The kids were playing highly supervised basketball. Supervised because ball-playing at recess has had to be paused often due to conflicts. Basketball I guess because it’s March?

We had to keep a close eye on the kids. It’s hard to be kind the whole game I guess. At least when you are 7 or 8, and the basket is so high, and you want all the turns, or at least one.

It looked like two boys were tackling each other and I told them, “That’s not how we play basketball.”

“Yes it is,” one of them said to me.

“We don’t tackle in basketball,” I explained. He told me of course that they weren’t tackling, it’s just that he had fallen and was trying to get up.

I told him that I’d make the calls, then whispered to my partner teacher, “It’s a referee in basketball, right?” to make sure I was right before saying, “I’m the referee, for this game. And the referee is always right.”

They shrugged their agreement and went back to playing.

I noticed that the kind words weren’t exactly flowing on the court, and talked with a player who was accused of calling another player a liar.

“Well, he was lying,” he said, “and I didn’t call him a liar, I told him he was lying. He just wants us to get the ball banned again.”

I told him that I understood why he was upset, but that we needed to spread positivity during this game. I sent him off with a call to action that sounded, I think, like, “Go spread joy in that basketball game, buddy!”

This is maybe when you are shaking your head, laughing at me reffing with joy proclamations.

It’s also when I started realizing I was going to need a whole two-team second-grade huddle.

I called the kids over, and they ran in like serious ball players do.

I said, “Little known fact, but I am actually somewhat of a basketball expert.”

I did not tell them how well my March Madness bracket is doing. (It is doing very well, and even if I don’t get any closer to the top, I will be taking all bragging rights, as is my due.)

I said, “I have a professional basketball player, basically in my family.”

They all stared at me, wide-eyed.

I said, “His name is Yuuki Okubo. You may have heard of him, or even heard the song that someone made about him.”

“It goes like this, Yuuki, Yuuki, Yuuki Okubooooo.” I sang.

One of my kids nodded his head, kinda jutted out his chin and said, “Yea. I know him.”

I told them, “He plays for the Fukushima Firebonds.”

They were all listening very intently.

“And do you know what I see the Fukushima Firebonds do when I watch them?” I asked them.

That same kid said, without a pause, “Win.”

I smiled. “Well, they do win a lot,” I agreed. “But even when they don’t win, do you know what they do? What do you think they do when one of the players misses a shot?”

The kids said, “They say ‘good try!”

I told them yes (although maybe I should learn what good try is in Japanese…) and that I see professional players give high fives and encouragement for missed baskets, and scored points.

“That’s what I want to see from all of you!” I said, in my best coach from a movie giving a passionate speech voice. “Now go play some joyful ball!”

The kids ran off, and I’m not going to say it was a complete turn around or anything, but I did hear some nice “It’s okay!” And “Good try!” exclamations coming from the players.

One of them jogged over to me and asked “Are we playing 1-2 or 2-3?”

I shrugged and said, “I don’t know. What did the players decide? Ask an expert.”

When he jogged away, I looked at my partner teacher, “What does that mean 1-2, 2-3?”

She thought probably points, and I agreed.

Just then someone came over, crying that their team hadn’t passed them the ball yet. As I was counseling them in what I would like to think was the perfect blend of empathy and grit, another player was coming over with his hand on his head. He had been hit by a basketball.

As we walked to the nurse I said, “It’s okay! It happens to the best players. Did you know that the Duke Point Guard was out for the start of March Madness? You’ll be back for the next game!”

I know this because I’m somewhat of a basketball expert.