Crim: Youth basketball reminds us of joy and delight sports are intended to provide

Sometimes sports are best consumed in smaller bites.

It helps a fan forget about Major League Baseball owners locking out players, Phil Mickelson making the biggest misread of his career, and the national media’s endless infatuation with everything LeBron James and Aaron Rodgers say and do.

There’s only so much greed and ego a person can stomach.

One of my retirement jobs — I realize the description is an oxymoron — is working as a paraeducator in a Quincy elementary school. Some of the kids in my class started playing basketball in a YMCA league in January and have asked several times if I could come to a game.

With opportunities dwindling with only two weeks left in the season, I decided to head to the gymnasium on the Chaddock School campus Saturday morning.

It’s a cozy facility. The two teams and scorer’s table are stationed along one wall and a single row of metal folding chairs for spectators are set up along the other three walls. Most are occupied by parents, grandparents and siblings. People file in and out at the conclusion of each game.

The teams play four, eight-minute quarters with a running clock. Substitutions are made midway through each quarter to ensure that each kid gets to play about the same number of minutes, depending on how many players are available.

Teams are not allowed to press on defense. Traveling is usually not called until the fourth or fifth step without a dribble, giving new meaning to a running one-hander. Or, as in most cases, two-handers.

Double-dribbling is generally overlooked. Fouls are rarely whistled, and no free throws are attempted. Despite coaches instructing players to “find a man and stay with him,” defense isn’t always smothering. Turnovers are frequent.

The size and talent level of players varies. A few kids can dribble and drive to the basket. While a couple sank shots from near the corner or free-throw line, most are trying to muscle up the energy to catapult the ball toward the basket 10 feet off the ground.

Mostly, it’s 10 third- and fourth-graders racing up and down the tartan playing surface having a good time. There are plenty of smiles and a few looks of astonishment when shots go in. Volunteer coaches occasionally step onto the court to give a player a high-five for a made shot or good play.

Fans cheer. Nobody yells at the lone referee. No player or coach pulls a Juwan Howard when the teams go through the handshake line at the end of the contest, which ends with the team wearing black shirts beating the team wearing green shirts 20-14.

One of the 9-year-olds I went to watch didn’t score but had one rebound in the first half and steals on three consecutive possessions in the second half, not that he was aware of those statistics. Only an old sportswriter would keep those mental notes.

He was more excited that his mom, uncle, grandma and grandpa were there. He walked up with a grin on his face afterward to thank me for coming to his game.

The scene wasn’t new. My wife and I separately coached our kids in youth sports while they were growing up decades ago. We have since sat in the stands and walked fairways cheering on their kids, our grandkids, competing in elementary school to high school, with more reaching the age to give organized sports a try.

A lot of youth sports have been curtailed or shut down completely the past two years because of the pandemic, which has been a shame. Sports, after all, can be a great training ground for life if approached correctly.

For one morning, at least, it was nice watching these boys having fun, hearing the cheers and creating memories. Many of us no doubt fondly remember playing whatever sport was in season at their age.

“I’m playing again next Saturday, Mr. Crim, if you want to come,” one of my students informed me.

I just may have to. I doubt pitchers and catchers will have reported to spring training by then.