BASKETBALL

The squirrels were a constant distraction, but not enough to jolt the inactive to "the active", thus Bob checked into programs available for the disabled. (I think they called them handicapped this month).
There were in fact programs, however, most of them were geared for the mentally disabled, with the possible exception of one. Crochet Mountain sponsored a recreational grant for the handicapped. I am supposing that Sue Wormwood applied for the grant, got it, then was at a bit of a loss what to do with it. This is where Bob and Fred (friend) suggested wheelchair basketball.
The wheelchair basketball thing, I call it a thing, because the group that they had could hardly be called a team.
They were a motley crew of amps, paras, quads, and I am not sure but, combinations of all of the above. I believe the only rule was that if you dumped a guy out of his chair, you were not allowed to intentionally run him over. Able-bodies were allowed on the court to scrape the fallen player off the court and dump him( or her) back into their chair. If they could still "track"(keep the chair moving forward in a straight line), they were allowed to keep playing. Timeouts were regulated by bursting leg bags or the occasional blood globular clean-up. Oh, there were also time-outs for the wheels falling off the chair or an occasional footrest caught in a wheel-spoke.
Spouses and friends of the players were automatically designated "Pit crews".
It was this period of my life that I learned that wrenches came in different sizes and one was not allowed to estimate. 7/16th was not interchangeable with 1/2 (but it is such a small difference) and one NEVER approached a wheelchair armed with a pair of pliers. Socket wrenches were really things to loosen a nut, they were at no time designed to "bang" a rim into shape. Why God allowed Bob, an aircraft mechanic to marry a blond is beyond me ! Took me months to figure out a screwdriver had better things to do than open paint cans.
Sue managed to get very nice equipment and Bob and Fred whipped the guys into a "not so bad" team. There were other teams in the state so games were scheduled and games were played. We traveled all over the state of New Hampshire with the standard equipment always at the ready. The travel kit consisted of a compressor, inner tubes, tool kit and a cooler full of beer.
Life was good!
Then we went north to a small town near the White Mountains and met the "Larry, Daryl and Daryl" of wheelchair basketball. I don't remember their names (sorry) but I do remember them! Bless them, they obviously had fallen through some fissures along the way and appeared to have had their wheelchairs supplied by the trash pickup at a local hospital. The chairs were the old E&J type with straight wheels, big push handles and sort of straight legs. (It was hard to tell, so much banging around, so little repair).
The guys were the stereotypical "rednecks", flannel shirts, ripped jeans and I am not sure, but I believe that they shaved with a bowie knife and cut there hair at the same time they mowed the field. All of that aside, they were the nicest bunch of guys and as honest as the day is long.
And they could play. They played hard and fast (well as fast as their chairs would take them) and they had no fear of denting the chair frames or themselves.
One of the "Minor problems" with the entire scenario was the location of the basketball court. It was located in the municipal building which, unfortunately, was built in the early 1800's (I believe) or at the very least, before the invention of lifts or ramps. As we got out of the van and looked around, I realized that I am no longer, friend of Bob, wife to be of Bob or even primary care person. I (at that very moment) became the resident pack-horse.
Most people would have looked at the situation,5 wheelchairs and 30 steps and pulled a u-turn, jumped in the van and left-But not these guys.......
Before I said “wanna beer”, those guys had turned around and started up the steps. One at a time……”UGH” push,” “UGH” push, over and over until they were at the top.
I looked at Bob and the rest of the team, ”You don’t really think you’re going to try that, do you?”
Mike, a double amputee, and veteran wheelchair user, advised it was no problem and “Up he went!”. The rest of ‘em just looked at me, “ you are going to help, aren’t you?????”
“Oh yeah, just why I come to these things, drink beer ,eat snacks and haul your asses up and down stairs” “It’s nice to be needed “ (yeah, right).
Typical of my cheery attitude, I pissed moaned and groaned the entire teams worth. I found the worst part was not one of them understood why I got into the gym and fell asleep in the bleaches! (Not really, just felt like it). I do believe this was the first time my back flipped me the bird and quietly whispered, ”YOU ARE GOING TO PAY”! “ If you do anything like that again, I am going to torture you, slowly and painfully. You will give in. I will make you pay.”
Unfortunately, I was having to much fun watching Larry, Daryl and Daryl beat the crap out of each other on the court, I didn’t hear my back speaking to me………Not ‘til I stood up. Then, I heard it loud and clear!!!!!
This was the beginning of what I call our innovative period. This is when the Gerri-rigging gene kicked in and Bob’s troubles just began……