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As we continued to look at pictures, the passenger talked more. Or the class of 22 like our daughter has for his kids.The classes that get out of school early to drive 90 miles one-way to be at the afternoon opening round of the regional tournament.
These are kids that let the kindergartener, our daughter, Miss E stand with them and hold up signs of support for our team, because kids in small schools know each other from kindergarten through high school.
The team that Hunter’s past teammates, graduated seniors now in college, had lost to in every regional tournament of their high school career.
The team that our sports cooperative, South Border had never beat.
The passenger said, “Our coaches are all figured out by professionals because there are a few boys in our school system that have older brothers playing professional basketball. And they bring in big time players with them.” His words had a sting of sadness to them.
My heart hurt a little for him, as a fellow sports parent.
I talked about my brother the coach, the one and only fourth grade teacher in one of our towns, his small town high school background, his experience both athletically and musically, his coaching mentors and love for the game of basketball.