"Gold Medal in 9th Grade Sports Goes Too..."

Stories...what can I tell you now..

Here's one.

I always sucked at sports due to having no coordination and when you have none, you don't get picked to play..hence no practice creating a vicious cycle. Fine, you guys be that way...sports bite anyway. Not only that, I couldn't even really get all that enthusiastic to watch it on TV. What I did like hearing on the TV was the Red Sox play by play from the announcer's box in the summertime. That would drift out of our windows as my Dad watched and I connected that with summer nights. That wasn't bad. But to sit down and try to get all emotionally involved in football, hockey or basketball left me bored to shit. I'd rather watch the Winter Olympics as they had some pretty WEIRD sports. That was interesting.

My friend M. once told me in college, as a bit of advice, while in bars, that I should learn the rudimentary aspects of it so I could converse with the guys there when the subject moved to sports. I never bothered too. When the subject came up, I fell silent.

Now talk to me about stock charts...and I'll be chew your ear off! Batting averages? Yawwwwn.

**

In 1979, Goff Jr High had gym class twice a week for us kids. I hated it, for stated reasons already. The other problem was that the class had about 60 kids in it as they lumped all the classes together in order to stuff it into the schedule. A Baby Boomlet clot was working it's way through system at the time there. The other problem was that, say, a baseball game we had, the batting line was about 25 kids long so by the time your chance to bat came up, it was time to go to the next class. That and having massive volley ball teams where the ball could never touch the court as every square inch was guarded by one of the numerous kids packed onto the courts. Every kid had a chance to play even if that meant stuffing the court like a subway platform.

In the beginning of June '79, Goff was getting lax. Summer vacation is on it's way, the last days of school are here and no one, including the teachers, seemed all that motivated to get much done. This included a Mr. Charland who was running out of ideas or games for us kids to play in. One he invented one afternoon was to take a hockey net, place a kid in front to guard it while another, about twenty feet away tried to throw a volley ball past the kid into the net. I and another played the first session of it and it got interesting fast.

My opponent was a natural athlete named Dougie Smith. This kid had trophy upon trophy in his bedroom in pretty much any sport and was well liked by the other kids in Goff as well. I, on the other hand, was known to Bite the Big One when it came to competitive sports so when Mr. Charland paired us off in this game, it was a forgone conclusion about who would win. Why even bother to watch?

But, I was an older kid by now and had paid some attention to sports teams, players and how they used their heads, strategy, to win a game. I still sucked at coordination but I manage to do one thing over and over again that worked great in this game Charland invented.

Dougie was guarding the net and when I raised my arm to throw the ball, he looked directly into my eyes and I figured that out. He knew, from past experience, that a thrower would look toward where he wanted to throw a ball. So I tried this on my first throw, I looked to the left corner of the net, but fired the ball to the right. Dougie lurched to the left and the ball whizzed by his right into the net.

Score!

I did this twenty times in a row and the kid never figured out how I was beating his ass at this. 20 to 0, a crushing defeat!

When we both walked off the court, the other kids started to console Dougie by saying..”Ah..he cheated...he did something illegal!

I overheard this and said. “If I cheated....then you are calling Mr. Charland a LIAR!”

“Huh? Whaaat? Duhhh?' were some of the kid's responses. I had to explain it to them.

“How could have I cheated? Mr. Charland was STANDING there the whole time WATCHING us!” I also beamed bold and then said “I'd change sides and do it again” if they wanted proof.

To Charland's credit, I have to say, he agreed and said:

“Ronnie didn't cheat.”

The dumbfounded looks some of those kids gave when Charland said this was surprising to me. I got confirmation from the coach! I won fair and square. But that wasn't enough, neither was Charland's judgment of the game either to some of the kids there.

“Let's beat his ass!” I overheard from a few. They were soo pissed that I, a perfectly useless sports player should thrash the shit out of one of their favorite sport's heroes in Goff.

Would you believe this went on for the rest of the day in the other classes I had? I had pretty much not given it much weight as I don't care for sports but...I was still pleased with myself, except I didn't treat this as De-Throning a local Hero Boy. Apparently I had, for a few minutes anyways.

One class, held by my homeroom teacher, Mr. O'Donnell, had to mention it to us all as we took our seats. “How the hell does he know about this? I thought. “Who cares?” I thought as a well. This news had gotten far ahead of me into other classrooms for the rest of the day.

I got sneers, threats and other mouthy BS during the class, to which Mr. O'Donnell had to interject to calm some of these kids. When the class was over, I had asked O'Donnell why there was so much consternation over this.

He told me:

“You weren't supposed to win.”

I didn't get that. “What do you mean “wasn't supposed to?”

I had to be told that I had upset everyone's certain prediction and had unseated a favored kid. I knocked his social peg down a few notches and for that, I must PAY in ribbing and insults and a possible bloody nose.

**

I still suck at sports. I suck at walking across a floor at times. I had once asked a Dr. about it since my balance was never that great anyway and had become worse for about a month during the winter. He had opined that perhaps, I had this syndrome or another, but more probably just plain genetics that wasn't about to allow me to rub my belly and pat my head at the same time. He added to that, “You're getting older Ron...everything about you gets slowly worse...including your coordination.”

