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Show d lui I id v nig u ic taucoi uun in h 1 '-o- This game I could have done without the editor's column when we are forced to confront reality, and big-time professional basketball, head on for the first time. When the car stalled on the freeway exit in Salt Lake City, it simply seemed to be saying, "You asked for this evening -- and you're going to get it." After we got the car started, I started looking for the U. It's been a long time since I spent much time in that part of Salt Lake - and it took a few minutes. Also, I've never attended a sporting event there, and I don't know the best way to approach the school. So I took the route that seemed easiest, and most obvious. So did everybody else. As we crawled along in the snarled traffic towards the Special Events Center, several people inspected the interior of my station wagon - just me and five little girls. And we worried about getting there in time. (We missed the first quarter.) We worried about getting tickets. (We did, but they were for standing room.) We worried about making it to the bathroom in time for one of the team members -- at least I worried. The other girls kept making her giggle, just hoping something would gi ve. . After an extensive auto tour of the U of U campus, we found parking a long, long way from the SEC. The poor kids were worn out by the time we reached the Center. That's when we learned we would have to stand to watch the game. But I hadn't come this far to go back home. So I made them stand. I And in the long run, everyifc ' turned out all right. It seems U little girls spend more time moviiu ! around than sitting at basketball ' games anyway. i Throughout the second period they ' stood in line to buy drinks, or the 1 were in the bathroom. (It is ' contagious.) During halftime, the girls wrt roaming the corridors of the center, ' looking for boys and girls ibii especially boys) they knewwhoab played on Jr. Jazz teams. 1 All their friends, it seemed, had J seats. They had coaches who km ! the ways of the world, who got their s tickets earlier in the week, or wht went early enough to get seats. And we all knew whose fault it was thai we ended up standing, rather that sitting-mine. But they forgave me. The last hall . of the game was worth the effort. 1 Most of the girls got interested in the 1 game, ... saw ' some spectacular basketball plays and were rooting loudly for the Jazz as they lost tin game in the final minutes. On the way home I told them the story of the Great Purple Ape, we laughed and had fun. Then most ' them dozed off to the mellow tunes on the radio - I picked the station. All in all, it was a memorable ( experience. And the best memories are like that. j They are not so great when the) are happening. But you can always look back on t he experience fondly. ' And next year, I'll know enough to get our seats early. l Under normal circumstances, a professional basketball game is the place you'd least expect to find someone like me. Frankly, I'd rather spend the evening browsing through the new books at the library. It's not that I don't like basketball. Taking the pictures at a local high j school game is fun, and exciting. I even watched the last two of the three overtimes of the BYU-Utah battle Saturday. But the thoughts of attending a professional game didn't really excite me. Maybe the fact that I was going to be taking five little girls (third and fourth graders) to the game had something to do with that. There should have been some kind of warning issued for those who signed up to coach Jr. Jazz basketball, something telling us that the job would require us to fill our cars with giggly girls and take them to a Utah Jazz basketball game. I signed up to coach my daughter's Jr. Jazz team because I wanted to be sure the team had a coach, not because of my great skill on the hardboards, nor because of my vast knowledge of the game. But I didn't know I was signing up for this. Now, lest anyone confuse me with your standard sexist pig, let me explain that it hasn't been long since I was a scoutmaster filling my car up with 12- and 13-year-old boys and heading for the hills for a camping expedition. I would have rather spent the evening in the library then, too. By MARC HADDOCK (There's not a lot of difference in the way nine-year-old girls and 12-year-old boys act.) But the game was a freebie, a bonus for signing up with the local Jr. Jazz program. We had coupons we could redeem for tickets at the University of Utah Special Events -Center, where the Jazz would play the Houston Rockets. Besides, one of the 10 team members anxious to see a real basketball game was my daughter. I didn't have chance. Friday evening started going sour when one of the girls saidshe'd heard on the radio that tickets for the game had been sold out. I couldn't believe that. The Jazz management wouldn't do that to a group of little girls, I thought. That shows you how much I know about professional sports organizations! How unwise we can be in the ways of the world. How much we can learn |