Prologue - 4ft. 5 in.

It's about 4pm on a November afternoon in North Vancouver BC. It's raining, as always this time of year. Our daughter Abby is upstairs showering the mud off herself having played her Sunday game of soccer on an "all weather" field nearby. An all weather field is a densely packed somewhat flat gravel surface that while unforgiving to the players can at least drain itself from the monsoons that assault Vancouver all winter. Most of the rain runs off in hundreds of little rivulets that combine to create creeks that gush along the sidelines which will soak you past the ankles if you're stupid enough to get near them. But at least an all weather field is never, ever, closed for play. Rain can be coming down sideways in a driving wind that turns parents' umbrellas inside out but the game is always on. My wife Caroline used to laugh at drenched parents gathered closely into huddles on the sidelines of a winter soccer game trying to generate enough collective body heat to survive the match. But alas, one kid and a few years later with socks squishing with wetness and toes trending inevitably toward frostbite we cheer her on. And we are loving every second of it.

The kids never complain about the cold or the wet anymore as they have learned it is quite useless. The parents, of course, while trembling on the sidelines constantly compare the ordeal of watching a soccer game outdoors in November to the worst of common cold weather accidents - like driving off a bridge into an icy river for example, or the equally common occurrence of being towed face down and naked for miles through the snow by a runaway horse - but the weather concerns of our pony tailed, pasty faced athletes have fallen on deaf ears since kindergarten.

The only thing that bothers Abby is when the soccer ball comes to a sudden stop in a lake of standing water putting an end to a clean breakaway, which is something to be complained about because in grade 4 breakaways account for 100% of goals scored. Players silly enough to go falling and skidding on the all weather surface get wicked raspberry scraped knees and end up driving tiny bits of gravel deep up into the darkness of their shorts. This debris is unwelcomely released later onto the bedroom floor during a post game ceremony that features mom helping to peel off a soaked through jersey and shorts from a little shivering body, a great sucking sound can be heard house wide as the air lock that glues soggy socks to soggy feet is finally released. Athlete then bolts to a warm shower and will not emerge until much later when her need for warmth finally loses out against the urge for a cookie.

Because weather is such an influence on both the player and parent soccer experience in North Vancouver all the teams in the league have been named after intimidating climatological or geological events. Once you actually gain an appreciation for the number of scary team names that can be conceived from this concept you no longer question it; the Hurricanes and Inferno, Earthquake, Cyclones and Landslide being among our noble competition.

One goal was all it took for our team, the Tsunami, to bring home victory on this day. Despite the fact our team has been together for 3 years it has still proven difficult for Coaches John and Steve to convince our young players of the limitless strategic possibilities that could be unlocked if they could just learn the concept known to grown ups as "spreading out". For years as you watch your young athletes you will yell from the sidelines "SPREAD OUT!!!!" But they will not. To them only two thoughts drive performance in these formative years:

1. The probability of me getting the ball is directly proportional to the distance between me and the ball. It does not matter how many people from both teams are also near the ball. I must get closer to the ball. I must follow the ball as close as I can, at all times;
2. I hope there's going to be treats at halftime.

Speedy Maddy with the red cleats emerged from the beehive of players after the ball accidentally squirted loose from the pack and she attempted something rare, a pass, in this case to Alyssa who must have become disoriented and found herself outside the scrum at the opportune moment. The pass was misdirected, but hard and toward the goal. The goalie, who had not seen the ball come near her in over an hour, was busy tossing twigs into the creek flowing around her goalpost to see what route they might take to the ocean. But a distracted keeper is not enough to assure a score in such conditions. The ball hit a puddle on the way to the goal and was struck as still as a sailboat in the mid Atlantic doldrums. Alyssa realized the problem and bolted toward the stranded ball and was able to punch it with a series of kicks and splashes over the goal line just before opposing defenders arrived to deal with the situation. Our team had achieved another victory preserving the Tsunami position at the top of the table.

I'm back at home slowly thawing and wondering if Abby is trying to set the world record for the longest hot shower ever endured by a human when the phone rings. I automatically glance at the call display to see if the caller is worthy of my precious time. It shows " J K Hunter". Hmm. That's Coach John, with a post game analysis I suppose. I decide I'd best answer.

But it's not John, it's his wife, Kathy, with an unexpected announcement, "John is going to open the gym at the school on Saturday mornings. Tryouts for Steve Nash are coming up. John would like Abby to come out, Allie will be there, what do you think?" About the only part I understood about this was that Allie, who is John and Kathy's daughter and also on the soccer team, was also going to be a part of this new venture.

I answer with the only sensible thing, "What's Steve Nash?"

Kathy explains with a tone designed to assist a recent immigrant from a distant solar system, "Steve Nash is a basketball club. All kids that want to play basketball start in the Steve Nash league. You want to come to tryouts prepared so that Abby gets a good rating. You need to get a good rating to get onto a good team. John will probably coach, he'll take as many of the soccer kids as he can but he wants them to show well at tryouts."

I'm processing several thoughts at once. I have just put my book down next to my glass of wine and my first thought is how does John, who is a full time family physician and who has already dedicated years coaching his two older daughters and their friends still find time to coach Abby in soccer and now wants to coach them all in basketball too? Also: maybe I'm a lazy parent who should judge his successful contribution to the team by something greater than just getting the kid to practice on time. Tryouts? At this age? And finally, Saturday is our skiing day.

So I tell Kathy, "Saturday is our skiing day, we can't commit to another sport right now".

"Okay", Kathy says. "But unless she starts basketball soon she won't have much of a chance of playing for the senior high school team". I did not even realize this was supposed to be a goal.

I tell Caroline this exchange and we both laugh. Our daughter is 8 years old and a senior basketball player is what? Probably age 16 at least? Crazy. Plus basketball is not on any of our radar screens. The sport is exceptionally boring to watch, and Abby, based on her ability to tackle her own teammates to get the ball out of the scrum and score goals, will probably be a dedicated soccer player anyway.

After one final chuckle, Mom, Dad, and Abby spend the next two years ignoring basketball completely.

Chapter 1 - The Church Card - 4ft 11in

It was always out there somewhere I think. Some great basketball in the sky was acting on us like the tractor beam in Star Wars, hooking its soccer centric passengers, drawing us ever closer over great time and space to an inevitable destination, inescapable, too slowly at first to realize what was happening.

But when you get there, there's no turning back.

Grade four became grade six in time that lapsed so quickly I wish I had planted more apple trees. Soccer players had been divided into select teams so the notion of tryouts had come and been endured. Abby had qualified for one of the two higher level gold teams for her age and we now had to budget for faraway trips to play soccer in places like Penticton, Anaheim, and with her Soccer Club teammates she would play for a team representing Canada in Denmark and Sweden. I tried to explain to her one day that the furthest I had ever travelled to play sports at her age was only as far as my bike could take me without getting a flat tire. She just stared at me blankly.

As with soccer there were basketball players reaching early prominence. Elisa and Lizzy, Jasmine and Alannah were names that swirled around as being the "basketball players" while succeeding on their respective soccer teams as well. Folklore was building around the names of Kristin Hughes, Diana Lee, and Kris Young who while still early in their high school careers were creating a buzz that even those ignoring basketball could not completely avoid hearing something about.

At some point somebody cracked. History did not record who it was. But somewhere among the Soccer Sisterhood a decree was delivered. The final soccer holdouts decided to open a second front in their little sports world and so turned up for a Steve Nash "identification" tryout going into their grade 7 year.

The Steve Nash league has guiding principles befitting the Nashman himself. A BC born Canadian basketball success story Steve would not lend his name and reputation to a developmental basketball league unless the mission was clearly about balanced teams, fair play, equal play time, and pure fun. The purpose, ostensibly, of identification tryouts was to re-evaluate and re-distribute players before each season to create balanced teams and to ensure all games featured just the right balance of competitiveness and fun.

But the Soccer Sisterhood was late to the party. They tried out and each received the same rating of 2 out of 4. This meant you were sporty, but you would not be considered in the top half of players that combined athleticism with something that could be recognized as a basketball skill. Still, no matter, the Sisterhood would be placed into the "draft" and split onto teams that had stronger players.

Except by now the draft was anything but egalitarian. The head coach of each team would meet in a secret dark room in a pre season session of basketball player horse trading meant, minimally, to preserve their roster of strong players but even better maybe to dupe a rival coach into trading away a mid ranked prospect without knowing her true potential while accepting back a prospect who had been ranked highly in the tryout but unbeknownst to them was prone to blow off basketball for, say, the unspeakable sport of volleyball.

But attracting good rookies and avoiding the bad ones was a secondary pursuit. Successful teams had to develop clever workarounds to protect them from having to send their core of strong players to other teams in the spirit of balance.

The workaround was that if you were a coach of a team your daughter could not be transferred to another team. An excellent policy that makes perfect sense at first as it encourages coaches to stay on for multiple seasons. But since Steve Nash is busy playing professional basketball he perhaps did not realize that this loophole produced a bumper crop of parent coaches of star players. Established teams had a head coach, assistant coach, assistant to the assistant, chief statistician, statistician who was not chief, managers, official Tim Hortons runners, etc. The rosters of the strongest teams never changed, and not surprisingly the teams were either very good, or very bad.

