One game during the regular season my junior year, I went up for a shot and the opponent whacked me hard across the arm. The contact affected my shot, and I missed badly. The opponents got the rebound and headed the other way. No foul call came forth from the referees.
As I sprinted back on defense, I said, to no one in particular, “Man, that was a hard foul. I can’t believe they didn’t call it.” Davy Rodriguez, a teammate who was running back on defense with me, asked me sarcastically, “What do you want me to do about it?” He then quickly added, “Don’t cry to me about it.” As you can see, he was a great teammate.
Davy always called guys around him “Mama’s boys” whenever he disapproved of their unmasculine behavior. It was usually as a response to any complaining or whining anyone else did. Ironically, he was one of the biggest whiners and complainers on the team.
However, he regularly spoke very highly of his mother and the affection he had for her. I really didn’t care that he was close to his mother. But......
One day, I was fed up after he once again called a teammate a mama’s boy. I said, “Hey Davy, how come you are always calling everyone a mama’s boy? I don’t hear anyone around here talking about their mamas as much as you do. I think you’re the mama’s boy. What do you think of that, pendejo?”
Davy came at me fast, but the rest of the team blocked him. I think I might have gotten to him a little.
As the team separated us, Davy glared at me with fire in his eyes. I could see the hurt masked by his anger, a vulnerability I hadn't witnessed before. His chest heaved with each breath; fists clenched at his sides. But instead of unleashing his fury, he took a deep breath and walked away.
The tension between Davy and I escalated after our heated exchange. On several occasions our teammates managed to separate us before things got physical, but the animosity lingered in the air between us. From that day on, our interactions were filled with passive-aggressive comments and icy glares on the court.
During practice, Davy would deliberately aim hard passes at me, testing my reflexes and patience. I retaliated by pushing myself harder, determined to outshine him in drills and scrimmages. Our coach noticed the growing rivalry between us and decided to address it before it further impacted team dynamics.
One afternoon, Coach gathered the team for a meeting and called Davy and me to the front. He made us sit face to face, eye to eye, and urged us to talk things out. Reluctantly, I started first, acknowledging my role in escalating the conflict and offering an olive branch of peace. Davy listened quietly, his expression unreadable.
Finally, after a tense moment of silence, Davy spoke up and reluctantly apologized. Quickly, the meeting broke up.
That night, as I was heading out of the locker room, I noticed Davy sitting alone on the bench. I hesitated, unsure if I should approach him. But something compelled me to sit beside him.
"I'm sorry for what I said earlier," I began again.
Davy remained silent for a moment before finally speaking in a voice tinged with emotion. "You don't understand, man. My mom... she passed away when I was just a kid. Calling others 'mama's boys' is my way of... dealing with it, I guess."
He also said that the woman that he currently called his mother was actually his stepmother.
I was taken aback, my perception of Davy shifting in an instant. The tough exterior he displayed was only a front for the little kid inside.
As Davy's words lingered in the air, a wave of empathy washed over me. I realized that his tough demeanor and constant references to mothers weren't meant to be derogatory but were his way of coping with a painful loss. Guilt gnawed at me for my role in intensifying the conflict between us and misjudging him all this time.
Without saying a word, I placed a hand on Davy's shoulder, offering silent support. He turned to look at me, gratitude shimmering in his eyes. In that moment, an unspoken understanding passed between us, bridging the gap that had divided us for so long.
From that night on, Davy and I forged an unlikely bond built on mutual respect and shared vulnerability. Our rivalry on the court transformed into a partnership, each of us pushing the other to excel while also providing unwavering support.
As that season progressed, our teamwork flourished, earning praise from our coach and teammates. And though we still had our differences we could set them aside, if only for the sake of the team.
Nevertheless, our team that year was slightly better than mediocre. Coach Goodwin’s tendency to be highly loyal to his seniors was our undoing. We had one standout at guard, Ronnie Andrews (who went on to play at West Texas State University), and not much else. However, with our system deeply embedded in our program, we were probably better than we had any right to be. We did not make the city/district playoffs and had to wait until next year to see what our seniors had to offer.