Sometimes when you lose, you win. Such was the case with the sixth grade basketball game on Sunday. My 11 year old son was set to play in his last game of the losing-est season of basketball that I have witnessed. EVER. which is saying a lot.

A rescheduled game, we all not so silently wondered if it was even worth trying to put this one back on the books. Deacon’s team is the Bad News Bears of basketball. A game in which they only lose by twenty points is considered a good one. In short, they aren’t just bad, but spectacularly, ridiculously so.

Surprisingly, despite the wince-inducing bad plays, the colossally lopsided scores, and the un-thrilling agony of defeat week after week after week, the boys are not that affected by their lack of success on the boards. They are a little disappointed for sure by the skimpy numbers on the scoreboard, but overall, the boys are happy not just to play but to play together. Their camaraderie in the face of their weekly drubbing is a real testament to their character and their bond as friends.

This last game though, this one was gonna be extra tough. Our boys were set to play against a local powerhouse that was sure to make those lopsided scores look even loppier. The possibility that this particular game could tip the scale from sorta-bad to soul-crushing was there from the beginning.

Luckily for us, the boys’ sainted head coach had issued a challenge towards the end of the season: every boy will make a basket. Clear, concise, and measurable, this goal was a thing of achievable beauty. Even in the midst of a season record with total points scored barely crawling into the double digits, this single goal re-energized the boys and kept them focused.

It also made them work together in ways they might not have before. They made plays designed specifically to achieve this goal and learned to execute them perfectly. By the last game, there were only two boys left who had yet to achieve the goal. One of them was my 11 year old son, Deacon.

When the boys hit the court that Sunday, they were playing better than I had seen them play before. Still woefully outmatched, our boys showed spirit and energy, and several boys even made some shots.

My son was not one of them.

Deacon did have seven nice scoring attempts. Every single one of them hit the rim. He even had two shots on the foul line,  but it wasn’t meant to be. No swoosh, no net, no points. This was going to be a close but no cigar moment.

Then in the third quarter, Deacon’s buddy, the other boy who had yet to make a shot, sank a beautiful basket. At the sight of that gorgeous swish, our sideline went wild. Then, Deacon’s coach put his hand on Deacon’s shoulder and said, “you’re the last one.”

No pressure or anything. The clock was a-ticking.

In any case, the fourth quarter was not looking good for Deacon getting it done. As the time left in the game was winding down, I played this scenario out in my head: he was not going to make the shot.  I started crafting my parenting script for the kid who was going to be the only one without a basket this season.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the boys pass the ball to Deacon who was wide open. Deacon took the shot with the same fearlessness that he had been playing with all day. This time there was one important difference: this ball made it in. Deacon sank that shot like he made them all the time, and he made it in the last 40 seconds of the game no less. Poets have written sonnets to less beautiful moments.

Well, unadulterated joy looks and sounds an awful lot like complete bedlam, and that’s what erupted. The other team was completely confounded as to why our team went so unabashedly nuts after that last shot. They were trouncing us and hard at that moment after all, but we were all with the boys in that moment. They did end up losing the game by thirty points, maybe more, but I’m not even sure. Nobody paid any attention to that pesky scoreboard after that.

Our boys might still have the worst record this year or maybe EVER, but they rewrote their story. They are now and shall remain in all of our hearts a great basketball team. Their dedication to each other in the face of so many losses, their commitment to a common goal, and then the achievement of that goal together? That’s no small victory.

That’s no consolation prize either. Theirs is THE singular triumph, a solid gold moment, and one for the record books no matter what the scoreboard says.

Sometimes when you lose, you do really, truly win.

Spectacularly, ridiculously so.

-Erin

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