So the Sisterhood would land on one of two teams with enough room to accommodate them all which would be sorely lacking in skill. Still, at this age, how lop sided could the scores really get?

Thankfully we had a genial coach who was game for the test. Coach Walters was very faithful to the league principles of equal playtime and fun. He was a man who was well known in the local sports community, a respected coach and high school teacher. Approachable, he possessed an easy smile and a exuded feeling of inclusiveness that would make Steve Nash proud and the players happy. But most importantly for a volunteer coach, he showed up.

First order of business was to choose team name and coach Walters left it up to the girls to democratically vote one in. Freed from the constraints of soccer league imposed weather related names we expected the team to conceive an extraordinarily creative and uber intimidating moniker. Would it be Terminators? Crushers? Thumpers, Smashers or Beat Downers?

The votes were unanimous.

Muffin Tops.

Yep.

Abby's journey to the Muffin Tops was, however, a circuitous one. It was punctuated with angst, despair, and in the end an act of treachery on my part that will undoubtedly end any chance, microscopic as it may have been anyway, of ever meeting Steve Nash in the flesh.

Abby was not initially chosen for Coach Walters' team. She was placed on the other team of mostly inexperienced players. Not only were none of them from her soccer team, but this team had a coach that was the polar opposite to the distinguished nature of Coach Walters.

To protect the innocent I will refer to this individual as Coach Pudge. A shortish, pear shaped man with blank expression, he wore a sort of skullcap to perhaps convey a sense of style but really it just emphasized the size of his enormous and hairless head. He walked like a combination of duck and hippopotamus, a labored waddle that exhausted you to watch it. His upper body moved in spastic jolting actions, he would wildly gesticulate with his hands while grunting mono syllabic commands at players that strung together sounded like random guesses at basketball terminology.

But the most notable feature of Coach Pudge, just to add to the overall creep factor, was that he chewed gum with such incredible violence you would have thought something alive and unwelcome had been let loose in his mouth. A duck/hippo walking, balding but skull capped, fat and violent gum chewing spastic man with a mission of not much other than ensuring his daughter got maximum playing time. This was Abby's first basketball coach.

Abby stood dumbfounded on the floor at her first practice observing Coach Pudge like he was an exhibit in a Martian coaching museum. For the first time we realized that the excellent Coach Johns and Coach Steves don't simply just turn up at every sporting occasion. Good coaches are not universal, and not to be taken for granted when you have one.

Caroline announced that Abby had to be transferred to another team, and I agreed. Implicit in my agreement was the understanding that this was my problem to solved. Why? Just because.

So I set about devising a fool proof strategy to break Abby free of Coach Pudge Basketball Wonderland. But it would not be easy. After all the back room dealing that produced such beautifully balanced teams players were not permitted to transfer for just any reason. In fact, no legitimate reason had so far been identified. So I would have to produce a transfer excuse of such galactic importance that it could not possibly be disputed, nor refused.

The problem was I had no idea when I picked up the phone to discuss the issue with Coach Pudge what the hell this excuse would be.

Coach Pudge politely took my call and I explained that Abby had to transfer to another team. Predictably I was asked why this transfer was necessary. I knew I had to match wits with this man. I steeled myself. He had the "never transfer" player precedent on his side, but he could not possibly be prepared for the verbal gymnastics of a desperate basketball dad. I had hoped he would just roll over, but he was clearly looking for a legitimate reason for the transfer. I waited for the perfect answer to come somewhere from the depths of my soul. And when it didn't come, I waited a little bit longer.

Suddenly I stammered, "your practices are at the same time as mandatory prayer at our church.".

Pause for effect.

Wait. What? What did I just say?

I didn't see it coming. Normally when a thought forms in your brain there is an internal speech mechanism that provides at least a brief opportunity for last second filtering. In despair, I suppose my filter failed, and so the words went from brain straight through mouth and were now irretrievably in the public domain.

Not having entered a church for any other reason than a funeral or my own wedding I felt a pang of guilt as these spontaneous and blasphemous words left my body. But I also felt a sense of victory at my pure and improvised genius.

Coach Pudge could not possibly refuse a transfer on such solid religious grounds.

That is unless Coach Pudge, against all odds, actually possessed enough common sense to know that no known religion enforces mandatory prayer on Wednesday nights at 7pm. And this thought suddenly trumped my earlier convictions of sheer genius. I could be banished to hell forever. Or worse, reported to Steve Nash.

Other than the sound of violent gum chewing, Coach Pudge was silent on the other end of the phone. He could be either stumped with the moral dilemma I had presented to him, or simply figuring out a way to humiliate me. I waited to see how my preposterous bluff would be received.

He finally responded, "I see. Ok. Well. Hmm....Well I think I can transfer Abby to Coach Walters' team, they practice on Tuesdays. Would that be Ok?".

It worked. I felt the same wave of pure relief as I did I when I passed first year statistics because my mark was mysteriously scaled to 51%.

The Church Card, I have come to learn, is to be used sparingly and only under the most dire of circumstances. Overused you just look like the boy to cried "church card" too many times and nobody will listen. Of course there's also the problem of spending eternity in burning hellfire but if you can get over that then there's really no problem if you are desperate enough to have to play it once in awhile.

The first game for the Soccer Sisterhood had finally arrived. Coach Walters released the rip cord of the net containing several basketballs and they went spilling onto the court. The Muffins each scooped up a ball and like the protons of an atom scattered highly energized but directionless, each dribbling with stooped posture eyes directly pointed toward their shoes. Effectively blind they would often encounter each other in minor collisions, abruptly turn and dribble in opposite directions in hopes of locating the basket.

And this was just warm up.

One of the adolescent referees blew her whistle to organize the tip off. Coach Walters placed Abby on the floor to start her first basketball game.

And with that, it begins.

Chapter 2 - Coach John and the Mullet Man - 5ft, 2 in

A rare shot of Coach John with the soccer team - Grade 6

The Muffins may not have been blessed with skill, but at least they had a bit of height.

The first tip off was in the air and our tallest player, Alyssa, gracefully leapt to meet the ball and tap it to Abby immediately behind her. The ball safely secured, Abby watched as her Muffin teammates sprinted down the floor to take up their positions near the basket. They spread out and formed a square, two at the foot of the key, two at the top. Coach Walters had apparently adopted an offensive strategy meant to hypnotize the opposition by having his players assume wide eyed, expectant expressions while standing absolutely still. Even with my limited knowledge of basketball I immediately recognized this as a brilliant ploy, from these positions the players could suddenly take off simultaneously, crisscrossing wildly through the key causing their checks to collide and leaving a Muffin wide open for an easy shot. This is not such a difficult game to figure out I decided.

Abby had the ball and also remained still, shrewdly sizing up the situation, not to be rushed into picking her line of attack. Her check had arrived and hovered dangerously in close proximity, arms outstretched and flapping like the wings of a frenzied flightless bird ready to steal the ball at any sign of weakness.

Abby made her decision. She pivoted away from her check. Instead of dribbling right away she surprised her check by cleverly continuing to pivot, making it difficult to figure out what direction she might take off in. She continued pivoting. And then more pivoting. It occurred to me that Coach Walters must have spent a considerable amount of his practice time on pivoting as I watched Abby spiral at increasing velocity approaching speeds heretofore reached only by the Tasmanian Devil himself. Her check took a cautious step backward.

Coach Walters was preoccupied with his clipboard, always planning his substitutions ahead of time to ensure equal playing time in accordance with the Steve Nash constitution. Had he looked up he would have seen four wide eyed and unblinking Muffins in a catatonic state around the key and one Muffin pivoting with such determination she was about to enter the fourth dimension. It was about then I realized this was not a deliberate offensive strategy. The Muffins were in a state of stunned confusion. This was not going to end well.

Dizziness finally started to kick in and Abby started to wobble. Her check stepped up, took the ball, and proceeded toward the Muffin's hoop. Abby, now free to move her pivot foot, reacted to defend and took off at a dead stumble. She had her opponent in her sights and may have caught her under normal circumstances but her dizzy spell had a detrimental effect on her gait, she trended to the right the whole way down the court so that by the time her opponent was busy finishing an uncontested lay up Abby had accidentally left the building through an open fire exit.

Once re-assembled the Muffins set about inbounding the ball. A quick pass in was captured easily by an opponent and was in our basket again. I decided to take a stroll to see what was happening on the adjacent court.

