Early in the second half of Lynnwood’s Saturday morning game, Maripat Joyce launched up a shot that managed to find the bottom of the net. The two-handed field goal wasn’t textbook-perfect by any means, but for 9-year-old Maripat, that basket meant everything.
Immediately following the basket, Patsy, as Maripat is called by her family and friends, had a huge smile spread across her face, and friend and teammate Meg Pearson ran up to greet her. Thrilled that her best friend was able to score a basket, Meg gave Patsy a huge hug and the two celebrated by jumping up and down at half court.
The innocence and genuine excitement of the two fourth graders touched the parents and fans in attendance, and even Lynnwood’s coach broke out in a huge smile at the other end of the court.
Lynnwood went on to win the early Saturday morning game, but for Maripat, the game ended with her basket. She tried to calmly shrug off her accomplishment following the game, quietly giving thank yous to her aunt, uncle, dad and grandma in attendance, but her excitement couldn’t be masked for long. She went home and told her mom, her little sister, Maggie, and her cousin about her big basket.
The field goal attempts that Maripat missed no longer mattered: there were no hard feelings over playing time or amount of times that she was passed the ball in comparison to teammates. All the 9-year-old knew was that her team won, she showed improvement from the previous season and she scored a basket.
For Patsy and her friend Meg, playing for Lynnwood is fun, and their innocence is evident. They’re playing because they like basketball, they like seeing their friends, and they’re doing it for themselves.
This display of childhood athletics served as a reminder for me over break as to why sports are magical, and why people are drawn to them. When immersed in collegiate sports and a spectator of pro sports, it’s easy to forget that the athletes at the NCAA and pro levels were once these same innocent kids that ran around in gyms on Saturday mornings.
At one time, Randy Moss was a little boy who ran around on the grass in parks. Now he’s a NFL player who embraces the fact that he only plays hard when he wants to. If he had held this attitude through Little League, high school and college, he would have never made it to the next level.
On the other side of the coin, there are players who are willing to hold off on the NFL and all the money and fame it brings and try to stay at least a little more innocent for a while. Last season Wendell Bryant chose to skip the NFL draft and returned to UW for his senior year. Why? Because he promised his mom, Karen Wells, that he would earn his degree. This year UW lucked out again when Lee Evans also decided to hold off on the NFL. He could have taken the money and run, and no one would have argued with him, but he chose to return to his team and his school.
For Maripat and her teammates, Randy Moss’ comments didn’t affect them at all, and athletes’ decisions to go pro or stay in school is a concept that they don’t yet understand. For little leaguers, the only part of the game that matters to them is the results on the court.
Maripat likes Moss because she knows that he’s good, and that he’s a Viking. And she used to idealize her big cousin because she played softball for her high school team, and for her, that was important.
At the Kohl Center for Badgerball games, there are hundreds of little kids just like Patsy who idolize the Wisconsin players. They run up to catch the mini basketballs after games, and they try to get autographs from Tamara Moore and Jessie Stomski. These little girls look up to the Badgers because they play well on the court. As they get older, they’ll learn about turnovers and fouls and statistics, but for now they are able to look past the negative and focus only on the good.
Seeing the world through Maripat’s eyes, or even through those of her little sister Maggie, the world of sports is a beautiful thing that only brings out the best in people. It’s a beautiful place of innocence and effort where they live — a place I wish I could get back to.
