Bas-ket-ball

After the Super Bowl, I was looking forward to a bit of peace and quiet on the sports front. Don’t get me wrong, I love that Luca is so sporty. But I was getting concerned that his passion for the NFL was turning into an obsession. And if anyone is going to be obsessed with anything in our house, it’s gonna be Star Wars. Case closed.

I looked forward to a couple mornings where we spoke about anything but the NFL. Maybe the weather? Maybe the impending doom of the Corona Virus. Maybe moral and ethical decisions that lead the Rebellion to kill millions on the Death Star. 

As I bounded out the door for my weekly business trip, I stopped to give Luca a kiss. He asked, “Dad. If I feed Grover every day, can I buy an NBA game?”

What? NBA? Now we’re into the NBA? Yup. Luca jumped in to NBA obsession like Toni Kukoc driving the lane. I stopped watching the NBA in 1993. 

Soon afterwards, all conversation turned to basketball and nothing else. Who plays what. Every stat. Shoes. Shorts. Athletic supporters.

Our home was also invaded by the “thud thud thud” of basketball dribbling. Constantly. Thud. Thud thud thud.

Last Saturday, Luca begged me to play with him at the park. Eli joined because I forced him to. I suddenly realized that although I hadn’t actually played basketball in 20 years, I was also at least a foot taller than my sons. 

I dominated. 

This must have been what Shaq felt like when he played against his sons. I parked myself under the basket and swatted away every shot they took. I leisurely hit lay-up after lay-up. I also taught them the fine art of trash talking. 

I came very close to rupturing my Achilles Tendon and decided they had enough. I also beat Luca in his NBA video game. But we all know he will quickly outgrow me in that endeavor.  

Fight! Fight! Fight!

I used to marvel at how little Elijah and Luca fought. When I was a kid, my days were filled with punching, scratching and drop-kicking my twin and getting punched, scratched and drop-kicked by my older brother. Plus screaming.

My mother’s love of vodka is starting to make sense.

For years, Eli and Luca barely raised their voices at each other. More often than not, conflicts would end with a little whining and a large amount of tattling. 

Within the last couple months, the boys have discovered the fine art of beating each other. And like most things that are both thrilling and bad for you, they’re addicted. They can barely be in the same room without attacking. The most minor infraction now leads to a tumbling, screaming mess.

Our floors are spotless!

Even though the boys are two years and twenty pounds apart, they’re pretty evenly matched. Luca’s constant athletics make him pretty strong for a shrimp. And Eli’s love of Youtube has let his muscles atrophy. 

But like all children fights, they always end in crying. Mostly Luca, because it’s the best defense for a little brother. Mommmmmmmmm! Eli crushed my skull. Mommmmm! Eli broke all my fingers!  Mommmm! Eli punctured my lung!”

Occasionally, there will be a real injury. For instance, yesterday at the cabin Eli shot Luca in the eye with a rubber band as a crescendo to an hours long fight. Real tears. Real concern we’d have to find a rural Michigan hospital. Thankfully he was okay, but Eli had to do some hard time without a phone in his room.

When you are banished to your room without screens, time has no meaning. I think Eli genuinely felt he’d been up there for an hour when we came down after five minutes to interrupt “The Great British Bake Off” to apologize. 

We let him off the hook and said if he even so much as touched Luca for the rest of the night I would give his phone to a racoon. 

Like all addicts, he took this to heart and then proceeded to sit on Luca, who screamed and we were off again.

Superb Bowl

We usually host the Super Bowl at our place. Partly because I love making snacks. Partly because I have to watch the commercials for my job and yelling, “Shut up! Doritos has something important to say to America!” isn’t cool at someone else’s house.

This year, our friend Kitty took over the Super Duties. This allowed her husband Joe to accomplish his lifelong dream of putting a TV in the kitchen. I was totally on board, as I was a suffering from a string of kitchen failures (pro tip: cook chicken thoroughly) and wasn’t feeling up to hosting. Diana and Elijah were also excited.

Who am I missing? Oh, right. Luca.

Luca demanded to watch the game at our house. His obsession with the NFL is all encompassing and he wanted total control over the event. So we opted for a kid party our place. Luca invited a small gaggle of 10-year-olds plus our Kansas City Chiefs loving neighbor, Liam. 

Small note on Liam. I love this kid. That’s it.

Luca volunteered me to co-host. This was because Luca demanded a high level of NFL knowledge in his attendees and I qualified more than the Wine/Grateful Dead lady. I kept my menu simple: pizza and chicken wings (thoroughly cooked). Plus seventy five bags of chips.

Luca was meticulous in his preparation. He made posters and built a Lombardi shrine under the TV. He acquired a Kansas City Chiefs shirt through manipulation and subterfuge. 

The guests arrived precisely at kickoff. They were a hilarious Rat King of arms and legs and floppy hair and boy stink. One kid showed up in a sport coat and he immediately became my favorite and I bestowed him extra Sprite and Fanta. 

Luca delightfully told the boys I needed utter silence during commercials because I’m a high powered advertising executive. This garnered me minor celebrity status, which I was more than happy to accept.

If you recall, the game featured a thrilling ending. In the last two minutes, every boy was standing on our couch, screaming. Chips and popcorn and chicken wings covered every inch of the room. As a bonus, Liam’s dad came over and added his voice to the throng. 

And just like that, it was over. 

I look forward to discovering the three chicken wing bones hiding under the couch in the months to come.

p.s. I don’t have any good photos from the night, so here is a shot of Eli looking cute.