The scene in the game next to the Muffins stood in obvious contrast to what I had just seen. The first thing I noticed was Elisa bringing the ball up the court. She was running as fast as any kid would through a playground without the distraction of dribbling. Her eyes were up and dead set on the action happening in front of her. She arrived at the top of the key but didn't like what she saw so DRIBBLED WHILE STEPPING BACKWARD! Then she moved laterally to her right and then launched a pass on a fast and flat trajectory. I thought I'd seen natural skill on the soccer field but this was an athlete with raw talent at a whole new level. Lizzy, along with her teammates, had been in constant motion moving in predetermined patterns under the basket. Lizzy caught the ball in stride and headed for the hoop. There were people in her way but she did not slow down. Instead she widened her eyes, stuck out her tongue, and lowered her body while increasing speed. When she got near the hoop she rose up and crashed into her checks putting the ball up and off the backboard. As the ball went in I heard the whistle blow. She had drawn a foul and would go to the line for a free throw. That went in too. Coach John clapped his hands and then urged his team to get back and defend.

Okay. So maybe a two season head start would be more of a challenge for Abby and her Muffinmates to overcome then I thought. I looked over my shoulder and saw that the Muffins were off to a commanding 22-0 score against them. Coach Walters was looking at his watch and his clipboard. Abby and Maddy were on the bench giggling and pointing at something sticky and yucky that had affixed itself to the bottom of Abby's shoe. At least the Muffins didn't seem overly invested in the game's outcome.

Suddenly I heard something out of place. Something in the universe had shifted in a bad way. Raised voices. Threats were being uttered, and shouts from parents in the crowd could be heard. The volume of noise was going steadily up. It was happening behind me on the other court. A genuine kerfuffle seemed to have been ignited somehow.

Elisa was down on all fours wincing and gasping - an opponent was standing over her. I'd played enough sports to know what had happened. Elisa had been kicked in the ribs probably after diving for a loose ball. Of course when this happened to me it certainly wasn't in grade 6 when you're supposed to be too young to know what a cheap shot is. It was during a semi-important rugby game in grade 11 that featured a bunch of half-witted boys of considerable girth who nutured a spirit of meanness over the years and thought nothing of sinking their deadly cleats into an opponent if they could get away with it. I just laid there hoping for someone with morphine to come and end my pain. Unfortunately high school sports medical protocol does not dictate that morphine be the first response treatment for painful injuries incurred on the field of play, an obvious oversight that should be rectified immediately. Elisa could have stayed down and whimpered like I did, but instead she looked determined to regain her purchase and stare down her opponent. Attempts to right herself reminded me of Bambi trying to take her first steps but it was evident she was not going to stay down. Lizzy, who possessed more strength than three of her teammates combined, arrived, lowered herself, stuck out her tongue (this looked familiar) and in one motion hauled Elisa to her feet and stood by her side.

My brain can't process this. I suppose I'd seen a couple of schoolyard fights in grade 6 but these were usually between two boys that any one of us could have predicted would end up in a maximum security prison by grade 9 anyway. Nobody told me some of these wistful looking elementary school age girls could conceive the notion to kick an opponent while they are down. I would have to plan some serious meditation time to deal with this new reality that had so far eluded my vast worldly experience.

New problems were now arising. A scene was unfolding like a series of photographs that were being flashed at me like a slideshow. A good thing, this slowing of time, maybe it would give me an opportunity to react if I needed to. Soccer coach Steve arrived at my side also sensing the genesis of something ridiculous but dangerous.

Coach John reported to me later that he tried very, very hard to tactfully assert, in a manner not meant to provoke, his point of view to the opposing coaches. He had a player down as the result of a cheap shot, something had to be said. But he was determined to filter his words carefully, like the grown up he is. Coach John, glancing one more time at Elisa, composed himself, and diplomatically stated something like, "You Fuc*ing think I don't know what just happened! You coach your players that way on purpose don't you!"

Besides his choice of words, which sounded somewhat unfiltered to me, the fact that this accusation was made loudly enough to be heard by dead people seemed to have a dulling effect on the diplomatic tone he was initially going for.

The rib kicking seemed not to be in dispute, but the opposing coach decided his reputation was being called into question. The fact that he sported a mullet that Bobby Clark would have been proud of seemed to add to the threatening effect as he crossed the floor and jabbed his index finger in the air inches from Coach John's nose and shouted words that have become infamous:

"Alright John, I think we'd better take this outside!"

Coach Steve and I exchanged glances. Our first reaction was to laugh out loud. So that's what we did. We got two men almost 50 years old about to head outside and engage in a good old fashioned game of fisticuffs right here in the community centre parking lot because of an incident at a grade 6 girls basketball game. But as I laughed I realized I knew something that Mullet Man did not know.

You don't mess with Coach John.

Coach John has very simple DNA. Once you meet him, he becomes a friend for life. If you have a daughter that needs coaching then that's even better. Sure like anyone he appreciates the odd invitation for drinks or dinner, but he's not a high maintenance sort of friend. He asks for little and gives much in return. You would do well with a friend like Coach John. But he's not a three strikes and you're out type of guy either. If you cross him once, your friendship is likely over. But Mullet Man had not just crossed Coach John, he'd threatened him.

If you threaten Coach John, I believe he he would take great pleasure in killing you.

I don't know if Coach John has ever been in a physical fight. He stands well over 6 feet, is lean, athletic, and muscular. I get the sense he's always thinking one step ahead of everyone else, a good skill in general but very valuable in a fight. But the biggest problem would be that Coach John would likely fight like a caged animal. I'm not sure he'd know or care when to stop. They might not recognize anything but the Mullet when Coach John was decided the fight was over.

Except maybe Mullet Man had uttered his brave threat while banking on the fact that Coach John probably could not fight well today. Coach John had thrown his back out the week before making the whole scene look as comical as it should have been. He was pointing back at the Mullet Man alright, but he was stooped over like Ebaneezer Scrooge, dragging one leg behind the other when he walked, his face contorted in pain whenever something on his body moved. A courageous person, this Man of the Mullet.

There was little space between them now, so Steve and I moved in behind Coach John just in case he did end up absorbing a cheap shot which would no doubt spark a considerable melee that we would have to enter if only to push Mullet Man back and drag Coach John out by the ankles.

Turns out Coach John had no intention of fighting. He had already diffused the situation by pointing out to the Mullet Man at considerable volume that he had already made himself look like an idiot by proposing a brawl with a cripple, not to mention his team looked to everyone in the gym like a bunch of cheap shot artists. Mullet Man turned his back and walked back to his bench. Parents had arrived from the bleachers to collect their players and go home. This game was over.

I looked back toward the court where the Muffins had been playing. Their game had stopped as well but Coach Walters was actually looking up from his clipboard and must have seen the whole thing. He looked disappointed, like he just found out his best friend was the one who stole the cookie from his lunchbox. The score was 22-2, and I was disappointed that I had been so distracted by this sideshow I did not see that one lucky Muffin actually put an end to the shutout.

Abby's future in basketball looked bleak already. Unbalanced teams, some coaches with questionable motives, cheap shots, officials who are too young to keep order. Had we known then that the Muffins would post a perfect season of zero wins and twelve losses maybe we wouldn't have bothered coming back. We all filed out of the gym that night feeling numb and looking forward to the next soccer game where life's order would certainly be restored.

The one bright spot was that Elisa and Lizzy had demonstrated skill, determination to overcome adversity and a dedication to each other as teammates that seemed mature beyond their years. If she continued in this sport I hoped they would be on Abby's team someday.

Outside I saw a bunch of parents talking to a young man I had not seen before. People seemed to know him, and he was drawing quite a crowd. I walked closer. He was wearing a bright red golf shirt with a logo on the chest that I had not seen before.

A logo that would soon be on almost every athletic garment Abby owned.

Chapter 3 - Discipline Dedication Determination - 5' 3"

Abby in her first 3D season, summer prior to grade 8.

A defining moment.

That fork in the road you always look back on and remember the decision taken that set down a new path in life. Often the subject of legendary literary metaphor that we can all relate to. Consequences for making the right or wrong choice. The role of luck and circumstance in what will follow. Jesus decides to confide in Judas. Columbus petitions Queen Isabella for last ditch financing. Tin Cup going for the green in two. Your choice about what university to go to. What career path to choose, a decision to buy a home, get a dog (why did I do that again?), or start a family. You know what I mean. Life's big decisions that you can look back on and admire or admonish. You always know where you were and what it felt like when the really important decision was made good or bad. A defining moment.

Like Abby's decision to continue with basketball after the Great Muffin Experience had come to a formal close at season's end. A defining moment for certain given basketball's disappointments to date, and what followed. A decision and a moment not to be forgotten. Looked back on and admired for how it worked out. A memory cherished. A memory to go down in family folklore.

Too bad none of us can remember it.

None of mom, dad, Abby, or coach has any idea what the defining moment was that led to Abby's continuation in the sport of basketball. By all accounts, and despite the efforts of Coach Walters, this pursuit should have died a quick death. Abby had developed some skills, namely she had vanquished her fear of dribbling, but the sport seemed to hold no more promise for her than deep sea fishing.

Except there was a new influence that must have influenced the great basketball tractor beam in the sky that somehow drew us all toward it.

Thomas.

