Dancing With Noah

As we enter into the Father/Son quarter-finals, I think it’s worthwhile mentioning some of the shenanigans that have gone on behind the scenes of this ongoing battle for familial pride. The day of the first-round of games, fathers and sons showed up in an a variety of ways: Dads driving sons, sons driving dads, moms driving fathers and sons, fathers and sons arriving in separate cars, chauffeured rides, etc. There were even a few sketchy scenes like the one below which was recounted to me by one of the tournament officials:

These two guys show up and you can tell one is clearly wearing a wig. And, well, I’ve been around the game a long time, long enough to know Horace and Harvey Grant when I see them—even under that corny wig. So the Grant twins are there and they’re already looking sneaky, but looking guilty and nervous, you know? Horace was wearing some goofy-colored goggles, you know those rec-specs he used to wear?  Meanwhile, Harvey’s in the back, peaking out around a corner and this silly wig keep dropping down into his eyes. I’m thinking, what’re these knuckleheads up to? So Eddie Rush is managing the registration and he knows all these guys too. You know he started officiating back in the 60s. He knows the Grants. I swear; I don’t know what these guys thought would happen, but here’s how it goes down:

Ed Rush: Horace, is that you?

Horace, (in a voice that obviously wasn’t his natural voice): Nah, nah, this ain’t Horace.

Rush: Take off those goggles.

Horace: Shit.

Rush: What you trying to do?

Horace: I got me some chumps in this father-son tournament. Let me get by.

Rush: Get the fuck out.

Horace: Alright, look man, you need some twins. There are some crazy fathers and sons in this tournament … lot crazier than me.

Rush: No. Everyone knows there’s no father-son Grants. You think I’m stupid? You think all these people are stupid?

Harvey Grant, walking up from behind a corner where he’d been observing the interaction: Come on, Horace, let’s go.

The Grants, before their failed attempts to enter the Father/Son Tournament

The Grants sauntered off dejectedly with some of the father/son tandems (named the Currys, Mychal Thompson, and Rose/Walker) sparing no expense to clown them on their walk of shame out of the gym. Subsequent calls to the Grants and their representatives have either been ignored or rejected with a curt “No Comment.”