"You see that? You see that one, Joey?" his grandfather asked him 20 or 30 times, but he got no response. Joey only spoke when he wanted something more to eat or drink.
The halftime entertainment included a young woman who did a trampoline routine in a modified bikini. Joey stared at her throughout her act, focusing so hard that if his eyes had popped out an inch or two, it wouldn't have surprised me.
Then, all through the second half, he gazed at the doorway across the gym through which she had disappeared after finishing her routine, and he repeatedly asked his grandfather questions about her. Could he wait outside afterward to see if he could get her autograph? Did she travel with the team, did he think, or was it possible she lived in Ashland? Were the Globetrotters playing somewhere nearby the next night, and would she likely be there, and if so could they go again? I don't think the grandfather knew what to make of it. However, he ignored his grandson and watched the game.
I won't pretend that I know quite what to make of it, either, let alone try to claim that one man and one boy in a southern Oregon gymnasium, contrasted with their Honolulu counterparts of 30 years ago, can be used to substantiate a profound sociological statement. All I know for sure is that some things clearly have changed in those 30 years—and I went home after the game both puzzled and saddened by that.