Hello humility
I played basketball yesterday in an organized, team setting for the first time since maybe elementary school. Which made for a fairly ridiculous evening.
For starters I had to explain to a bunch of practice-loving children of the Protestant Revolution that no, I couldn't remember a real practice, but yes, I had played basketball, and no, I wasn't a streetballer.
Then we began the period of interminable exercises. Trouble hits when I can't follow a simple pass and weave routine that's all the more complicated because this lazy guy cheats up to start a half court ahead of the rest of our line, but when everything goes to hell everyone wants to give the American helpful tips on how he can practice better. Thank you Team U.S.A.
I was surprised when we moved on to the two-handed chest pass practice. It's not like we've got all day in the gym. We need to use our time for that? But I was even more surprised to realize that I really don't throw my two-handed chest pass with two hands, and it might be helpful if I did.
After that came the array of arcane pass and shoot exercises along with an exercise that reputedly pertained to zone defense but in effect had more to do with a bunch of us standing in concentric circles and yelling.
Finally we got to play an actual game and I realized that, in addition to the two-handed chest pass, there were a couple other things I ought to work on that might be useful, like making shots and not running into people. It didn't help, however, that everyone wanted to show the American what real coaching is -- thanks again Team U.S.A. -- so they'd call out whatever came into their heads the second I touched the ball, and they'd do it in Dutch, and I didn't feel as though I had the option of just shutting them out since I was trying to convince them to let me play on their team, and it all got rather confusing and not conducive to making any more shots, or seeing the passing lanes, or dribbling.
So I was feeling less than confident when play stopped. Fortunately, this is Amsterdam, so I got a beer with a few of the players at the bar along the far wall. It turns out that liking beer was my best move of the night. That and already being friends with the really tall guy who's the top player on the team earned me at least another week.
I can't wait to show them what I've really got.
For starters I had to explain to a bunch of practice-loving children of the Protestant Revolution that no, I couldn't remember a real practice, but yes, I had played basketball, and no, I wasn't a streetballer.
Then we began the period of interminable exercises. Trouble hits when I can't follow a simple pass and weave routine that's all the more complicated because this lazy guy cheats up to start a half court ahead of the rest of our line, but when everything goes to hell everyone wants to give the American helpful tips on how he can practice better. Thank you Team U.S.A.
I was surprised when we moved on to the two-handed chest pass practice. It's not like we've got all day in the gym. We need to use our time for that? But I was even more surprised to realize that I really don't throw my two-handed chest pass with two hands, and it might be helpful if I did.
After that came the array of arcane pass and shoot exercises along with an exercise that reputedly pertained to zone defense but in effect had more to do with a bunch of us standing in concentric circles and yelling.
Finally we got to play an actual game and I realized that, in addition to the two-handed chest pass, there were a couple other things I ought to work on that might be useful, like making shots and not running into people. It didn't help, however, that everyone wanted to show the American what real coaching is -- thanks again Team U.S.A. -- so they'd call out whatever came into their heads the second I touched the ball, and they'd do it in Dutch, and I didn't feel as though I had the option of just shutting them out since I was trying to convince them to let me play on their team, and it all got rather confusing and not conducive to making any more shots, or seeing the passing lanes, or dribbling.
So I was feeling less than confident when play stopped. Fortunately, this is Amsterdam, so I got a beer with a few of the players at the bar along the far wall. It turns out that liking beer was my best move of the night. That and already being friends with the really tall guy who's the top player on the team earned me at least another week.
I can't wait to show them what I've really got.
posted by General Bird at 23:24
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