Adam Karon If you want Karon’s mom’s
autograph, contact [email protected].
I hope you thanked your mom on Sunday. Not for changing your
diapers, baking chocolate chip cookies or teaching you how to dress
(I’m still working on that one). No, I hope you thanked your
mom for having a significant impact on your childhood athletic
experiences.
Even if your mother didn’t know much about sports, she
probably had some influence on your career. Maybe she was the one
who brought oranges to every soccer game. Perhaps she even screamed
for a double dribble when your team had the ball, causing so much
embarrassment that you learned to block out the crowd.
Some mothers never catch the sports bug. Freshman Rob
Krauss’ mom is one example. Her lone connection to sports is
that her favorite basketball player is Anfernee Hardaway, but only
because she thinks he was “cute” in the movie
“Blue Chips.”
Other mothers are not so far removed from the male-dominated
arena of athletics. Moms have been known to stand through boring
summer baseball games in intense heat, cuddle during bone-chilling
soccer games in Northern California fog, and even arrive hours
early to swim meets to make sure the chlorine levels are up to
maternal satisfaction.
The sports world is full of overbearing fathers who drive their
kids crazy. But don’t underestimate moms; they can also be
fanatical. Some turn into raging lunatics when they take to the
bleachers to watch their pride and joy compete for a plastic trophy
or an aluminum medal with a cheap red ribbon.
“There’s something about sports that makes moms go
crazy,” said third-year student and high school football
player James Wildman.
Second-year Steve Hauss agrees. Hauss’ mom was so opposed
to him joining the wrestling team in high school that she boycotted
his entire first year of competition. When his dad finally
convinced her to watch her son grapple, all hell broke loose.
“I was wrestling this guy and all of a sudden I hear,
“˜Rip his arm off Stephen!'” Hauss remembers.
“She was screaming at me to kill my opponent and perform
various torturous practices upon his extremities before devouring
his internal organs.”
Evidently, Steve’s mom mistook the wrestling match for a
medieval ritual torture ceremony.
Hauss’ mom went on to attend every match the rest of his
career and became so involved that she traveled with the team to
road matches, learning enough about wrestling to coach many of the
kids. To this day she wears his letterman jacket adorned with
safety pins for each time Hauss put his opponent on his back.
There is something special about watching your mother succumb to
a hidden love for sports.
My mom was near tears the day I had to quit basketball due to
injuries, and believe me, it wasn’t because she was losing
the next Kobe Bryant. She attended every high school game, even
after my brother and I stopped playing, and is a fixture to this
day in the bleachers at Santa Cruz High home AND away games.
She loves basketball so much that she is now coaching a
12-year-old girls team. It’s true that the four-foot Cheryl
Millers are more concerned with clean uniforms than the rotation of
their shots, but coaching a team still takes some knowledge. My mom
had no basketball experience prior to watching her two sons
compete, and everything she knows she learned from seeing too many
floor burns and not enough three-pointers.
How many of you had a mother who drove a Suburban full of kids
to soccer games every weekend? The dirt, grime and sweat left
behind must have driven those poor women crazy, but they rarely
complained. Some of these moms deserve medals of honor, or at least
“frequent carpooler miles” for their road efforts.
My mom bought a van when the post-game body odor of maturing
males became too strong to stand. She figured the further away from
us she could sit, the longer she could drive. This created a
win/lose situation: she got to spend more time with her kids, but
had to drive to Fresno and other armpit cities that have nothing
better to do than host soccer tournaments.
Sometimes moms get too attached to sports. Unless you have a
severe case of selective memoritis, you can recollect your mother
berating an official or screaming at the other team. Third-year
Samuel Slomowitz remembers. His mom was once ejected from a Little
League game for contesting a call, yelling at the opposing team,
and accusing the a coach of being a “Pat Riley wannabe”
for having slicked-back hair. In her defense, the coach had won two
straight championships in the ’80s and was considering a move
to Miami.
Or what about Jon Sher’s mom, who hails from South Africa
and is the most polite, soft-spoken woman you will ever meet? She
turned into a caged animal at courtside, screaming for her team and
urging the refs to retract their heads from a certain bodily
orifice. In fact, when Sher was 11 his mother was asked to leave
the gymnasium after becoming abusive toward the officials. It seems
she was upset about a change in the rules allowing for zone defense
that would limit her son’s scoring abilities and perhaps
force him to accept less money in a future contract. Or did I
confuse him with Allen Iverson?
Second-year Ben Ow had a very different experience. Despite
having a calm demeanor, his dad used to do a Jekyll-Hyde when
attending his son’s games, and it took his mother’s
calming influence to keep him in check. She was so devoted that she
showed up to his soccer games wearing two pairs of gloves,
ear-warmers and Ugg boots, but she never complained.
Second-year Becca Melville’s mom was a
“typical” swim mom. She arrived at the pool around 6:30
a.m. for a 9 a.m. meet, draped with four stopwatches, timing
anything from the 100-meter freestyle to how long it took her son
to finish a double-burger. Melville usually won that race, but
that’s only because burgers are getting smaller and smaller
these days.
Second-year John Kim’s mom was similarly involved, though
she had more of an impact on his golf tournaments. “She used
to talk trash to the other golfers,” Kim said.
“She’d always get into their head, telling them they
couldn’t have played very long with such an ugly
swing.” So much for etiquette. Somewhere, Tiger Woods is
insanely jealous.
Whether your mom yelled, talked trash, or gave emotional support
after a hard loss, it’s a good bet that many of her
contributions were overlooked. If you forgot to thank her on
Sunday, give her a call. Just make sure to wait until the NBA
playoffs are over. Chances are she’s turned into a fan since
you left home.