The Other Kids on the Court

We played the team that beat us in the championship three times this season. We won the first time, edged them by one the second time, and in the finals they beat us clearly and earned it.

Their coaches were three young women who had just graduated high school. They had played with my niece, who is now a freshman Division I player, and that group had won a state championship their junior year before losing in overtime in the state final their senior year. They understood the game, coached with confidence, and carried themselves in a way that impressed me, especially considering they were young enough to be my daughters.

Coaching my own daughter and her friends this year was a gift. Fifth grade basketball meant one hour and fifty minutes of total practice time each week, which forced us to keep things simple and intentional. We tried to teach them the game while keeping it fun, and we played everyone roughly the same minutes. Over the course of the season you could see them becoming more confident, more connected, and more aware of how to compete together. We finished 11–2, with the final loss coming to those young coaches in the championship.

The first game that day tipped off at eight in the morning, and the referees were a father and daughter working together. I ran out and grabbed a copy of my book for the dad just to say thank you. The next two games were officiated by a man around my age and a young woman probably in her early twenties, and you could see the mentoring happening in real time as they worked side by side.

Between games I left the gym to attend the memorial service for a friend’s mother, a woman who had built people up and served her community for decades. My assistant coaches handled warm-ups, and I rushed back in time for the noon game. Later, in the third quarter, my daughter sprained her ankle and I helped carry her off the court while my wife and my mother sat in the stands watching. After honoring the life of my friend’s mother earlier that day, looking up and seeing my 85-year-old mother sitting next to my wife while I coached my daughter put the game in its proper perspective.

After the loss the girls were disappointed, and a few tears were shed, but we ended the day at Culver’s where ice cream and laughter slowly replaced the sting of the game. It was a fitting way to close a really good season.

We talk often about pouring into kids through youth sports, and that day I kept thinking about the other kids on the court, the young coaches stepping into leadership and the young officials standing next to veterans, learning the game from a different angle while trying to manage a gym full of adults.

If we care about youth sports, then we care about all of them, and sometimes the best thing we can do is encourage them, thank them, and treat them the way we hope someone would treat our own children.