It was the Girls Novice Championship, and We Talkin’ about the Game (with apologies to Allen)*

It was the Girls Novice Championship, and We Talkin’ about the Game (with apologies to Allen)*

* Because you know this was running through my head the entire time I was writing this post.

To say my mom has rebounded from the flu nicely is like saying an ice cream sundae is best made with hot fudge: holy understatement, Batman. She is sharp, and stronger than she’s been in months, thanks to a heady dose of new steroids that reduced brain swelling we didn’t even realize was still bad. Her synapses must have gotten some incredible kind of all-clear, because she is zip-zip-ziping around her house like her walker is made of rocket fuel. I joked that we all have whiplash: one week we’re all convinced that This is It, and the next, well: in the next week she’s drinking a glass of white wine in a restaurant and using chopsticks to eat her sushi. It’s pretty fantastic.

We didn’t see her either day of this past weekend. Quinlan was playing in the end-of-the-season CYO novice girls’ basketball tournament, with David as her head coach, and since there were 18 teams in the bracket, we played four games from Friday night through Sunday night, and Saoirse also played a game with her JV team Saturday morning. It is one of the busiest weekends of the year for us, and quite frankly, when it comes to novice girls, it’s always been one of my favorites. I am so thankful I got to be there to witness all of it: there’s just something about 9- and 10-year-old basketball that makes the world a better place, I promise you. These girls grow up so much in a season, and progress so quickly, it’s hard not to get caught up in it. And I don’t know if it’s because Saoirse and Quinn have always loved the sport and taken to it, or because they’ve consistently been teamed up with players who are also so, so fun to watch, or if it’s because I just get a kick out of watching David coach (he makes sure each girl notices him cheering for her after a big basket. It is the cutest, and almost as entertaining to see as when he stands down a ref who’s not calling fouls when he should. Almost.), but I have to tell you: these girls play real basketball, and they work hard out on that court.

(I don’t know why we always describe the girls with such awe when we talk about this. Like, “Wow, she’s a beast!” As if any of us parents are really surprised that our girls are tough as nails.)

Now, here’s the thing: novice isn’t supposed to be competitive. The girls are learning how to play these years, and at this level the emphasis isn’t supposed to be on winning. Our program prides itself on even teams, and learning the game, and sportsmanship, and all that good stuff.

It just so happens that anybody who played on David’s novice team last year went undefeated for 12 games and won the diocesan championship (*cough*) in 2019. And that our girls just happened to end this season with a record of 14-0…and won the diocesan championship.


We won the final game Sunday with a bucket in the last 45 seconds by one of our third-grade players. The parents in the stands lost their minds (okay, the coach’s wife with the messy ponytail sitting on the bottom bleacher lost her mind). This was after a game against an incredibly physical team (not like “basketball” physical, but more like “I’m gonna wrench this ball from you over your back and hope the refs don’t call it” physical.). Almost everything that could go wrong did: refs weren’t calling fouls on the other team but called us every chance they could get. We were down the entire game except for a tie going into the half, and, of course, at the very end. Quinlan got a bloody hand and had to be pulled out while we bandaged it (I only learned at the end of the game that any player with blood on her uniform isn’t allowed back onto the floor. We got lucky). Our point guard–who’s also our top scorer–got fouled out minutes into the second half and lost herself in a torrent of tears. At the exact same moment, our back-up point guard got knocked down onto an arm that was already hurting, which probably would’ve felt worse if her nose hadn’t started bleeding everywhere, too (again, that blood rule! Lucky again). It’d be her first of two bloody noses in the second half.

Did I mention we were down? I have no idea how David managed to coach through it. The parents on the sidelines could barely watch it. There was a trophy behind the bench–a heavy trophy, the first one of its kind in these tournaments, and we knew how badly our girls wanted it.


(Not that it’s competitive, mind you. *cough*)

It was after all this happened at once–the fouling out, the point guard breaking down on the bench, the first bloody nose–that our girls had to go back in and play defense. I looked at our crew–all of them were shaking–and I saw our #42 standing in front of her girl, shifting her weight back and forth, arms out around her, ready to go. She had tears in her eyes, but I only saw her allow herself a split second to get her head together before looking back down the court for the inbound.

The child is 10 years old. I looked at her and thought, “Oh, okay then. That’s how we’re supposed to do this.”

And then they kept it up. And then they evened up the score. And then they scored a basket with 45 seconds left in the game and refused to let the other team get a handle on the ball for the rest of it. They rushed back to the bench at the buzzer and the parent(s) lost her(their) mind(s) and I kissed our coach and I hugged Matt, our other coach, and we took pictures and went out for a beer and some food and to pass that trophy around. They were so proud of their work. We were so proud of them.

There’s just something about novice basketball, you guys. There’s just something about a fourth grader shaking it off and a third grader going for it and a team that goes into a game with full intent on bringing home a championship.

“I think we’re going to win,” one player said to me before the game.

“Oh, I’m nervous!” said another (who, 40 minutes later, would prove herself to be one of our smartest, most aggressive players).

“Nah,” I’d replied. “Maddie is right: that trophy is yours, girls. All you have to do is go get it.”

The group of girls glanced around at each other, and one of them turned to watch David and Matt, who stood beside them, for a moment.

And then our little girls looked back at each other and nodded.

They were already grinning.



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