Friday, October 8, 2010


I have a confession to make. I'm not a basketball player. I know, I know... it's shocking. Because clearly, I was made to play basketball. Oh wait.... So, this fall DJ is playing intramural basketball, as usual. In the fall it's co-ed ball, and ever since last season DJ's been trying to convince me to play with him. Needless to say, I've adamantly refused. Now don't get me wrong, I LOVE watching basketball. So much. Whether it's BYU, intramurals, or my little brothers, there's just nothing quite like watching a good ball game. But I DO NOT play! I was a volleyball player in my glory days. Well, the season was getting close to starting and there were still only 2 girls on the team (you have to play with 2 boys and 3 girls on the court at once, or play a man down with 1 boy and 3 girls, or 2 boys and 2 girls) The day of the first game, DJ signed me up to be on the team. When he told me, I literally thought I was going to throw up. I was SO scared! Not because I thought anyone would be mad if I was bad, but because I'm so competitive that the thought of playing a game I wasn't good at just made me really nervous. Well we went to the first game and it wasn't terrible. I just didn't want to shoot. Keep me under the basket to get rebounds and I'm good to go. Jumping is something I can definitely do, an ability which I have to thank my father for (you should ask my mom about her "fine hops" sometime). The switch from volleyball to basketball has been a little rough. I find myself going up for a rebound and instead of getting two hands on it and coming down with it, I swat it out of the gaggle of girls in the key (boys are not allowed to rebound in the key...welcome to BYU co-ed sports). Problem: the chance of one of OUR guys getting it rather than the other team is literally 50/50. It's frustrating. I'm a SETTER for heaven's sake! I'm used to tipping it on people. Anyway, I'm working on the whole basketball thing. Cause, even though I don't love playing basketball, I love my husband more than words can say, and I'm willing to do things with him that he loves. He is ridiculously patient with me, even when I'm struggling to be of any help on the court. Clearly, becoming a Savage does not mean you inherit the mad Savage Family basketball skills.


  1. OK, next time we play family basketball, I'm guarding you :)

  2. hahaha fair enough! Next time we play family volleyball, though, you'd better watch out! ;)