You remember back in your school days when it came to picking teams? Two players were chosen as captains and the rest of the rabble would picked to be on one of the two teams. Invariable, the kid with no apparent sports talent would be picked last. This ended up being either the fat kid or the geeky kid who knew the formula for pi.
In some cases it would turn out that there was an odd number of players and – true to form – one of the team captains would shout “all time quarterback!” wherein everyone else would groan. On certain occasions, when there was a real grudge match and nobody wanted to play both sides, that last kid would be asked to step aside and let the others play. Let’s just say that kid was none too happy about sitting on the sidelines.
It’s like that in our adult life, too.
As men, we stand at the bar and wait for single young women to pick us to be on their team. We do a lot more bargaining to be on their team than we did when we were kids, but the sentiment is still there. One by one, as the night begins to come to a close, we watch as these ‘captains’ choose their ‘team-mates’ and cue the scene of people being dissolved from the picture one by one.
Pretty soon I find myself standing alone in a bar, with a hot waitress who’s wearing a pouty lip (and a big fat wedding ring – I already thought of that!). You go outside and the streets are wet like some film noir movie.
There’s always one left standing.
Short sentences separated from the paragraph really stand out.
I guess what I’m getting at here is that it happens to all of us. At some point in life we’re a part of a particular group. At another given time, we’re part of a different group. For instance, when one is not quite of age, they have not had sex… they are considered a virgin. When one grows up and if one chooses, they have sex. They have just left one group and joined another.
I am not one you could consider a great sports player. Reaching towards 40 now I get out of breath rather easily. In my younger days I was considered tall for my age so I was always picked pretty quickly when it came time to play basketball. It didn’t take my team captain long to find out that my abilities in this sport were somewhere around none. I could dribble the ball very well until someone approached me and then, well, the ball was quickly taken away.
That is, until I reach high school. I had a great physical education teacher who just happened to be the school basketball coach. This guy even played ball for one of the local colleges and could have gone pro (something about a leg injury). Anyhow, he noticed that I did well on defense. Since I was tall, I could go up against the tallest player on the other team and block their shot. I was pretty good at doing that. It got to the point that I wasn’t following my team down to the other end of the court for offense… I’d just wait for them all to return after scoring or getting the ball taken away.
So nine players would come rumbling down the court and I’d hover just around the top of the key. Their player would take a shot and – “Slap” – it would come back in their face. Some days I’d be so confident about it that I could direct my block to my nearest teammate.
After a game one day I asked the coach (laughingly) if I should try out for the team. He liked the fact that I was tall but I’d need a lot of work on the offense. He didn’t say ‘no’ outright, but I got his message loud and clear. You can’t go through life a one trick pony.
Doesn’t everyone know the formula for pi?
In some cases it would turn out that there was an odd number of players and – true to form – one of the team captains would shout “all time quarterback!” wherein everyone else would groan. On certain occasions, when there was a real grudge match and nobody wanted to play both sides, that last kid would be asked to step aside and let the others play. Let’s just say that kid was none too happy about sitting on the sidelines.
It’s like that in our adult life, too.
As men, we stand at the bar and wait for single young women to pick us to be on their team. We do a lot more bargaining to be on their team than we did when we were kids, but the sentiment is still there. One by one, as the night begins to come to a close, we watch as these ‘captains’ choose their ‘team-mates’ and cue the scene of people being dissolved from the picture one by one.
Pretty soon I find myself standing alone in a bar, with a hot waitress who’s wearing a pouty lip (and a big fat wedding ring – I already thought of that!). You go outside and the streets are wet like some film noir movie.
There’s always one left standing.
Short sentences separated from the paragraph really stand out.
I guess what I’m getting at here is that it happens to all of us. At some point in life we’re a part of a particular group. At another given time, we’re part of a different group. For instance, when one is not quite of age, they have not had sex… they are considered a virgin. When one grows up and if one chooses, they have sex. They have just left one group and joined another.
I am not one you could consider a great sports player. Reaching towards 40 now I get out of breath rather easily. In my younger days I was considered tall for my age so I was always picked pretty quickly when it came time to play basketball. It didn’t take my team captain long to find out that my abilities in this sport were somewhere around none. I could dribble the ball very well until someone approached me and then, well, the ball was quickly taken away.
That is, until I reach high school. I had a great physical education teacher who just happened to be the school basketball coach. This guy even played ball for one of the local colleges and could have gone pro (something about a leg injury). Anyhow, he noticed that I did well on defense. Since I was tall, I could go up against the tallest player on the other team and block their shot. I was pretty good at doing that. It got to the point that I wasn’t following my team down to the other end of the court for offense… I’d just wait for them all to return after scoring or getting the ball taken away.
So nine players would come rumbling down the court and I’d hover just around the top of the key. Their player would take a shot and – “Slap” – it would come back in their face. Some days I’d be so confident about it that I could direct my block to my nearest teammate.
After a game one day I asked the coach (laughingly) if I should try out for the team. He liked the fact that I was tall but I’d need a lot of work on the offense. He didn’t say ‘no’ outright, but I got his message loud and clear. You can’t go through life a one trick pony.
Doesn’t everyone know the formula for pi?