Thomas was the fellow drawing a small crowd after the Mullet Man incident. He looked incredibly young to me then, undoubtedly a consequence of me looking incredibly old to him. About my height we had similarities in appearance that included looking potentially athletic in stature but lacking a bit in the muscles department. Our not terribly bronzed skin tone is a commonly known affliction in our neighborhood that has its share of pale skinned men of WASP decent with tanning potential further reduced by a climate where the sun shines prominently and hot in the short summer but the likes of Thomas and I must hide under shade and SPF 50 sun cream or suffer skin cancer risk of considerable magnitude. He stood out smartly in his bright red golf shirt with the unfamiliar logo. He wore glasses that would make others look somewhat bookish except he posessed a certain confidence, a force in personality that made him come off more like an intelligent looking guy who was on some kind of mission. He carried on an easy conversation with basketball parents looking for help. I had no clue who this guy was but I had the sudden feeling I ought to for no other reason than he seemed to know everyone who seemed to care about basketball and I knew nobody. Thomas had a quality that reminded me of Coach John. He was already a dozen steps ahead of me. Without saying a word to him I had the sense that, should Abby care to play any more basketball, he had an accurate idea about how the road map should look but would share it with me on a need to know basis.

Thomas was a principal owner in a local basketball club called 3D, which stands for Discipline, Dedication, and Determination. Unlike the Steve Nash league, this was a for profit business - ie paid coaches. It was not unlike the Roman Tulis soccer school that we had so much admired and had been such a positive experience for Abby, so the idea of a pay as you go club sport experience was not new to us. Thomas was offering up an alternative to the Steve Nash route for basketball enthusiasts, in fact he seemed to be scouting the talent. He had no shortage of interested parents and athletes eagerly accepting his 3D pamphlets after watching the Mullet Man debacle. I had to admit, Thomas's sense of entrepreneurial opportunism seemed very well tuned.

We were not among those with 3D aspirations. As the Steve Nash season drew to a close we looked forward to a Spring season of playoff soccer with the prospect of soccer tournament play in late August before the Fall season began.  In between there would be cocktails, BBQ's, and trips to the lake. 

Then Abby announced she wanted to try out for a 3D Spring/Summer basketball team.  Ugh, in an instant the prospect of a household otherwise absent of stress would now be subject to another run of tryout anxiety with who knows what to follow.  She never told us why she made this announcement then, and she doesn't remember why now. I do remember thinking her rationale couldn't be based on what her social circle was up to; few of her closest friends had expressed this interest, so what was it? Abby can be somewhat taciturn at times and downright speechless at others, so she didn't offer an explanation. Basketball tractor beam again maybe? Who knew. Anyway she seemed keen enough and so why not. We signed her up, and sent her along with the first in a long series of cheques made out to 3D Basketball.

The plan was to form two teams. The first team would be the most competitive and travel to games in the Seattle area to get good competition. The rest of the players would form a second team focused more on development though they would participate in some local tournament play. The girls would attend a series of practices over the course of a few weeks, after which the teams would be selected.

Abby's goal, as stated in her usual economy of words, was "Dad, I want to make the first team".

Great, let's set the bar high then shall we?  I did not know where this was all coming from, and I had a feeling she might be setting herself up for disappointment, but you had to admire the pluck of the Kid.

So the practices began. Two or three a week in the evening. At her first practice I noticed something I had never seen before. Abby had a look in her eye, the likes of which I had never seen on the soccer field even in the most competitive of games. It was a look of someone with singular focus, a determination to achieve something difficult. She hung on every word the coaches were saying. What she still lacked in ball handling skill she made up for in work ethic. When the girls ran lines she was a quarter of the floor ahead of the next player. When she didn't have to run because she was on the winning side of the scrimmage she ran anyway. She always made sure she was doing push ups when the others had stopped. She applied her quickness to a ruthless form of defence. Without the ball she proved to be an exceptionally effective pest, she generated steals and intercepted passes. As the practices wore on and others grew weary her tireless pursuit on defence was even more noticeable. She was also developing into a noticeably good passer, leading players with the ball into areas that would lead to a clear path to the hoop. As her confidence grew she became even more focused. I didn't even know she had it in her.  And all the time that look in her eye.

Thomas created a reward system based on practices attended and glued stickers to a poster board to show all the girls whose attendance was most consistent.

The tryouts went to 47 practices, Abby was the only person not to miss a single one.

She had to have made an impression, and I started to believe she actually might make the first team. After all, don't all good teams have these types of role players? The ones who push the others to work harder, improve, and who can maybe help the team in certain situations when defense matters more? Right? There was no doubt in my mind that she wanted it bad. I was still not sure why. Was it the sport? Or the challenge of making the first team? Or both?

The evening when the rosters were to be posted online finally had arrived. Abby looked several times before dinner but the results were not posted yet. For the first time Abby was not relying on natural ability to make the team, she knew she'd have to make it on working the hardest.  I found myself hoping for her to make this team like I had never hoped for her to make any other. Hard work always breeds results. We all know that.

After dinner, Caroline went to the computer and found the results so summoned us to join her. Together we read the names.

She had made the second team.

Abby was silent and stoic, she just stared at the PC monitor.

There was nothing I could think of to say.  But I should say something I suppose.  Something very brief but still brimming with great wisdom and profoundness.  Something that would immediately heal the hurt and preserve Abby's belief in humankind.  That's what we need here.  Think dad, focus gosh sake.

I needed help.  I decided to access the inner sanctum of the best TV dads who always knew what to say at just these types of moments.  I began to channel Mike Brady, and Howard Cunningham, and as desperation grew even Dick Van Patten.  But it wasn't working.  I remembered what happened the last time I struggled for words and instead of something wise blurted out a blasphemous statement instead, so I simply remained silent. The moment was passing, I needed to say something about how hard she tried and that she would certainly make the first team next year if she worked hard on her skills. This was the first time she had ever tried out for something and not made it. Plus this time she wasn't relying just on her natural athletic talent. She actually worked her ass off too.  All these thoughts were swirling around in my head as we sat there together stunned.  The wise TV dad words were simply not going to come, so I said the only thing that I could think of:

"I'm so sorry Abs."

Abby nodded quietly as my words tried to sink in, her face devoid of any expression whatsoever. Normally in control of emotion at all times somehow one tear accidentally escaped the corner of her eye which was quickly brushed away. This was my first of many experiences as a dad where I felt absolutely powerless. My daughter's heart was breaking and there was nothing I could do about it but wonder why she had put herself into this position in the first place.

About an hour later the phone rang. It was Thomas. He asked to speak to Abby. She took the phone from me and sat down to listen. She was very quiet and maintained her stoic expression, nodding her head occasionally. The conversation lasted about 2 minutes during which Thomas told her how much she had impressed the coaches, but that they thought a season of focused development would help her more than playing games that were too competitive. It helped a bit, and Abby decided she would play for the second team. I was proud of her.

A couple of days later life was moving mostly normally. Just before dinner the phone rang. It was Thomas again, and he asked to speak to Abby.

She took the phone and listened quietly, though her face suddenly transformed and she managed a barely audible, "Ok, thanks".

She handed me back the phone and looked at me with a wry grin that I will never, ever forget. It was almost as though she saw it coming somehow. She was clearly happy about something, but her words were not excited, they were measured, quiet, and confident:

"Someone on the first team doesn't want to play. I made it dad. I'm on the first team".

Chapter 4 - Lopsided Scores and Border Anxiety - 5' 3"

Abby gets advice from Jaime (#24). Grade 7. 

We had arrived in the US the night before and had all had risen early on a Saturday with the prospect of the team's first game against American competition later in the morning. The team was moving slowly around the breakfast room, heads down all were shrouded in puffy warm robes pulled right over their heads under which each wore their own version of shockingly patterned pajamas.  It was a procession of silent, multi-coloured basketball monks each shuffling their feet in a perfect line with the goal of reaching a station to toast bagels or grill waffles or maybe both.  Although the idea of unlimited waffles would normally have been a source of unbridled joy, really the girls looked a weary bunch having been denied a Saturday sleep in.  After breakfast the convoy to the venue for the competition would begin.

The gym where the game would be played was at a school that shared characteristics with scores of schools in similar middle class neighbourhoods across America. They are very large and old, and despite what you have seen in the movies do not posses any sort of historical charm or character whatsoever.  The really old ones are constructed entirely of aging brick, the "new" ones dreary concrete, each featuring its own version of chipped, faded linoleum flooring and the absolute minimum amount of natural or artificial light. They have at least two gyms, many three or four, with high ceilings featuring banners hanging down from the rafters marking athletic achievements from the time of the pioneers to current day. Every second light fixture in these gyms is consistently non functional; either this is by some weird coincidence or perhaps a ladder of sufficient height has yet to be invented to reach them.  The result is that these gyms are darker than South American bat caves.  This posed a problem for me as I had been nominated as team photographer in a closely contested race that featured no other interested candidates. The courts consisted of well worn hardwood that had been resurfaced with much varnish over so many years. The lines marking the court were vanishing further into the floor with every passing season making them so hard to see the players had to develop a sixth sense to determine where they might be.

