Ozzy has been going to basketball games since he was seven months old. We always said we weren’t going to push any sports in him, but the Minnesota Lynx don’t count in that little rule of ours. As it turns out, he’s crazy about basketball, or GO GO as he calls it. Like legit crazy. He practices at home every night and plays with our awesome daycare provider’s 12 year old son anytime he gets a chance. With all that, we were pretty excited to take him to the Harlem Globetrotters game last weekend.
He wasn’t so sure at first.
There were the standard Globetrotters antics that are possibly the same ones they’ve been using for years, but still just as entertaining. That kind of thing was lost on this little 2.5 year old. But then the action started right after I got back from the souvenir stand. He doesn’t mess around once the ball is in play.
He was most impressed with all the slam dunks. Who wouldn’t be? I have a feeling we might need to buy a backup hoop for when he slams the one we have into the ground that final time. I can’t wait to take him again when he’s older.
For now, a couple of hours of basketball hijinx that happens right over naptime is pretty exhausting.
I finished two classes worth of homework tonight and mentioned to the family that I was going to finish my brackets and go to bed. The 16 year old perks up with, “Oooh, I need to do one so I can win the Quicken Loans’ Billion Dollar Bracket Challenge at BetVictor
!” Yes, we know, he probably watches too much TV. Whatever take a look on beyond diet reviews and see for yourself.
So, he’s sitting on the love seat with a bracket and an orange highlighter, working some magic based on the following questions he’s asked me and comments he’s made:
Where’s Albany? (Geography isn’t a focus in high school anymore and you can thank No Child Left Behind for that bullshit.)
I want Harvard to win something.
Oooooh. I couldn’t decide between Creighton and LA-Lafayette.
American, even though they suck. I really wish it was National American University.
They have zero losses. I’ll pick that team.
Him: “Mom, left or right?” His mom: “Right.”
I hate Michigan. Secretly. (Explaining why he picked Wofford.)
He’s got some good upsets in there, although I think he might be up all night just getting past the first round. Or he may lose interest.
But just for posterity’s sake, here’s a picture of him with Maya Moore. You know, to prove his sportiness!
Kurt Russell is no longer dreamy to me and I hope they don’t consider doing Overboard 2.
I will now forever associate Chevy trucks with crazy cow sex.
Golden Tate’s name sounds like Golden Taint, according to my wife. I’d have to agree.
My wife gets live eagles and seahawks mixed up.
If you try to search for “men’s gloves” on Etsy, you get a bunch of mittens. Really, dudes?
David Beckham? Still got it.
Super Bowl snacks when you’re not eating carbs involve pickles and cheese and that’s about it.
Bruno Mars is kinda boring.
None of those damn half time chatting guys had ever seen Bruno Mars in their entire lives and it was hilarious.
And, finally, I learned that you can watch an entire football game, know that one team just got it’s ass handed to them, and still not really remember what the score was or have an single ounce of emotion about the outcome.
Man, it’s like I was reading about World Religions the entire time the game was on and didn’t even remember seeing much except for sad, sad Eli Manning watching the game from his home field’s suite while his brother got to play.