After going to bed at a more normal hour last night, I spent many hours staring at the clock, watching the minutes tick past. I couldn't sleep even in bed. And so tonight I'm not making the effort to go to bed, and have instead managed to stay up and watch another episode of Angel from the DVDs my sister leant me. I spent a lot of time thinking about past events while I lay awake, and one event stuck out in my mind in particular. Unfortunately, it requires a lot of explanation.
I've never been a big basketball fan. Like many tall girls, it was assumed that I would be good at the game, but I lack coordination. My talent was in running, but I never took advantage and developed that either. Basketball, to me, was an awful sport that was all sharp elbows and hurting knees. In fact, during one memorable game I was pushed to my knees several times by opposing team members, none of whom were ever called for a foul, and the next day had huge bruises that lasted weeks. My knees were never the same again. And that was in a "friendly" game.
So when I got into High School, I was already biased against basketball, and figured that I would never attend games. Well... that notion was quickly abolished, as I was in the band, and band members were absolutely required to attend most varsity boys home games. Luckily, we saved our formal uniforms for football, and only had to wear band sweatshirts when we played at basketball games.
Anyway, early in my sophmore year, before basketball had started, I was talking with my English teacher who mentioned that he needed a few volunteers for sports. As a band member, I got to attend a number of events, but never as what I considered a participant. So I mentioned that I was intrigued. Ooops. A few weeks later he called me to his office after school. I thought I was in trouble, having completely forgotten about the sports-related conversation. But no, it wasn't trouble. He proudly told me that I was going to be a "timer" for basketball. Alarm bells whistled loudly in my mind, and I scrambled for an excuse for a moment before I realized I had a perfect one already... "I'm in the band," I said, "I can't time the games." He smiled, and my heart sunk as I realized he had me trapped, "No, that's not a problem. You'll be timing the boys JV games, and the band never plays the JV." I could have, I suppose, graciously begged off. But I wasn't in the habit of questioning authority, so I became the official JV boys timer for Hazen High School home basketball games.
It wasn't really that bad. Timing can be remarkably stressful, but I was a smart kid, and took to it readily. The biggest problem for me was that boys JV games were generally followed by girls varsity games, which the band usually didn't play at. So during basketball season I was nearly always at the gym either timing or playing in band. I saw virtually every basketball game played at Hazen.
The few girls varsity games that the band played that season I ended up being late to join the band, as I would finish timing the JV then have a short conference with the official scorers, then I'd have to book it to the bandroom to grab my instrument. And if I was stupid enough to wear my band shirt while I timed... let me just say that the timer was always seated right next to the opposing team's coach, and some of them would use any excuse to claim that I was biased against their team. When in reality, it was basketball in general I was biased against.
I really didn't enjoy the experience much, though I didn't hate it, and hoped to never do it again, but I had the same teacher for a class the next year, and I couldn't say no to him when he gave me that look of hope. A bonus for him was that I was already trained.
I recall that the JV games were hard fought. The coaches were particularly rabid, as some of them succumbed to the "big fish little pond" syndrome. One coach in particular I recall would stand up and step in front of me when the officials were about to restart the clock. This was a problem because the signal to restart the clock was the official dropping his arm. If I couldn't see the official, I didn't know when to start the clock. After the coach did this a couple of times, I called an official over and complained. The coach sat on the bench the rest of the quarter, glaring at me every once in awhile to make me nervous or something. The next quarter he started to stand in front of me again, so I again called the official over to complain. The official said, "next time he blocks your view, buzz us."
Now, if you've ever been to a basketball game, the buzzer is LOUD. It's usually used to indicate the end of a quarter, or a substitution. But I'd just been given permission to buzz when the coach blocked my view. And oh, I was not shy about it. The coach had been mouthing off at me all game, never going over the line but definitely making me angry, so I took advantage. The next time he blocked my view, I buzzed. Every soul in the gym jumped at the unexpected sound and every eye in the gym looked at me. Both officials came over to see what the problem was. I explained, and the officials told the coach to sit on the bench. He argued, but sat. Then got up and blocked my view again. I buzzed. The officials gave him a technical. Oh how he glared! But he stayed sitting until the end of the game, and the next time he came to a game, he sat on the other end of the bench from me.
After two years of timing, I really had no desire to ever time a game again. Early in my senior year I discovered that I didn't have that same teacher, the one in charge of finding basketball timers. So my job was to avoid him. I mentioned my problem to some of my friends, who thought it was hilarious. "Why don't you just say 'no'?" they asked. Because, for the life of me, I can't say no to that teacher. He's a nice guy, taught me a lot, gave me good grades... if he asks, I know I'll be weak and say yes. So the only choice, I explained to my laughing friends, was to avoid him entirely until basketball season was well underway and he'd found another poor sap to time games.
My plan went well. Despite having a class right next to his room, I managed to sneak away even when he was looking for me specifically, which I knew he was. In fact, it was going so well that my classmates jokingly told me they were going to go tell him I was avoiding him. It didn't matter. A couple more weeks and I was home free.
Then came the day of the fire drill.
If it had happened during any other period, I would have been half a school away from him. But it happened during the one class in which I was next door to his room. And, being a fire drill, I wasn't thinking about timing basketball when I went outside to stand in the rain with everyone else. In fact, the first I realized my mistake was when the teacher's voice boomed out from behind me, "Laura! I've been looking for you everywhere!"
Oh man, I was shocked, and I was still in "hide" mode, my body not connecting with the fact that there was no chance of it now. I turned around in horror, then backed up rapidly. Right into a decorative log that tripped me. And I fell on my butt onto the swampy ground. In front of every person from that entire wing of the building, including quite a few people who knew exactly why he'd been looking for me and why he hadn't found me. He, of course, had no idea why I'd reacted that way, and assumed he'd just startled me. He helped me up, apologizing profusely, but he was very much on track and got out the request for me to time, which I ruefully agreed to do, to a whole lot of laughter from many people in the watching crowd.
It really wasn't that bad. It ate up a lot of time, true. And I never did get to the point where I enjoyed watching basketball. I did not get paid, though some of my classmates seemed to think I did. And the opposing coaches continued to annoy me. But I survived it, and I guess that's the important part.
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