One day, when the boys were quite young, they were outside playing with their dad. They were running, and wrestling, and he was running out of breath, so he yelled, "Whoa! Time out." Both boys started crying; X was confused. To him, "time out" meant "give me a second to catch my breath" but to them it meant "you've done something bad and must now go sit quietly in a designated area."
The boys have since learned the other meaning of time out, and this weekend we heard those words more than usual. In basketball, each team can call a time out in every one of the four quarters; same with football. This weekend, I sat through 24 time-outs.
In the first basketball game, the boys pulled off a pass so good that it left their coaches wondering if they have twin telepathy. In the second basketball game, Twin B was on fire. Basket after basket after basket. Both games were so close that we almost didn't win.
And football yesterday...the first quarter saw a score of 15-0 for the wrong team. We've played this team before; they're good. But these are playoff games now; we're playing teams that could potentially beat us. And if we lose, that's it for the season. Four long quarters later, the game ended at 29-20...and next weekend we'll play an even better team.
But first, a moment of silence for those football players in Grande Prairie.