This time of year it seems as if lacrosse crosses my path — or I go looking for it — just about every day. Yesterday it was a varsity game, though I had to miss the middle-school game because of it. Today it was wall ball with my 11-year-old.
We live on the west side of the San Fernando Valley, which encompasses about 35 square miles, and it amazes me how few good places there are to play wall ball, short of finding an empty parking lot near an industrial building or something.
Balboa Park has a good wall, but it’s a small wall in a huge park — it’s often hard to get a piece of it around the tennis and handball players, especially for a beginning player, whose stick control and accuracy still are developing.
Most, if not all, schoolyards are locked up on weekends, but we found one nearby that is host to adult-league soccer, which means the yard is open, and there are some awesome handball courts.
So the boy got in some work … even convinced the lefty to work on his right, something he’s still not comfortable with, since he’s really not all that confident in his left. But you have to start somewhere.
Where did your life intersect with lax today? And if the answer is the couch watching college games on the DVR, that’s OK. I have four or five of them saved myself.