The school was packed with people. Players from multiple teams moved in gaggles around the population of parents, other spectators and officials. I waited in the concession area with other parents for the team to come into the building once their pregame meeting concluded outside.

The first through the door was Jaime. A year older than Abby she would be entering grade 9 in September. I had only met her yesterday. She did not know who I was, but knew I was one of the new parents. She smiled as she moved past me. This was a smile that I would not forget. It was the broadest of smiles, her eyes looked directly into mine, they seemed to be illuminated from the inside by a happy glow that was being radiated from somewhere deep down. It was the sort of smile that made you think you could know all of her personality at once - a mix of happiness, friendliness, maturity, intelligence, and soulfulness.

But you'd be wrong. While she was all these things, there is another side.

On the basketball court smiles were dear. Her expression was of singular determination, it was as though she was indifferent to another team on the floor. Jaime seemed to treat the opponent as more of a nuisance than another group of other humans, to be dealt with no differently than if someone had parked a Volkswagen beetle on the court and it had simply had to be passed or dribbled around. She dribbled so hard I thought the ball would just give up. Jaime was more broadly shouldered than her teammates, and not quite as tall. She used this to her advantage when deciding to drive the hoop which she did often and with success. She would fix a such a fearsome expression to her face when driving the hoop it seemed impossible to imagine it was also capable of constructing such a beautiful smile. By the end of the first quarter her dark, curly hair would be dripping and soaking her jersey creating a crescent moon shape of sweat that reached halfway down her back. She was on a different level than most other players, physically, mentally, and fundamentally.

We had arrived at our first game in the US of A.  I watched Jaime warming up alongside teammates such as Elisa, Lizzy, and others and I couldn't imagine them losing a single game. And in fact, on Canadian soil, nobody had so far come close to beating them.  For Abby to be part of this team would surely raise her game and someday make her a more consistent contributor to the score.

Then I noticed our American opponents.  Something was wrong, I found Thomas to alert him that there was obviously a scheduling error.

"There's no error", he replied.

I quickly retorted, "Thomas, they're...um...huge.  They're women Thomas for gosh sake.  That team consists of women not girls, I think they're from some Junior College or something.  Anyway I thought I'd let you know."

"See number 17?", he asked, "she's in grade 6.  So is number 4 and number 10.  The rest are all grade 7. The players are just bigger down here". 

Have you ever met someone that is so gifted at the art of calm understatement you just want to box him in the ears on a consistent basis?  That's Thomas.

The height of these US grade 6 and 7 kids was on average a third greater than our players who were at least a year if not two years older.  Plus whereas our girls were lean - okay downright skinny - the opposition were also thicker.  Tall, and thick with developing musculature.  Hard to move.

But our players were extraordinarily fast.  And skillful.  And very, very fit.  And we had Jaime and Elisa and Lizzy and now Abby.  So there.

The game started.  I could simply not believe the difference between the speed the US players warmed up at, and the speed they could play the game at.  Our players buzzed around them and put in an admirable effort in defence, but the giant opponents would manage to pass the ball to a breaking player on almost every possession and make a clean lay up.  Or someone would just pull up and make a jump shot, or a three pointer.  When our team had a turn on offence it was relatively short lived.  The US players seemed to feed themselves on stealing the ball.  And rebounding...well...don't get me started.  Jaime had a couple of determined drives to the hoop to earn some points.  Elisa also got some shots to go, and Lizzy scored some points off foul shots as well.  Abby did not score.  But she played.  She played just as much as the other 8 players.  In fact, to my untrained eye, she appeared to be one of the more effective players on defence.  Even against the larger statured players coming at her at high speeds she managed to create some steals and disrupt some of their flow.  My guess is that our team's fitness was better as our team speed seemed to hold up while theirs did not, but it didn't make a difference on the scoreboard which flattered us a bit at 77-24.

At the end of the game I thought I would try to approach Thomas again and risk asking the latest in a string of stupid questions, "Thomas, um, so that was unusual wasn't it?  We have never come close to losing a match at home.  That was really unusual.  Really quite unusual, don't you think?" 

"Unusual?  Nope.  These US teams are really good.", he said.

"Okay Thomas."  (I mustered up as much mental restraint as I could so as to not kick him in the groin). "No, I mean, we lost by like 50 points, didn't we?  That can't be good."

Thomas finally realized I was still at the rank of rookie parent and gazed knowingly at me, kind of like Mr. Miyogi would do, and offered some further explanation, "We don't come down here to win.  Not yet.  Our team has some skill and they will improve with time and coaching.  But they have to learn to play harder.  They have to learn to play against physical competition.  They have to get mentally better.  This sort of competition will teach them that better than any opponent we run over by 50 points at home".

On our way to the cars one of the parents had uncovered a key piece of intelligence.  Evidently the Boy Scouts of America and the Boy Scouts of Canada were planning to shake hands with each other across the Peace Arch border crossing tomorrow.  So it would be closed for like 4 hours.  Perfect timing.  Stupid border.  It's about time that the US and Canada realize we are long past interested in invading each other and do away with borders altogether.  It would make basketball trips so much easier.  And a bunch of other important stuff would be easier too.  Preliminary calculations suggest I've spent more time waiting to cross the border than I've spent doing anything else worthwhile in my life at all.  My border wait time, combined with those of my family, and team members, their families, plus coaches - let alone the time time worrying about the Border which is a separate discipline all of its own - has amounted to more time than was needed for God to conceive of and create all the physical laws that govern the universe.  And before you think I'm exaggerating let me say this.  I'm not.

But this problem would be for tomorrow.  Abby had arrived at my side and as she happily loaded her gear into the car I asked her, "So, what did you think?"

"It was good." she replied, her standard response to most questions at the time. 

"What was good about it?", I pressed (I was developing useful skills of open ended questioning and minor league criminal interrogation so as to get any useful information out of the Kid).

She knew she'd have to come up with something or I'd just ask again.  So she thought for a moment, "Umm, well...the other girls on my team are so good, but...I'm starting to feel like...like...I belong out there out there with them".

And she did.

Chapter 5 - The First Celebration - 5' 3"

3D team left to right: Jaime, Claire, Nicki, Elisa, Lizzy Abby, Lauren, Kristin, Colleen

Hotel lobby, Lynnwood Washington.

Basketball parents lingered as we waited for the arrival of the U 14 Girls 3D Elite Basketball Team. We had been instructed to meet at 6pm ready to deploy for dinner and all parents were present and accounted for. Somewhere upstairs the girls had squeezed into one room enjoying some free time together before dinner. The thin walls of our aging Best Western were challenged to contain the sounds of squealing, shouting, and giggling 12 year old girls that should have been at least a little tired after two games of basketball against stiff American competition that afternoon. But a road trip brings out the pure monkey in everyone and so far the girls showed no signs of slowing down.

The group was hungry. Transporting and feeding a large group of basketball players, coaches, and parents requires organization and precision execution. Nothing less than a logistical success rivaling that of D-Day will do. Thomas had everything under control. Reservations were made at a place I had never heard of but at this early stage of the trip I had learned that the experience of parents and players that had come before us should not be questioned.

Once the girls made their way downstairs we loaded them up into pre-assigned vehicles and embarked for an apparently unrivaled establishment of culinary bliss. Somewhere so special you had to travel all the way to the United States to experience it. Seasoned veteran parents compared notes on what they would order. They seemed to be working themselves up into a religious fervor about this place, becoming increasingly incoherent as they tried to describe their last meal there. I'm absolutely positive I saw one dad barely save himself from salivating onto the front of his t-shirt with a last second head bob. Thomas beamed at us rookie parents. Our first in many firsts to come. That all knowing smile of his that had already become annoying. Thomas said the team deserved a special dinner after a successful start to the season.

We were off to PF Changs.

An American franchise restaurant of Asian fusion food, PF Changs was an anomaly among US based restaurant chains in that if the food was actually no healthier than Swiss Chalet it certainly looked like it could be. The place smelled simply scrumptious - a scent that mixed hoisin sauce, spicy pork ribs, and the rest of Thai cuisine in general. The square footage was impressive, the footprint of the place must have compared to that of a small IKEA. It had a funky modern decor that included a giant horse sculpture at the door, lots of other statues inside, and an open concept throughout.  But also, deliberately I suppose, it was very dark despite the occasional hanging halogen spotlight.  Baby boomers with faltering eyesight were using their smartphones to illuminate the menu and fighting over reading glasses. The place teamed with staff, everyone moving with precision in all directions many carrying trays that included dishes of steamed vegetables, tofu stir fry, and yummy looking beef slices topped with green onions. The veteran parents were in grave danger of losing control of several important faculties as they vibrated with anticipation. As I watched them I started to work out the cost benefit analysis of buying the first Canadian PF Changs franchise location.

The place was absolutely jammed, but after a short wait we were at our tables given the advance planning Thomas had done. Thomas and team at one table, parents at the other. During the trip to the restaurant the players had moved progressively from hungry, to famished, to fighting off cannibalistic tendencies. So when the sever came they all stood with menus in hand and started barking desperate orders for food, pointing and gesticulating wildly they looked like wistful brokers buying options on the Chicago Mercantile exchange. Soon bread was brought to calm the situation.

