Canzano: The short-yardage fullback got married
Sports always finds a way.
My baby sister got married on Saturday. It was a small service, held under a mulberry tree in the backyard of the mother of the groom’s home.
During the reception, my father took the microphone, made a toast, and talked about his little girl. He told stories about watching her play high school and small college basketball.
Sports always find a way into the conversation, doesn’t it?
Jenny was fierce on the basketball court. She dove for the ball. She played defense. She was a good rebounder, a solid shooter, but she was particularly great in a scrum. She’d always come away from the pile, ripping the ball with her.
I’ve long credited that spirit to her three older siblings. We did not go easy on her. My brother and I made Jenny the short-yardage fullback in our hallway tackle-football games at the age of 5. She mostly blocked, but she’d get the ball on 4th down and inches at the goal line. She’d plow forward and scored TDs with high frequency.
One Christmas — (don’t ask me why) — my parents bought us kids two sets of boxing gloves. This was pre-CTE worries. We’d set up a makeshift ring in the front yard and spar.
Jenny is seven years younger than I am. There was a kid who lived down the street named Kevin who was maybe five or six years older than her. We pitted them against each other in a much-anticipated neighborhood bout one summer night.
“Don’t go easy on him,” I told her before the bell rang.
Jenny’s first punch, a straight right, hit Kevin on the bridge of his nose. He’d underestimated her. Her second punch, a left, landed on his cheek. An ensuing right hook buckled his knees and sent him reeling backward. She’d pounced like Mike Tyson, swinging her fists like cinderblocks.
The poor neighbor kid absorbed maybe one more blow before he dropped to a knee. Kevin never even threw a punch. He had no shot. He tore off his gloves, ran home, and never boxed with us again. He never even spoke of it again. Let’s just say I’ve never once worried about my little sister’s ability to take care of herself.
I talked with Scott Rueck once about birth order. The Oregon State women’s basketball coach said he pays attention to it while recruiting.
“I like brothers,” Rueck told me. “An older brother is gold. You know she’s probably wrestled around the house forever, and been roughed up. I can watch an AAU game and tell you if she has an older brother by how physical she plays.”
Kelly Graves, who coaches the same sport at Oregon, told me years ago, “Younger sisters are always rebounders.” Sabrina Ionescu had a twin brother. I’ve always believed that Eddie deserved an assist.
Both Rueck and Graves have coached teams to the Final Four. It’s not like they’re out there, hunting for younger siblings. They just want good basketball players. But the fact that this has come up in conversations with them both makes me believe that behind every star competitor is a sibling who understood that one of their primary duties was to prepare the other for the world.
I try to remind my daughters of this while they’re bickering in the back seat. Or while they’re sniping at each other over bathroom counter space or even playing a board game. Behavioral scientists will tell you that siblings frequently take on complementary roles.
It’s not always dictated by birth order. It’s more about the role the kids play in the family. But there’s frequently a rule maker/breaker dynamic, a leader/follower, a rebel/peacemaker, etc.
Jenny was not just tough.
She was our family mascot.
She could be silly, carefree, and aloof. She frequently made us all laugh. But when you pitted that little kid against the outside world in a competition, she’d fool people. They’d see her smiling and bubbly before tip, and then the game started, and she’d dive into the fray and rip the ball out of everyone’s hands.
My little sister fell out of a giant walnut tree once. She didn’t cry. She just climbed back up the tree. She grew up, got a college degree, and became a special education teacher.
Last school year, Jenny was promoted to a leadership position within her staff. She called me before accepting the promotion because it required more work, extra responsibility, more meetings, and very little additional compensation.
“Don’t take it,” I told her.
By the end of the call, I could tell she was going to accept the promotion. Not for the money. But because it signaled that someone in authority trusted her to be in charge. They were handing her the keys. That’s always a leap for a kid who grew up looking up at two older brothers and an older sister, fighting for validation.
Weddings fascinate me. It’s always interesting to see who shows up and how people view them. Are the guests there to actually celebrate the bride and groom? Or just there to eat and drink afterward? And there are a few key essentials that make or break a wedding reception. The food, for sure. The DJ, maybe. After that, it’s really all about the quiet words that are spoken when the guests pull the bride and groom aside.
My sister and I had a moment like that on Saturday night. I walked up as she was sitting beside her husband, whom I’ve known for years. I played Little League baseball and high school football with the groom’s older brother. It struck me during the wedding that I’d first seen him at age 10 or 12 running around in the shadows at our high school games. I hadn’t considered that one day I’d be watching that little kid marry my baby sister.
Anyway, my sister saw me approaching. She turned and thanked me for flying in for the wedding. I opened my mouth and went to tell her that I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, but realized my eyes were glassy.
Hers were, too.
My little short-yardage fullback was wearing a white wedding gown. Her hair was done by a stylist. Her makeup was fancy. She rose to her feet to hug me, and she looked like a queen.
Over her shoulder, the groom was smiling in a suit and tie.
It was their wedding day.
I was happy for them.
As I hugged her, I whispered to her, “Don’t go easy on him.”
Please consider a paid subscription for yourself or the donation of a paid subscription for a senior on a fixed budget:
Another positive story to brighten our day. We needed it!
🥹🥲❤️