Who Wants It More?

I've been listening to the NBA playoffs, sporadically and disinterestedly, as the background noise to the rest of my evening.  Big Cuter's devotion to the Golden State Warriors impels his father to follow the games more closely than he might otherwise choose.  I love the boy, too, but that doesn't translate to slavish attention to the nuances of rebounds and free throws and temper tantrums.

Honestly, I don't think that the presence (or lack thereof) of Kevin Durant is all that big a deal.  I can think of many other things with which to occupy my mind.

And so, I have been reading novels and preparing end of year notes for each kindergarten scholar, and playing Candy Crush Soda, all without my hearing aides amplifying that which I've chosen not to hear.

But some things do penetrate. 

Today, Draymond Green credited his mother and his fiance for telling him to sit down, shut up, and get out of his own way.  He labeled his own behavior disgusting, admitted that he was ashamed when his 2 year old son aped Daddy's behavior, after scoring on his Playskool hoop.

This wasn't in his personal journal.  It was behind a podium, speaking on the record, in response to a reporter's question.  His performance had been outstanding; gaining control had a lot to do with it.

And I thought of the impact his words might have on an impressionable young athlete, struggling to find a balance between passion and ego and action.  Stop whining; start playing.  Not a bad message at all.