The meal was fantastic. While the parents leaned back on their chairs and tried to quell the urge to remove their belts and any other restrictive garments, the cheque arrived at the girls' table.

I realized this would be the first time several of the girls had been presented with that great unsolved mystery that dates back to the days of prehistoric man and continues at least until the completion of your university degree. Splitting the bill.

Players had been asked to bring funds for the weekend and budget accordingly. Thomas had asked that parents who had made the trip not to interfere with cash negotiations that often come up on these road trips. One of the skills learned by players will be how to budget and contribute fairly to team meals, fuel costs, etc. Thus whatever a player was staked with was her bankroll. An amount to be safely guarded or the next day she might starve.

The bill was taken by one of the players and she began to unroll it. Ultimately it came to a length of about half a roll of toilet paper. Laughter subsided and a tense session of negotiations began. Caroline and I and the other parents all knew this was going to take awhile, so we all calmly handed over our credit cards to settle our bills, ordered a beer, and sat back to watch.

The girls each examined the bill in turn, some grabbed their blackberries to do some calculations, then they looked at their cash and reluctantly parted with a small portion of it before passing the bill along. Eleven of these steps was necessary before Thomas took the billfold and added it all up.

At first count, the team was $80 short.

Previously best friends for life the team erupted into lethal accusations, "she had dessert and I didn't! I barely ate anything compared to her! She ordered that not me!". I think I even heard a swear word.

I reflected on the day while the girls sorted things out. Their first two games in the US had resulted in a cumulative score of 139-59. Thomas had explained to me earlier the silver lining of this, but it still seemed to me to be a long road ahead.

Thomas had finally seen enough.  He stood at his spot and asked the girls to pipe down, then he moved around the table to each player, removed a bit of cash from her wallet and placed the billfold at the centre of the table.  "Done.  Okay girls, next time let's see if we can work a little better together shall we?  We are a team after all." Then he continued speaking to them, but I couldn't hear.  The girls were paying very close attention to him, more often than normal it seemed.  Some started smiling.  Crisis averted.

I waved Thomas over, "What did you say to them?"

He replied, "I told them I was proud of them.  Tonight is a celebration. They did what I asked them to do today and they never gave up no matter what the score was. I told them that's what we are looking for right now. I've had teams give up in games like we had today. Not them.  It's a good group, they are going to be a good team."

Then he added, "Plus just look at them, can you think of anything else worth celebrating?"

The girls were engaged in simultaneous conversation with each other, I don't think it would be possible for anyone to hear a word anyone else was saying. But somehow they all knew when to all laugh at once, a collective laugh so loud and infectious it would cause diners from several nearby tables to have to stop their conversations and smile. Abby sat between Lizzy and Jaime, two players a week ago I couldn't have imagined her to be on the same team with. She just seemed to belong there. Despite the rigors of today's two games I knew tomorrow the muscles that would hurt the most would be the ones responsible for holding the grin on her face constantly for these last two hours.

Who knew that finding happiness was as simple as organizing a team dinner at PF Changs?

Chapter 6 - Basketball Coach Steve - 5' 4"

Coach Steve with Abby.  Grade 8

The 3D team dispersed at the end of the Summer of 2008 and would resume in the Spring of 2009. In the meantime there would be something entirely new. The Handsworth basketball season.

The first of hopefully five seasons playing for her school was upcoming, and Abby, who would enter grade 8, was keen. Kathy, coach John's well intentioned spouse, had predicted this keenness years ago as we scoffed. Now it was here for us all and we were eager for the exciting ride that those before us had already taken. Handsworth had a basketball program full of tradition and expectations, talented players have been recruited to CIS universities, others to Division 1 teams in the US, and of course each team was measured against its ability to qualify for the Provincial Championships.

I had heard of the "Provincials" as they are called, but as my high school athletic experience consisted of being part of half enthusiastic teams who were instrumental in helping other teams advance to provincial qualifying events I was never able to appreciate these tournaments first hand.

My first experience with Provincials was, of course, with 3D. The Provincial Club Championships would be held in North Vancouver at the end the 2008 Club season. This was not "school" Provincials, but it did have club teams from around BC competing and so was our first taste of the fervor of provincial competition.

In a hot gym not far from our home the 2008 Club Provincial final was to take place between 3D and a pesky team from Kamloops. The game was as close as any game Abby's team had ever played against non US competition. Kamloops was very well coached, and for a group of grade 7's outside our bubble of basketball greatness they were obviously pretty great in their bubble too.

As Abby watched from the bench the Kamloops girls gave the 3D starters all they could handle. Elisa, Vanessa, Lizzie, Teagan, and Alannah (Jaime was a year older so was not playing) were able to answer most of their baskets, but the Kamloops squad had a lightning fast left handed point guard who was scoring by driving left, and an agile and noticeably taller post player who seemed to be able to rebound the ball before shots were even taken. The gym was lined with supporters of both teams sitting in flimsy plastic folding chairs, with even more fans standing pressed shoulder to shoulder behind. I could not understand the reason for so many people. Obviously there were more than just parents here. Plus with too many people in such a small space at high temperature there it is a statistical certainty that some of them are going to smell bad.

I figured Provincials must be important for at least one other reason than big fan support. Abby was on the bench. This game was too important to be enforcing equal playing time I presumed.

Baskets made were loudly cheered, and fouls loudly jeered. Parents shouted instructions to the players, annoying the coaches in the process. Every foul was in dispute according to the fans, the officials were in for a long day.

So this is Provincials.

The game was close, and half way through the fourth quarter Thomas called a time out. When the girls came out after the break there was an obvious difference.

Abby was out there.

All 5 foot 4 inches of skinny determination, she took her position. Lizzy came close and whispered something to her and they shared a quick high five.

I felt concerned. I didn't want My Kid missing crucial shots or finding some other way to create some sort of embarrassing catastrophe in front of all these crazy people from Kamloops plus everyone from our whole neighbourhood. There are only five players out there per team for gosh sakes chances are Abby will be on the end of something bad. I started paying closer attention to every move her body made. More critically than I had ever done before and with fear in my heart. Up to this point I had no idea how hard the starters and their parents had it.

What was she doing out there I wondered? A voice from a few plastic chairs beside me seemed to know.

"Abby, make her go RIGHT! Get out on her shots and after she passes DENY EVERYTHING!"

Abby looked at the keen eyed spectator but did not look mystified as I did. She quietly nodded at this Helpful Stranger, and prepared for battle.

"Deny that Abby! Deny, Deny, Deny! Well done!"

I'm hot. My soul feels like jello because My Kid is out there in front of the whole world about to commit a critical mistake. The person standing next to me smells like an unshowered long haul trucker wearing expired cologne, and a complete stranger from the stands not only seems to know who Abby is, but given his focus on her play seems convinced that she holds the crucial key to winning the game. I'm melting from stress more than heat.

"Deny, Deny, DENY ABBY!" Helpful Stranger screamed. Whatever the hell that means.

Well, Abby knew what it meant, and she apparently did it well. With the combination of the starters' ability to match Kamloops with offense, and Abby closing out their point guard from scoring any more points, 3D won the 2008 Club Provincials. They got a trophy the size of an Italian wedding cake. We still have it, Abby got to take it home first and nobody has ever asked for it next.

Helpful Stranger = Coach Steve. Not the soccer Coach Steve we have previously met, but Basketball Coach Steve.

There are passionate people, then there are über, super, hyperspace, seventh dimension passionate people. Coach Steve is one of these. Scientists have verified that his red blood cells are basketball shaped. His passion for the sport of basketball undoubtedly came from his own experience as a player, but reached untapped levels when he started coaching. He took to coaching girls in our neighbourhood in their formative years of the game, grades 7 and 8, and to this day takes great pride in creating in them a foundation for teamwork, technical understanding and skill.

But there is one thing that he infuses into the DNA of all his players absolutely and above everything else - to him the undisputed rule of space time that Einstein simply must have missed - the understated but mission critical basketball virtue of constant, in your face, relentless Defense.

His passion is not just for the game, but the girls and their accomplishments. He can rattle off from memory the number of rebounds each player he has coached has ever had, the consecutive number of minutes each of his teams has gone without getting scored on, who holds the record for consecutive foul shots etc. He watches, smiling, at every Argyle and Handsworth senior game he can get to so that he can watch "his girls" take the fundamentals he taught them in their early years onto the bigger stage under other coaches.

Coach Steve has a basketball wound in his heart that has never healed. He coached a promising group of grade 8's that along with his daughter Angela included the likes of Kris Young and Diana Lee. Names that have since written exceptional chapters of basketball folklore at Handsworth and to which young players strive to match in skill, dedication and results but deep down know they probably could never do it.

After an undefeated season and provincial playoff, this group of grade 8's arrived in the Provincial final as undisputed favorites. But the team was fighting the flu at the worst possible time and lost the final.

