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Red Ball and Pink Cheeks


Second period, a personal favorite of mine. Coach Smith is handing out the red balls, as the captains were selecting their teams. Standing at a mammoth 5 foot 3 and a miniscule 270 pounds, I was a prime specimen for dodge ball MVP. I knew I was going to be the lucky one selected first. However, to my confusion, I was not. I waited. Then I waited some more. Then came more waiting. The eighteenth pick may not look good on paper, but Im a strong believer in the Save the best for last theory.

In my experience this is where you would normally hear most people cry about this day. How they would get ganged up on, attacked violently and harassed for being chubby. However, I am not one of these people. Coach Smiths and Grueters classes line up to face off. For boarding on the line of morbid obesity, I was athletic. Surely, I could not win the Olympics, but I was consistently one of the first to rush to the balls at the beginning of the game. Upper body strength was not something I would hang my hat upon, so I knew I could not do much damage throwing a ball. I opted to distract the other team so we could attack them for the victory. For some reason, when you are wearing a bright red shirt and resemble a manatee, it is not that hard to capture someones attention. The other team had this funny idea that they should pelt an innocent fat kid with balls. The funny thing about middle school kids is that they are easily mistaken. I gladly showed them that with my unrivaled catching ability. My athletic attributes can be compared only with such greats as Michael Jordan, Babe Ruth and Mike Ditka.

If a 12-year-old can display such athleticism even though he was slightly over weight, imagine what he can achieve six years later and in the best shape of his life. Little did I know how much the sport of football was about to change my life.