The Gadfly: Like Mother, Like Son

Mike McCarville

Never much of a fan of pro basketball, I was startled some years back to learn of the passion my sainted Mother McCarville had for the game.

She was in her 80s when she turned avid NBA fan. I don’t know what it was that attracted her, but she was a diehard fan as I discovered one night when I called her to visit and she quickly told me she couldn’t talk and I should call back. I was concerned that something was wrong, so in 15 minutes or so, I called back. Michael, she said, the Bulls are playing. Call me later. And she hung up.

I told my sisters that if anyone had ever told me our Mother would become an ardent fan of five black guys playing basketball, I’d have said that person was nuts.

Mother had Chicago Bulls fever. Michael Jordan could do no wrong.

I recall fondly the joy in her voice and on her face when the Bulls won. I watched a game with her one night during a visit to central Arkansas; to say she was an “avid” fan is an understatement. She played every possession. Shouted at the refs. Cheered good plays. Grimaced at bad ones.

She was depressed when the Bulls became…well, not the Bulls she loved anymore. But she remained an NBA fan and watched games regularly right into her 98th and final year.

I thought it was typical of my Mother that she’d adopt something like a pro basketball team; she always had a penchant for picking the unexpected.

I didn’t really understand her zeal until the New Orleans Hornets relocated to Oklahoma City. I soon became a fan. When the Hornets went back to NOLA, I missed having a team to cheer for.

Then came the Thunder. Initially, I wasn’t too impressed. But as I got to “know” the team, read about the players and watch games, I found myself an NBA fan and I often chuckle about how Mom would love it.

Kevin Durant slowly replaced Chris Paul as my favorite player. Durant’s humility, lack of (visible) tatoos, and incredible ability impressed me.

Now, a few seasons later, I plan my entire evening schedule around Thunder games. Don’t call me during a game; I’ll pull a Mother McCarville and tell you to call back later.

And here we are in the NBA Finals with a team that has become the darling of the city and the state and much of the nation. I wish Mother McCarville could see this team.

 


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