Looking out at this new group in the Club Provincials Coach Steve had probably seen lightning in a bottle. Could he coach this talented group to a Provincial championship in grade 8? Steve will argue a grade 8 championship in anything is the hardest to win given the sheer number of teams eligible and that none of them are diluted in skill because good players are not allowed to "play up".

Soon an email to the Handsworth girls on the 3D team came around from Coach Steve inviting them to a series of "unofficial" summer workouts. The call went out to any other interested girls entering grade 8 to participate. The roster was impressive. It included not only the dedicated 3D girls: Elisa, Lizzy, Alannah, Teagan, and Abby - but also the addition of a promising new basketball enthusiast: Delaney who stood almost six feet!

To Steve this group represented the salve to soothe his three year festering wound. He and this group (and a limitless supply of hand sanitizer) would restore order and win the grade 8 Provincials.

Chapter "Number Seven" - The Look in Her Eye - 5' 4"

Abby guarding Emma - Grade 8 Provincial Final

Grade 8 league play started, and the Handsworth team proved to be too much of a match for everybody.  Coach Steve had devised sinister full court presses, sideline traps, and smothering double team maneuvers that had point guards from opposing teams quitting the sport forever to take up spray tanning.

The team could go on and on and on without getting scored on, and of course had the firepower to score tons of points of their own.  Abby was sharing point guard duties with Elisa, but as Elisa had developed more as a shooter, it was not uncommon to see Abby taking the point guard position with Elisa at the wing with Lizzy.  And now there was the Delaney factor.  Approaching six feet she was a physical presence no other teams in our league had.  Like Abby, her strength as a recent immigrant to the sport was defense.  She knew how to position herself and spread out her long limbs to create chaos for teams who tried to pass the ball around her.  With that height she was an effective rebounder, but she was also developing confidence as a post player.  Teagan was never so proud as to draw a charge, which she did often, and as a result her courage was well known.  Alannah had experience on Summer Games teams and had streaks of scoring points in bushels.  Lizzy, by far, could make the meanest battle faces on the team which had opposing players giving her a wide berth.  As a result she would dip her shoulder and drive through the key no matter how many defenders seemed to be in the way, scoring points and drawing lots of fouls.

It was all coming together. All that was left to do was for Steve to distribute liberal doses of hand sanitizer to stave off infections of any kind.

Their first threat to an undefeated season came at the CG Howe Tournament.  In the semi final, the CG Howe team proved to be very aggressive, and were shooting well.  Abby seemed to be among the first to detect potential trouble.  She started doing something rarely seen to this point.  If she was open, she would shoot.  Teams were pegging her as a passer already, so in this game she starting shooting jumpers, and they were going in.  The score remained closer than normal, Handsworth maintaining a four point lead.  On one occasion Abby saw daylight and drove to the hoop.  She looked like a skinnier version of Jaime as she did it, taught by the best she went full speed to the bucket.  The layup went in, but the CG Howe defender pushed her hard in the back and she went down hard and awkwardly into the end wall padding. 

I was on the phone with Caroline at the time, "Oh my god, Abby's just been knocked down hard!"  She got up slowly, and looked around for the player who hit her.  She took a couple of steps in her direction, and shot her a look I had never seen before.  That look in her eye, that only basketball could bring out.  She held her opponent's gaze and in silence said all she needed to say, "Ok.  You want to play like that?  Perfect.  Well I would like you to stand there quietly and watch while I sink the foul shot that you awarded me.  And after that, we are going to beat you."

And she did, and they did.

Next up was the CG Howe Tournament final against a pesky team from Kamloops.  Largely the same pesky team 3D had met in the Grade 7 Provincial Club Final the previous summer.

I noted a familiar face on the opposition, the taller player from the Club Finals who was rebounding everything.  But now we had heard she had added new skills and athleticism, accepting lob passes from a guard and gently laying the ball off the glass for several points a game.  She was a clear stand out in all their games so far this season. This was Emma. All 6 feet one inches of her, she was the tallest grade 8 player in BC.  And while tall doesn't necessarily mean good, she was good and getting better.
Emma's team had as easy a time in their league play as Handsworth had in theirs to this point.  Both had  undefeated records. 

The game started and each team was trading baskets.  Emma was scoring from the post, and Handsworth was scoring from the perimeter.  Abby fed the ball into the key for a few successful Lizzy drives, a couple of which resulted in Emma being assigned fouls which affected her aggressiveness on defense.  In addition Emma had not been fronted yet by a defender with Delaney's size and as she learned how to better position herself the ball was not getting to Emma as much as it should.  Abby continued to surprise with pull up jumpers that continued to fall.  Handsworth won the game and the tournament, and remained undefeated.

In fact, for the first time ever, Abby was recognized as the most valuable player in a tournament.  Clearly she had no idea her name was about to be called, and she walked up sheepishly to accept her trophy and shake hands awkwardly with the tournament organizer.  Abby had developed an ability not just to contribute, but to actually lead a team.  As she dozed in the seat beside me on the drive home with the trophy on her lap, I felt enormous pride.  She had dug more deeply to win than she had ever done before.

The Handsworth squad went unchallenged through the league and North Shore playoffs.  But in the Vancouver and District final against McMath a significant scare was underway.  McMath was scoring, even from forced poor shooting positions.  Handsworth was not scoring, the ball would simply not go through the hoop.  For the first time ever the Handsworth grade 8's entered half time down in a game, by 6 points.  We speculated as parents that this would be a significant mental hurdle to overcome and could become the blemish on the undefeated record.  But in the second half the Handsworth defense continued to force bad shots that stopped falling, while they scored their own share of baskets.  Going into the Provincials Handsworth remained undefeated and were seeded first in the tournament.

Coach Steve was obsessed with his own personal showdown against the flu.  As the Provincials started he was handing out hand sanitizer in unprecedented amounts.  Johnson and Johnson stock appreciated by 4% that week which baffled Wall Street analysts but they would later learn it was due to a spike in sales in their hand sanitizer division. He supervised each player as she applied her ration.  Short of the flu, there was little to stop this team and Coach Steve needed to resolve the cosmic injustice that had been denied his team the last time they got to this point.  If one of his players was to merely sniffle he could hear it immediately, even from blocks away, and would turn up to a player's doorstep to personally bathe her exposed limbs thoroughly in sanitizer.

The Handsworth grade 8's did not have a close game leading to the Grade 8 Provincial Final.  It seemed all preliminary, leading to the final game.  The team looked strong, and not a single player showed any signs of sickness, Coach Steve looked happy.

The opponents would be Emma, and the pesky team from Kamloops.

Handsworth v Kamloops. Emma v. Abby.  Their third meeting it was starting to feel a bit like Agassiz v. Sampras.

The morning of the game Coach Steve called a "shoot around" to keep the players loose and of course issue a final dose of sanitizer.  They posted Kris, Elisa's dad who is taller than Emma, under the hoop.  Abby practiced passing around her, Elisa shooting over her, Lizzy driving at her, and Delaney defending her.  Outward appearances were loose, the players were smiling, and of course given their past two meetings versus Kamloops the odds were in Handsworth's favour.  But I was tense.  The fact was, everyone was tense.

The game started with the tip off, which Delaney had timed perfectly against Emma, putting the ball in Abby's hands.  She charged down the court at a higher speed than normal, and just short of the three point line she stopped and took a jump shot.  Swish.  Handsworth 3, Kamloops zero.  The assembling crowd applauded.

As I stood courtside with my camera, I sensed a problem.  Abby made the shot, but she had tunnel vision.  She didn't even wait for the team to form up the offense.  She was nervous.

Kamloops came down the court and lobbed a pass into Emma that she converted.  Then on the next possession their guard made a three pointer.  Handsworth was nervous, disorganized, and turning over the ball.  Emma scored again.  And again.

The crowd started to thicken as teams who had finished their earlier games found some seats.  Players and parents from the boy's game following ours also started to file in.  Soon there were at least two hundred people watching, and picking a side.  To the crowd watching it looked absolutely hopeless for Handsworth.  The Kamloops guards were putting lob passes in to Emma, which she was converting into easy points as she was, after all, the tallest person in the gym.  The crowd turned against Kamloops, sensing that they had too easy a way to victory with such an obvious height advantage.  Other than the Kamloops faithful, Handsworth had a cheering section of hundreds.  The fans started chanting in Handsworth's favour, some had drums, everyone else was stomping their feet and screaming, the noise was unbelievable.

As easy as it may have looked, I knew it was not so.  The passes to Emma had to be perfect or they would fall short and be intercepted.  Once they got through Emma had to deftly re-direct the ball properly against the backboard so it would go in.  It looked easy, but it wasn't.  Plus Emma was not doing all the scoring, the Kamloops guards were also scoring jump shots when the inbound pass looked risky.  And what the crowd didn't know was that Handsworth had already beaten this team this year, and was supposed to be the favoured side.  The Kamloops game plan had not worked at CG Howe, and so was not as guaranteed a route to victory as it looked, but it was sure working now.

