Star athlete

It seems like this spring the weather is colder than last year. Last year it seemed colder than the year before and the one before that colder that the previous year. I think that if I searched climatological records I would find that it is just my imagination playing tricks on an ever aging mind. I think about when I was young and I had a tough time trying to understand why dad would always get the blues in the spring. It has always been the time of year when my thoughts were gearing up for projects I had planned for the warm weather months. I stood staring in the mirror this morning, my back aching and wondering where I was going to come up with the energy to start the concrete placement project in the new sempervivum propagation bed. Then it came over me that I wasn't staring at myself in the mirror, I was standing there looking at dad. Wow, really? Now, don't get me wrong I am not saying that I have become my father, far from that, and truth be known he was a hell of a lot more a man than I'll ever be. That's why I could never understand how springtime always got him down. It has occurred to me that it's all about growing older, and the older I get the harder it is to get spring fit, body and mind. With the snow gone a guy wants to get out and start in on the projects he was planning all winter long. 

I'm in a springtime funk, and my first inclination is to curse the cold temperatures, and go back into hibernation. I just have to remember that although dad's back ached and he suffered from the springtime blues, that he never went back into that hibernation. He always seemed to pull himself out of the house and fire up the rototiller. He always hooked the irrigation system, and drug out the hoses. I think that with that in mind I shall get over the springtime funk, and start those projects. Damn, I'm getting old, and I find myself giving these prep-talks each year they get less convincing, but I am gullible so I can talk myself into almost anything.

I wish that I could pile up some of the rocks around here and come up with a time machine. Wouldn't that be great? I'd set that old way-back machine to the early 70s when I was young and healthy, a star athlete and everyone was in awe of me and my extraordinary athletic abilities. Yeah....OK so there were never any of those abilities extraordinary or otherwise. Jeannine was good at her sports, gymnastics and Mike played basketball, Phillip was good baseball player, Bruce and Jake great wrestlers but I could barely walk and chew gum. Well I could walk, and sometimes I had  Bazooka Bubble Gum, but I had to separate those activities. 

I did have one shining moment of glory as an athlete, when I was in school, and the P.E. class was playing dodgeball. There was a day that I won the dodgeball game in spectacular fashion and saved my team from running laps in the gym. Sure I'd love to tell the story, let me set the stage.....It was 1973 springtime rain forced the P.E. class to the gym where we did our usual exercises before splitting into teams for some good healthy competition. The sport of the day chosen by our teacher, Mr. Pixler was that ever wonderful esteem building game, Dodgeball. [losers run laps] I always hated that game, just the name Dodgeball, implies that one needs to be aware of  balls and that if you can't dodge a ball you would be hit with one. Two things right there that I had major difficulty with, being aware, and dodging, not being very good at either, meant that I would once again singled out by Kevin **** on the other team, and nailed in the side of the face with a burner. In those days I was real small, being the next to the shortest boy in my class, towering over Don Devine by a whole 1/2 inch. The balls are placed on the center line, the whistle blows and the gym erupts in the thunderous sound of 29 white shorts clad maniacs running to the line. The only thing out of place was number 30 the boy running the other direction, yeah you guessed it, number 30 was me, hauling ass the other way to the safest corner in the gym. I had this brilliant dodgeball strategy  in mind, one that served me well in the past. My strategy was one where I would basically hide the best  I could, cowering in the corner behind some of the biggest kids letting them get picked off before me. In past games it always worked out that I was standing there hoping not to be seen by Kevin *****, when some bigger kid jumped aside and Wham, I get nailed in the side of the face. I would usually go to the bench and sit, the perfectly round red spot on my face stinging  like heck. This day was going to prove much different than those from the past, I don't know if it was that all the cosmic requirements were met, perhaps the stars all lined up just right. Possibly it was just that the bigger kids I was hiding behind were slower than normal and they were all picked off one by one until I was left alone on my side of the line facing the last player on the other side... that's right Kevin ****.  Kevin**** always had a serious hard on when it came to making the smaller, and weaker kids feel the pain. So there he is staring me down from twenty feet away a great sneer forming on his lips, looking like he had his Wheaties for breakfast, in fact looking like he had double Wheaties, probably beating the hell out of some smaller kid so he could eat his too. I unfortunately didn't have Wheaties that day, I always hated Wheaties, almost as much as I hated Dodgeball. I start to rethink my run to the corner and hide strategy, as the balls started to fly, most missing and hitting the wall only to bounce back completely back to the other side of the line, where he would grab them and throwing them back at me. This type of game play continued for what seemed like hours, him burning balls at me so hard that there was little chance for me to get my hands on one before they rolled to his side. I ran back and forth across the back wall of the gym, trying to not get hit True Dodgeball.  Yelling and screaming could be heard from both benches, his side was saying "Get him!! Get him!!" My side was saying "Hanks you wuss!! grab a damn ball and throw it!!"  The support from my team was indeed overwhelming, and I knew that I would have to make my move soon. Like I said this play went on for sometime and after a while Kevin **** being an incredible lump of crap, that never had to try his hardest to win because he usually chose to face down the smaller, and weaker opponents in these one on one situations, started to get tired. He had started to walk to the ball, often turning his back on me and crossing the entire distance of his side to pick one up. His throw was starting to get slower,  the years of taking the easy way out picking on smaller kids was beginning to catch up to him. I on the other hand was growing up with Mike as a brother, and that gave me some special help dealing with this type of individual, anyone that knows Mike understands what I'm talking about. Kevin**** turns his back on me and slowly walks to retrieve his next missile, certain that it is only a matter of time till he clobbers me good right in the side of the face. He failed to noticed the ball that was slowly rolling my way, almost ready to cross the line and become my  first chance make a throw in the game, not counting the chances I missed hiding in the corner.  I decide, "This is it." and I make my move. I run to the line and squat down waiting for the ball to roll just a few more feet, my arms outstretched reaching as far as could. Kevin ***** makes his way to his ball, picks it up and turns around. The look on his face when he sees me there in the middle of the gym, the ball I'm reaching for still several feet away, was something that I'll never forget. A triumphant smile replaces his little sneer, and he gets a new boost of energy, possibly the second bowl of ill-gotten Wheaties kicking in at that moment. Quickly he rushes over and kicks the ball away before I can reach it, he pulls back to throw, suddenly he realizes he is too close so he steps back a few paces. I try to move but the thought that I am in trouble is at that time still forming in my head, as I look up and see the throw, a real burner. The ball smokes toward me as I try to stand it hits me before I can move, right in the stomach, right in the ole bread basket, and sticks. Being in the squatting position it was like my belly was a catcher's mitt and the ball stayed in the pocket. Game over. 

