T’is the morning of the Under 12’s boys basketball grand final and we’re all up and almost ready to go with plenty of time to spare.
So much time, in fact, that we have looooooaaaaaads of opportunity for the “Can I watch YouTube/play Minecraft?”/”No! Not before basketball!” vicious loop.
Also, it gave Chippie plenty of time to not get dressed, either.
All fun and games. I kind of almost wish we’d slept in so this amount of Not Doing What’s Asked was reduced considerably, but I also know that the issues with oversleeping are just as taxing one’s mind and throat.
Finishing off an item on my list (i.e. get appropriately dressed and maybe run a brush through my hair) I wander out of my bedroom. Those moments I was otherwise occupied has brought some kind of sibling cameraderie to the fore and Godzilla was doing some kind of frenetic dance move, whilst his brothers rolled around laughing, and saying “I’m twerking!”
“That’s not twerking,” I tell them, exasperated.
“No, this twerking,” says Chippie, sticking his bum out towards me and wiggling it about.
“That’s not twerking either,” I say. “Can we get in the car now?”
Godzilla and Chippie are not satisfied and continue to thrust bums about, in significantly different movements, and say “No, THIS is twerking, not that!”
Clearly not going to get any movement until I did something drastic, I stood in the middle of the kitchen, firmly planting my feet, putting a serious look on my face and gearing up for a Loud Angry Proclamation that would get their arses moving and out the door.
“THIS is twerking!” I say, and proceed to give them a demonstration of twerking.
I could tell I got it spot on by the horrified look of Monkey Boy, my thirteen-year-old.
“Was that it?” I ask, cos, really I wasn’t entirely sure.
It’s not like, you know, I googled “how to twerk” or anything like that, nor that I carefully watched the videos.
Okay, well I did google it, but only cos everyone was going on about Miley Cyrus and her twerking and I didn’t know what it was.
Okay, fine, maybe I did stumble across a video or two or something of “how to twerk” and maybe I just did watch a bit of it. You know, for educational purposes and so I was all up to date and stuff with what kids are doing these days.
I’m still cool, you know!
“Yes,” he mumbles. “Please don’t ever do that again.”
They moved their bums and we got into the car.
Then out again, because various items like water bottles, trains to play with, my sanity had all been forgotten and we had to go back and retrieve them. In stages.
We even made it to basketball fifteen minutes early.
The stadium was packed, what with it being grand final day.
We secured some seats, and settled in to watch the game.
It was close … very close … and exciting, because last time we played against this team, who were top of the ladder (we came in at fourth on the ladder), they thrashed us by something in excess of 20 or 30 points.
‘Cocky’ would be one way to describe some of the younger spectators, who sniggered and kept going on about how “we’re gonna thrash this team”.
With not many points between the teams at half time, we were up by a few, and only 3 points in it with two minutes to go, the opposition up by three, their coach opted to have his team delay, delay, delay, hold the ball up, no shots, and just drag the clock out.
Always fabulous excitement for an Under 12 boys B-grade game.
Karma came in to beat him over the head, and we intercepted the balll, and scored a three-pointer. My throat, by this stage, was already sore, but it didn’t stop me being all excited and yelling some more.
Thus, at full time, the score was 19 all, and their cocky ‘we’re gonna thrash them’ had been knocked to the floor.
The game, of course, went into overtime, as it does during finals, and despite our best efforts, the game was one by the opposition by a mere five points.
But they didn’t thrash us, and I’m super-freaking-impressed with how well they played.
I do wonder, though, if I’d done a bit of half-time twerking for entertainment whether out team would have been psyched enough to win, or that the other team would have been psyched out?
Or, maybe, it’d just be really disturbing and everyone would have just freaked out … I guess we’ll never know.
Still, am super impressed at the boys – no twerking required.
Nor performed for that matter.