Electrolyte In Blue

My youngest's basketball team played its first tournament of the year last weekend. It was ugly, even leaving aside the ambulance ride one of his teammates got, courtesy of a collision between head and floor that fortunately turned out to have caused no lasting harm.

After the game, I was standing in the hall near the coach.

"You're not going to be my first parent complaint, are you?" he asked.

"The only complaint I have is that my kid isn't crying after a game like that" I said. "Hell, I'm crying. Other than that, I've got nothing."

"Good."

"Why do you think there's going to be a complaint?"

"I told one of the kids to get his head out his ass."

"Mine?"

"No. Another one."

"You should have told mine that. I'll tell him on the way home."

"I'm more worried about your kid's eyesight," said the coach. "He seems to have trouble distinguishing between our red uniforms and the other team's blue uniforms when he's passing the ball."

"I'll buy him a color wheel," I said.

"Shut up," muttered my son, who'd been listening to the conversation.

"Do you want to go visit your friend at the hospital?" I asked.

"No," said my kid.

"Then don't tell me to shut up again."

"Can we go home now?" asked my kid.

"Yes. Daddy needs to medicate his pain."

"Does that mean we have to stop at the liquor store on the way?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Will you buy me a Powerade before we leave?"

"Sure. What color do you like, red or blue?"

"Blue."

"See," I told the coach. "There's your problem."