I was both delighted and proud of my granddaughter Ashley. We enjoyed an Ashley-kind-of-weekend when she played in the All-County String Orchestra on a Friday night and was on the basketball court the next morning competing against other ten year olds in the local youth league.
Her team was undefeated going into the game but they suffered their first setback when the “blue” team lost to the “green” team by an excruciating 13-11 score.
I used to think I had experienced every emotion known to the female gender, but I suppose I finally got a glimpse at how a mama bear must feel when her cubs are being attacked.
Hell hath no fury like a mother scorned. We were in the final seconds of the game with a chance to tie or take the lead when the clock suddenly went from 11.5 seconds to 5 seconds… just like that.
I am always amused at watching the referees when their providence is challenged, especially at the youth league level. This blunder was just a blatant error on the part of the clock operator, probably some kid with pimples who volunteered to take over the task.
You would have thought someone had kidnapped one of the little pumpkins who were competing against one another. Mothers were screaming from the stands while their husbands tried to hide their embarrassment.
They didn’t lose the game in those last six seconds… but now they have a convenient excuse for losing. The old saying “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” refers to a woman scorned by love. You mess with the cubs and you have a whole new kind of fury on your hands.
I suddenly became an unbiased third party and turned my attention to every mother on the bleachers where my son and I were sitting. I haven’t seen that much rage since the Hillary supporters turned their wrath on Washington at Trump’s Inauguration Ceremony.
The truth is the scorned woman knows no limits; just Google it. For instance, one scorned lady took a black can of spray paint to her former boyfriend’s car, painting “Hope she was worth it.” Okay. I’m not sure that’s what William Congreve meant in this 1697 Play called “The Mourning Bride.”
Another scorned lady put up a billboard: Dear Stephen: Do I have your attention now? I know all about her, you dirty, sneaky, immoral, unfaithful, poorly-endowed slime ball. Everything’s caught on tape. Your (soon-to-be-ex) Wife, Emily. PS — I paid for this billboard from our joint bank account.
Another ticked off lady posted a “Lost Dog” sign with her husband’s picture on it. Taking it to a new level, another betrayed spouse spray painted her husband’s fishing boat “Cheating Bastard!”
One of the most embarrassing public displays came when a girlfriend hired a plane to circle a college football game with a banner that read “Scott Kelly Has A Small D**k.”
Still, the rage from all of these will never match the furor a mother feels when you go after her little ones, intentionally or not. I’m not sure how much those refs get paid for calling a game of ten year olds, but whatever the amount… it’s not enough!
Ironically, when the kids come off the court, it is as if nothing happened. One little girl was more interested in helping make sure her one-on-one competitor on the other team was okay after she had plowed over her in the final minutes.
Good sportsmanship might have been the mantra of the adults before the heated battle, but it’s the little ones who know best. Perhaps we should take our cue from kids like ten-year-old Ashley. One thing is for sure, this won’t be her first defeat in life and it surely won’t be her last.