joe was very, very excited to have Russ there, who coaches J.P.'s team. As I've said before, I think, Russ is Joe's unofficial godfather. Joe idolizes him and Russ loves him like a second son.
Joe was a little down early and complained to me on the bench that no one was passing him the ball. I pointed to the scoreboard and reminded him that basketball was a team game and that his team was leading 8-2. It's hard to explain to a 5 year old that basketball at that age doesn't involve a lot of passing. He rallied emotionally after a rough patch and was fine.
Early in the second half, Joe ended up with a loose ball and dribbled up the right side of the court. Dribbling at that age, mind you, is a loose term, as almost all of the boys (especially and including Joe) dribble two or there times, grab the ball and take a couple of steps, then dribble again. The referees are indulgent but great at stopping play and teaching the boys how to play properly.
Joe drove toward the basket, in a little traffic and pulled up from five or six feet away, and shot the ball toward the 8-foot basketball goal. It went in, a "no doubter," and he celebrated as he ran back up court in imitable Joe fashion. He looked up at the crowd, pointed at Russ who was sitting to he top row of the bleachers, and waves his fingers in what he believes is the "money sign." Then, Joe looked over at me on the bench, held his hands above his head, brought them together, and pretended to "stir the pot and cook it up" - James Harden's signature celebratory move.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mH6h2TKDN6k
I couldn't stop laughing. I looked like Russ was going to fall out of the bleachers. Jude just shook her head, smiling.
A minute or two later, Joe stole the ball and drove up court again, this time all alone with defenders chasing him. Rather than drive down the right side of the lane for an uncontested layup, he pulled up from 10 feet or so and shot a jumper on the run. Just like Steph Curry. It rimmed out, of course, and I laughed and laughed and laughed.
That's Joe in a nutshell. Enthusiastic, self-confident, exuberant and completely with a lack of self-awareness when he's playing sports that will serve him well, I think. Beautiful.
It's Sunday morning and I'm sitting in my usual spot at the Frothy Monkey. I'll pack up my laptop now and head down to see my mom. It's a beautiful, warm January day outside, with people already wearing shorts. That's nice after the snow, ice and single digit temperatures from last week.
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