It was half-time, or thereabouts.
I was getting slightly distracted—which isn’t all that surprising, considering I become bored quickly when I completely lack the talent necessary to be competitive. The score was 3-1. My team was winning, no thanks to me. I was doing a great deal of running around, however (because when you’re unable to catch a football you just keep busy by running around), so I’d already removed several layers of clothing. With just a thin pair of gloves on, I felt a new surge of energy, a desire to attempt contact with the ball. I made myself wide open—not difficult, considering most people had forgotten I was even there—and motioned to Laura to pass me the ball.
She fired; I missed. Slippery little bugger. We repeated this killer play three times before I decided to remember that I have no talent and begged everyone not to throw me the football ever again.
“Why wasn’t I born with athletic abilities?” I asked myself in agony. The wide, unfriendly sky gazed down on me as if to say, “Because you were given such an abundance of ugly face-making abilities.” Not the most comforting, though I agree that ugly faces can be useful. But why couldn’t I be like Laura, who caught numerous passes, scoring touchdowns and gaining rapport with fellow players? Or like Gretch, who pretty much tackled anything that moved?
I recommenced running around aimlessly, occasionally two-hand touching anybody I saw in case they might be involved in the game more than I was. When the captains declared that we wouldn’t call the game until one of the teams reached four points, I groaned audibly. “Can’t we just have a dance off?” I asked, in a pitiful attempt to gain some of my self-respect back. Alas, the game continued.
And then it happened.
My team had inched through the snow and ice toward the end zone—again, no thanks to me. We lined up for our fourth down, last-ditch attempt. I trucked it toward the end zone and found myself alone. I made eye contact with Oh Captain, My Captain, and I saw that mad gleam in his eye that could mean only one thing: He intended to pass it to me. Panic seized my body and I meant to scream, “NOOO! Throw it to anybody but me!” but shear terror pinched off my vocal chords and I just stared stupidly at that pointy, spiraling, missile of death coming at me as if it meant to seal my humiliation with a pigskin kiss…I think I closed my eyes…and awoke to find myself tackled by my teammates and a hundred screaming fans. I looked at my hands and was startled to see a football clutched therein.
How did this happen? Well, I’d like to bear my testimony of miracles. Happy, happy miracles. It’s not every day yours truly has the pleasure of making the game-winning touchdown.
Next time I’m shooting for MVP.
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12 comments:
Hey Stef, will you PLEASE write a book?
I think you underestimate your athleticism. Yes, you have been blessed with special face-making magnitude, but let's not forget that your face has had countless opportunities to prove it's got talent. Anybody who can learn a round-off tuck out of well, absolutely no gymnastics training whatsoever, just because Shelly's yelling at them, has definitely been given natural athletic ability. Boo yah
Congrats Stef. Can I be an extra in the movie based on this experience? This is exactly the kind of story Disney is looking for.
and our Stefie's back...well played.
When on earth were you outside playing football??
-candice
Shan, I resent that comment about my face having 'many opportunities' to prove talent. Are you calling me a slut or something? Bring it, sis!
And Miss Bea Peay, who doesn't get roped into a game of snow football every now and then? Remember in junior high when Kate flashed everybody? That was during a snow football game. And to think, she said she didn't feel a draft...
Whoa, someone's a little defensive about their face having ample opportunities for... well, what I wasn't referring to in the first place.
By the way. I'm tagging you in this super fun cyber space tag game we've got going on. Wait, before you agree that you just won't do it, curses really do take place, especially if they are threatened by your sister. I'm bringin' it...
First off, your in big trouble for not inviting me to the Gala. Was the deadline just going to slip by and then be like, "oh sorry, you didn't rsvp." So, I don't come to all social gatherings, but I do try! Now, as for the game, I couldn't be more proud. I watched to summers as you had the fortitude to learn killer skills of volleyball. It looks like it is spilling over to other areas. As for shouting out to my ladies, I do it every night whilst trying to find a comfortable position to sleep. Always gettin' in my way, or at least for the last 8 weeks!
It appears you have the same mad skills as Elisha, who OCCASIONALLY will catch something thrown her way but usually after it hits her in the face first.
Stef this is my first visit to your blog, and yes, you should write a book. As I read this post, I admit, I first laughed. Then I began to feel a special kinship between us as I thought about how I too have been blessed with the uncanny ability to contort my face into many horrifying positions in place of any speck of athleticism. You can vouch for this I know. Hope you had a very merry Christmas.
Ok, you need to write a book. It's ridiculous almost how I'm hanging on your every word through that story. I saw it all, every move made in my head. You not only are the biggest circle I've ever met, but you have your ugly faces, and soon to be added to the list....book writing. Amazing sistow, amazing.
Interesting to know.
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