And The Winner Is...
This turned out to be a very interesting contest. Rather than a lot of fall-down funny stories, they tended to be humor you could see in your head. That’s my favorite kind of humor. And choosing a winner is always difficult in these situations.
Ultimately I went with the one submitted by Linda Groves Worden. Since this blog is specifically aimed at boys, and those who love them, her story is so typical of the attitudes boys would have toward their sports, and any girl who might try to invade their territory.
I hope you like it too. Then see some of the others below.
The Half Court Shot
I attended high school in the early 1960’s. There were no inter-mural nor intra-mural sports for girls at that time in my school district. But that didn’t stop me from wishing I could be on a team. I especially loved basketball. I practiced as much as I could which really wasn’t very much since we had PE class only three times a week and we did not have a basketball hoop at home. But I made certain I used every PE moment I had to practice what I loved and what I became somewhat good at. My height, which didn’t win me any points with the opposite sex for dating, did help my game of basketball.
One day I happened by the school gym during the guy’s basketball team practice. We had a pretty good team and I loved attending school games. All the guys knew me and when they saw me, they started begging me to come join their practice so they could prove how superior they were to me! I’m sure I had been boasting to them that if allowed, I could really help the team bring home big wins!!! As they continued to beg, I decided to walk out onto the floor and show them how to “sink” a shot from the middle of the court. They eagerly stepped back, passed a ball to me and taunted my bravado. I caught the ball, making sure I included as much drama as my personality allowed, dribbled a few times and took aim – the shot was PERFECT!!! The swish could be heard by everyone in the gym because no one’s heart was beating nor was anyone even breathing! It was a moment I’ve never forgotten and never repeated – only because I’ve never tried, however!!
That magic moment was the closest I’ve ever been to being worshipped!!! All the guys, of course, begged me to try again as they were certain that one shot was a fluke – a mere accident!!! But I walked off the court with my head in the clouds and my feet barely touching the floor. Somehow I knew it would spoil the moment forever if I tried to repeat what had just happened. It became a highlight of my high school years which has always brought a chuckle when I have relived it in my mind and at class reunions. Those guys still wish I could have joined their team.
Linda Groves Worden
Here are some others I liked too.
That’s Using Your Head
When I was in high school, oh so many years ago, our Church had a young mens softball team that played against other area church teams. Our team was very good, compiling a 104-11 record over the course of four years. Most of our games were played Saturdays at either noon or 1 p.m., and often on into the season it was very hot especially when the sun was shining brightly in central Mississippi. One particular afternoon a batter hit a high fly ball into center field. The center-fielder, a very fast runner, ran to a spot in the field while looking up. Suddenly his hands shot out beside him, his shoulders shrugging. He'd lost the ball in the sun and could not longer see it. The ball hit him directly on top of his head and bounced into his glove stretched out to his side scoring our team the out. The joke for the rest of the year was that he was a player who really "used his head" in the outfield.
As a side note, he threw up a few innings later. We thought at the time that it was simply because of the heat, but realize now that he probably had a concussion of some sort. Thankfully, he was okay.
The Baby Sister
My baby sister was right-handed, just like almost everyone else in my family. She ate with her right hand. She held a cup with her right hand. She pulled my hair with her right hand. So when it came time to play with her, we put a ball in her right hand. We were surprised at how seriously uncoordinated little Katie-bug was! You really never knew what direction that ball would fly, but you could guess it wouldn’t be forward or straight.
One day, Katie looked at the ball in her right hand. She looked at her left hand. She looked back at the ball, and then transferred it to her left hand. She threw it… straight to my dad. Dad put the ball back in her right hand, and again she threw with her left hand. The ball went dead straight. Little Katie-bug was ambidextrous (at least selectively ambidextrous)!
In third grade, my baby sister joined basketball. When it was time to teach the little tikes how to shoot a basket, the coaches asked, “Which hand do you use to write your name?” My sister answered, “My right.” So she was grouped with the majority of the kids in the right-handers group. Now, no third-grader is skilled at basketball, but Katie was, quite possibly, the worst shot. I’m fairly certain she almost knocked a few kids over. Katie asked if she could join the two lefty kids on the other side of the gym. The coach said no. Katie lined up another shot, this time using her left hand as the dominant hand. The coach corrected her before she could shoot and switched her back over to the right hand. After her third set of attempts, the coach suggested that Katie join the other group of kids. Katie crossed the gym, put the ball in her left hand, and made the shot.
When it was time to play volleyball in sixth grade, Katie told the coach she was left handed. She was quite successful.
That Had to Hurt
Well, a few years ago my husband was playing a one on one basketball game with his friend. It was quite a challenge for both of them because they had been playing basketball with each other for so long that they always knew each others next move. At one point, the friend's elbow came up at full force under my husband's chin. Ouch! He bit the end of his tongue in HALF!! Did he keep playing? Of course! The competitive spirit between the two of them wouldn't allow him to stop until the game was over.
A few days later my husband, weak from not being able to eat, got a package in the mail from a family member. What was it? It was a big, bloody, gooey, stinky from not being refrigerated cow tongue!!