It was, pretty much, a one sided game.  Abby's passes were missing the mark, Elisa's shots were not falling, Lizzy's drives were not working, and when Alanah and Delaney were sucessful disrupting some of Emma's flow in the post one of her guards would just sink a jumper instead.  Kamloops was loose, Handsworth was tense.  It was slipping away very early.  I shouldered my camera and sat down. 

Going into the half the game looked over, Handsworth was down by an unprecedented 22 points. 

Insurmountable.  The teams filed off for the break.  The crowd calmed.  The game was effectively over, and we all knew it.

The second half started.  Handsworth was playing a bit looser, as by now they had nothing to lose.  Alannah sunk several consecutive jump shots, and Teagan drew at least one charge.  Emma was not getting as many clean passes and the Kamloops guards missed a few shots.  The gap narrowed by the start of the fourth quarter to 15 points.  But really, nobody was paying too much attention at this point.

Then to start the fourth, Coach Steve introduced a change of tactics.  To this point Kamloops had a strategy to inbound the ball to Emma, who would hold the ball out of reach of anybody, and then pass off the ball to a guard in the immediate vicinity.  Delaney, who was pursuing Emma all game, could not be expected to rush up court to try and steal the ball from Emma on the inbound, then collapse to guard her once she had passed off the ball, too much running.  So the new plan was to put Abby on Emma on the inbound to try and get a steal.  If she didn't get it then she would back off to defend a guard, and Emma would meet Delaney in the post.

That look in her eye again.  The Basketball Look.  Abby had refined it somewhat since the Grade 7 3D tryouts when I first saw it.  It was absolute concentration.  She blocked out everything, the crowd, Emma's height advantage, everything except the ball.  Anyone noticing that look would know that there was no doubt who the ball truly belonged to.  Abby would rush up to Emma, and even though she was already small in comparison, she would get even lower into an athletic stance, ready to go in either direction, and her concentrated expression confidently suggested she knew where the ball was going, and how she would get it.

Things slowly started to change.  On the first inbound Emma didn't get the ball high quick enough and Abby took it, pass to Elisa, and a quick score for Handsworth.  The second inbound worked exactly the same way.  By the third inbound Emma was flustered.  She got the ball above her head to keep it away from Abby, but she lost track of time.  Five second violation and a turnover.  Handsworth scored on the possession, and we were in a 9 point game. 

Kamloops calls a time out.  A new inbound play.  But Coach Steve had guessed the new plan and put Abby on the guard who would likely receive the inbound.  The Look.  Steal, pass to Lizzy, and another bucket.  Gap down to 7.

The crowd had awakened, and were going berserk.  They knew they were witnessing an unbelievable comeback.  The drums were pounding, feet were stomping, and the fans were drowning out the Kamloops contingent, chanting "LETS GO HANDSWORTH....LETS GO HANDSWORTH!!"

Delaney and Alannah had a tough assignment.  Guarding Emma on every one of Kamloops' offensive possessions, each had continued to adjust their angles.  The ball was not finding Emma, Kamloops turned the ball over again, and another bucket.  The game was down to 5.

Kamloops scored.  Handsworth scored.  Lizzy was fouled on a drive to the hoop, and made one of her two foul shots.  The difference was now only four.

The players were tiring.  Coach Steve called a time out to rest his team who were pressing on each possession, as usual.  As Abby took the floor, I noted the look in her eyes. It was now even a step beyond the look at CG Howe.  At CG Howe she wanted to win, but it was not crucial that she win.  She was singularly focused on closing the deal on this game.  She was, for the first time, fully invested. 

She could not hear the crowd, she only had eyes for the ball. 

Next possession was over quickly, Abby stole the ball and completed a layup on her own.  The game was down to 2.  But she was fouled, and would have another shot.  She made it.  The game was down to 1.

There was only 30 seconds left in the game.  I was absolutely paralyzed.  Could not move, could not speak, my mouth drier than a sandcastle on Mars.  I told myself, "just make sure you take this all in".  The crowd was louder than anything I have ever heard at a sporting event.

Kamloops brought the ball down the court, and a forced pass to Emma was deflected.  Elisa grabbed the loose ball and was off to the races for a layup to win the game.  As she left her feet to make the shot, she was fouled and she and the ball fell to the floor.  Six seconds on the clock.

Two shots.  One to tie, two to win.

I'm not sure I will ever see a more pressure packed situation than Elisa faced at this moment.  Even in the NBA making high pressure foul shots are known to be one of the toughest things to pull off in sport, but in grade 8, standing at the foul line, the player seems absolutely miles from the hoop.  The degree of difficulty of these shots was off the scale.  Elisa's team was sweating behind her, they had nothing left whatsoever to give.  They needed one of these shots to go in.  At least one.

Elisa calmly approached the foul line, and, incredibly, sank both shots.  Handsworth up by 1 with 6 seconds to go.  The place was absolute pandemonium.  An amazing comeback was virtually complete.

Time out.  Each team discussed strategy.  After the time out the ball was advanced to the half court line to be inbounded.  Coach Steve had issued his instructions.  Abby's job was to make the guard's life very difficult.  Once she got the inbound pass she was to get right in her face.  But she could not foul, as both teams were in bonus.  Everyone else was to collapse man to man to the key.

The ball was inbounded, and Abby's check caught the ball and started to dribble.  Five seconds.  More dribbling Abby cut off the easy routes to the key.  Four seconds.  The Kamloops guard made a mistake, cutting back to the sideline, where Abby trapped her.  No way out.  Three seconds.  Two seconds...

The Kamloops guard pivoted to make a bit of space, and put her pass into the air.  It floated in the general direction of the key...

Under the basket there were only bodies and hands and arms in a moving cluster of confusion.  As the ball approached them, one set of hands rose above the rest.  Emma touched the ball for only a fraction of a second and re-directed it off the glass and into the Handsworth hoop. 

Game over.  With 0.6 seconds left, Handsworth was down by 1, and would not recover.

A collective gasp from all the fans, and from the far corner ecstatic cheers from the Kamloops faithful could be faintly heard, like through a seashell.

The emotions came quickly.  Total and thorough disbelief, disappointment, despair.  After that effort, according to every Disney movie Abby and I had ever seen, Handsworth was supposed to win.  Handsworth was supposed to win...I waited for the replay in which Handsworth won.  The girls looked at first, shocked, then their faces went blank as the pain started to rise up.  Abby looked like her world had cheated her.  She looked hurt, and cheated.  And I was still waiting for the replay that made it all OK, but it wasn't going to happen. 

Coach Steve looked like he was just acquitted of something only to be told he would face jail time anyway.  His body was only upright thanks to invisible fishing line that had been sent down from the rafters and attached to his knees and elbows; he looked like a listless puppet.  He was hunched over at his back, his chin was busy making a permanent campsite in his sternum.  I was not sure he would ever recover.  This was, simply, impossible.  But it was not impossible.  I had just seen it.  And Abby was living it.

I wondered if, in her young world, Abby would have the ability to deal with this loss.  After pouring everything she had along with her team to come all the way back to go up by one point with 6 seconds to go, and still lose?  I seriously wondered if this would test her view of fairness in the world forever.  Maybe she would quit basketball.  Hell, maybe she would quit everything...

The teams shook hands, and slowly started filing out into the parking lot.

Abby approached me, which I was not necessarily expecting.  Even I knew it was very uncool for a grade 8 girl to hug her Dad too long in public, but when she reached me her arms went around my neck and she just...sagged.  She felt very heavy given she was so slight in weight, but it was mostly the heaviness of her heart that I was supporting.  I had nothing to say as she sobbed softly into my shoulder.  But for once, the right words just came to me.  I whispered, with a catch in my voice, "You did everything you could.  You did not give up.  Always remember, you did not give up." We lingered together for a brief moment more, just long enough for that hug to sear itself into my heart forever.  We parted, and Abby slowly made her way to the little circle of teammates that had assembled.  The ponytail hanging over her backpack still had a little bounce to it as she walked.  The circle parted and Lizzy and Delaney put their arms around her shoulders and drew her in.

I felt a pang from somewhere deep.  Some emotion was coming.  It was, very slowly at first, determined to take over the pain I felt in myself, and for Abby.  I realized it would be soon be overwhelming.  Despair, perhaps, was already losing its purchase on me, and somehow I knew it would be the same for Abby too, after she realized what she had just done.

As time goes on I have forgotten most of the details of the game.  But I will never, ever, forget that feeling.

A feeling inspired by watching her experience a real challenge for the first time and rise up to it.  From watching her put everything she had into something, more than she thought she had to give, for herself, and for her team.  Despite the scoreboard, no matter what it said, she never gave up.  Even with 0.6 seconds to go Abby received the inbound pass and tried to win the game with a 3/4 court shot that bounced harmlessly at the foul line.  An impossible shot that no one else remembers.  But I do.

Although I had felt it before, and have so many, many times since, this emotion will always be measured against how intensely I felt it on that day.

Pride.