Last night, during an exciting basketball game, my oldest hurt his ankle. Again.
There where a slew of cuss words. From both of us. Again.
And I was given “helpful advice” from the basketball dad’s. Again.
It’s like the mechanic analogy only in sports!
“Hey there little lady, now I know you don’t understand how this all here works, but don’t you worry! I’ll be here to tell you all you need to know.”
I have been a sport mom since my oldest could hold a ball of any kind (no pun intended). I’ve been lugging gear for the last 13 years of my life. 7 years pulling double duty.
I have been through two concussion, a broken hand, broken thumb, more ankle twists/sprains than I can count and that’s not including my own injuries from when I was able to run and jump and be a functioning human being.
So for this guy to continually interrupt me while I’m trying to figure out what’s best for my kid was highly irritating. I know he was just trying to be helpful, but it goes back to the age old question: Would he have been so ‘helpful’ had I been a man?
The other basketball moms and I shared several exasperated looks between hints and then the game was over and we hightailed it out of there before I committed an assault, which would have done none of us any good.
We are now sitting in a ER room, waiting on xray results and praying that nothing is broken or there goes spring/summer ball and I will have one grouchy ass teenager on my hands.
No breaks! Just a very bad sprain