Ahhh...but one time, for a few minutes....I shone like the sun!

Wonder if Dougie will ring my doorbell one day and smash me in the face...finally? 

75

So instead of a snarky, cynical piece today, I'll be happy. Why? It's 75 degrees outside! I'm sure everyone else in in agreement about moods today, hopefully. I know it wasn't a bad winter but winter is still, winter. When I can open all windows and see the curtains wafting in the first soft breezes of spring, that'll boost my disposition several points.

So, it got me to thinking, what else can boost my mood, if only for a few minutes? I was surprised the list is long. Then again, it's a matter of what you focus on all day long and the shit that life splatter on you is far too easy to zero in on.

Here's one. That first bite of pepperoni pizza that's been properly cooked. The crust has to somewhat shatter as you bite down and since I can be a salt freak, the sodium in the pepperoni goes off like a grenade! I love it! The other 45 bites are just an excuse to stuff yourself to the point of immobility. It's always the first bites that is the best.

Soda lovers, and especially Coke lovers will understand this. The first sip off a can, not bottle, but can of Coke and how it feels. I admit the can impart a slight aluminum taste but that's not what Coke lovers want. What we want is pain.

Huh?

When you sip that first sip on a fresh Coke, the carbonation hits the heat of your mouth and sizzles. For some reason I swear it activates, on a low level, nerve endings that alarm of pain. It's a bit of cold burning sensation if that makes any sense. The best part is when it hits the back of your throat and really starts to out-gas as you hold it there just for a second longer. The sizzling pain there is even greater. Feeling it slither down your esophagus is the last of it.

AND...most Coke adherents agree, the carbonation in Coke vs Pepsi is different. The best way I can describe it is that Coke, produces smaller bubbles. You'd have to be one of us to “get it.”

If they carbonated Syrah, Merlot or any other wine like Coke, I'd probably drink that too and sound far more convincing when speaking of Coke like a sommelier.

Anyways, I've always loved that first can opened up. Small delights!

There's a look girls can give guys that'll make us halt in our tracks at times. It's the “look back over her shoulder” glance. You don't see that flirt coming but it's devastating if done correctly. It has to have direct eye contact coupled with an easy, comfortable smile. It may last not even one second but wow! A second, even shorter glance over that shoulder only confirms and nails that message. I've always loved that look. It's an instant endorphine hit.

Arriving at the beach for the first time. That was always nice and it's not the sights, but the smells that can put me in a far better mood. I'm not talking about stinky clam flats (but perhaps a bit of that is there) but the smell of the ocean, salt marsh hay and god knows what else I pick up can alter my mood fast. After an hour of that and I can start sliding into that California-ah-who-cares-what-time-it-is state.

It can probably uncover every memory I have of the beach as a kid too.

I've always loved to sleep but what sucks about it is that your unconscious for most of it .You don't really get to feel it. There is, however, a brief time you do feel it, and that is the last few seconds when you are drifting, hazy and numb before you black out for the night. You can't force it but at times, I'm half aware of it and is the most comfortable place I've been. Since my mind is like a monkey in a tree, thoughts hopping from one branch to the other, even those same thoughts take on that dreamy state. I'll get very dreamy visuals of doing my taxes accompanied by a complete loosening of the entire world.

When I was a teen and had no problem sleeping to 11 AM on the weekends. I noticed I'd awake during that morning, numerous times, to get that feeling of slipping into unconscious again and again.

Now, being a full blown adult, even if I were to have three weeks off in a row, sleeping that late seems terrible waste of the day for me.

I've never had opiates due my hated of needles and blood born pathogens...and real, raw opium isn't around, but I swear if it puts you into that state, I can sort of understand why addicts have a hell of time stopping. That world you encounter is too good to leave.

What else? The ozone smell of thunderstorms, the sickly sweet scent of hurricanes. They do have one, it smells of tree sap. Think of 540,000,000 leaves being pureed into the air. The sound of a song where they install a halting, stressful moment it it when the whole songs stops, just for a moment and then proceeds again. Beauty! That and the rasp of guitar pick on the wound strings, small, subtle and hardly noticeable but wonderful again.

Lastly, and I could go on...is the surf of the beach. Way back in the Jurassic, when I was 25, I fell asleep on a dingy couch that was on the porch of a beach house in South Kingston. We had just come back from seeing the B-52's at the Windjammer in Misquamicut. The rest of the house inside, had every sleeping spot taken and D'Arby and I had to made do with a couch on the porch. The last thing that I heard, that lulled me to sleep was the distant thump of a wave hitting the sand. The first thing that awoke me, at a decent time too, was this alarm clock that spaced out it's call every twenty seconds, “THUMP!..............THUMP!.............THUMP!”

I awoke easy, pushed D'Arby's hair from my face and tired to ascertain where I was. The surf, smells and porch pinpointed me. “I'm at the beach...on a porch...it's Sunday...” and I couldn't have been more relaxed or comfortable with everything.

Life doesn't always suck...does it? And I can't think of too many cynical things about beaches, Coke, pretty girls or the riff to Whole Lotta Love.

Hell, it's 75 today...of course I can't.