Yeah, that's right glory was mine, kids hooting and hollering, my team clapping me on the back, Kevin ****'s team shoving him as they took their laps across the gym floor, telling him he was a wuss. Even Mr. Pixler had to shake his head, smiling as he led the class into the locker room.

For someone that never won anything, never made a lay up in basket ball, never hit a home run, never won a foot race, that was finest day of my life up to then, and I cherished until.......Well until the next day when the weather was much nicer, and we went outside for P.E. Mr. Pixler lined us all up and said count off to six...1,2,3,4,5,6, the class was calling out, afterward we were separated into groups according  to the number we called, I was a 6 so I stood and watched 5 other groups of kids hit the line and run a three lap race, each of the winners taken aside to run in a final race. As I go to the line I look around at my competitors in the race, I can't believe it but it's all the special olympic types [including me] from the class.  I start to think that the stars are all lining up again for me, I can beat these guys. The whistle blows and I am off the line first and take the lead, as we reach the turn around point I notice that Mr. Pixler sees that I am in the lead, his head popping up from his clip board a surprised look on his face. We turn and run the other way, I remain in the lead, the last lap comes and as I turn and start the down the home stretch I still lead the pack quite comfortably. As we get closer to the finish line I can see Mr. Pixler's face become bright with excitement the light in his eyes shining a huge smile urging me on. I wonder if he was thinking to himself  "Damn I'm a good teacher,  just look how far Hanks has come"   The second day in a row I could be a winner, I can almost taste the victory. Then in a brief moment all I can taste is blood, as I trip and make a face plant in the turf, splitting my lip, the the pack of competitors unfortunately not even coordinated enough to dodge my sprawled out form laying there bleeding from the mouth, run right over the top of me. I don't think that a single one missed stepping on my back side, as they raced to the finish line. I stand up with the red glow of humiliation deeply burning my face, ten perfect foot prints on the back of my P.E. uniform, the other kids laughing their asses off Kevin **** laughing the loudest. My glory from the previous day a definite thing of the past, I could no longer see Mr. Pixler, who was obviously trying to avoid eye contact. 

That was a just one of those thrill of victory stories turning into the agony of defeat that we all have heard before on "The Wide World Of Sports"  It seems that you don't have to be a star athlete to experience either one.

Yeah, I guess I  can do without that time machine after all. Just this star athlete memory has brought me out of that funk. Spring blooms a new attitude I guess.