2002-10-07 - 4:47 p.m.
Welcome back to high school. Here�s another guest entry by Kat.
WELCOME TO WATERLOO
Gym class is not my forte. Gym class has never been my forte. And, knowing the state of my endurance and coordination, gym class will never be my forte. But somehow I ended up in the more competitive unit of flag football.
Oh, man.
My team was pretty good. Two of the boys had a fair bit of talent, and Yoni could barge past almost anyone. Even the other boy and girl were fairly good, on the rare occasion they were motivated to do something.
And I was the girl who couldn�t change directions quickly under the best of circumstances, couldn�t throw, couldn�t punt, couldn�t block, couldn�t do anything except sprint pretty damn fast when put up to it.
In other words, I was way out of my league. And I haven�t even gotten to the other team yet.
Actually, they weren�t all that good. They only had two good players out of six. Unfortunately, one of those players was CJ. Not only is CJ varsity, he�s actually a really, really good football player. (Those are not synonymous at my school.) CJ could change directions quickly, could throw, could punt, could block, and could sprint, too, all well above average level.
And sprint he did. Often. Quite a few times he dodged the field for a flat out sprint to the end zone, and every single one of those times, I was right there beside him. But certain problems kept me from getting his flag: the fact that jumping for a guy�s flag, even when it actually IS on his hip, leaves way too small a margin of error for me; the fact that I�m far too lightweight to dive-tackle any guy my age (or older, in this case); and the fact that my coordination isn�t good enough for me to jump at anyone sideways from a speed like that without being deposited unceremoniously in the mud all made an actual offensive move a bit difficult. My team didn�t take too kindly to this. I began to hear moans of resignation as I took off down the field after him--and they stopped running.
�Haven�t you ever heard �If you want a thing done right, do it yourself�?� I wanted to say. But I didn�t. I simply steeled myself for his next onslaught.
It came as a quarterback sneak. Instead of passing the ball, CJ dodged my surprised teammates and came running toward me. With steady resolve, I leapt into his path. He swerved to avoid me-and ran straight into Yoni, the human version of a brick wall. CJ flew backwards three feet before hitting the mud with a satisfying thud. He lay still a few moments, but finally rose amidst gibes from my team and anxious inquiries from his own team. He checked himself over-and suddenly stopped.
�Where�s my flag?� he asked. Silence ensued. Slowly everyone turned toward me.
A red plastic flag dangled from my hand.
�My G-d,� whistled Yoni, �I didn�t even have to tackle him! She already had his flag.�
CJ�s face registered humiliation and apparent constipation.
Welcome to Waterloo, CJ. We�ve been expecting you.
LAST YEAR: Building Character Through a Building With Character
LAST FIVE ENTRIES:
Dancing Queen
Being Adult
Accessible
War Paint
Longing for Green Stamps
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Copyright 2006 by Ellen |
