Sound impressive?
It’s not.
First of all, other folks received multiple letters in their sports careers. In my family alone my father, who was an incredible athlete and started on varsity teams when he was in middle school, earned 17 letters total. Yes, 17. He was even offered a football scholarship to Cornell, but had to turn it down when grandpa, a drinker, deserted the family and dad, as the oldest, went to work to support his mother and siblings. And my kid brother, who was taller and more muscular than I was, won awards in every sport he played, set school records in track, and was the best basketball player in our school, though he refused to play for our high school team because he didn’t like the coach.
There’s more to the story in my case.
As a child I was, um, husky. That was the polite way for stores to label clothes for fat kids.
Add to that that I was a slow runner, had no vertical jump per se, and had breathing issues.
I preferred reading to playing sports.
Then I got to middle school. All the boys my age seemed to be playing sports. And there was the embarrassment of gym class.
So I started playing. Sort of.
I signed up for what was called back then “junior football.” As a husky (i.e. fat) fellow I was made a lineman. I spent most of my time on the bench but did get in at the end of games because the coach was required to play everyone.
In one game, I was on defense and got knocked down, as usual. But the running back decided to go through the hole created when I got knocked to the ground. I instinctively reached up, my arm got tangled with his legs, and he fell. I was credited with a tackle. In another game, again on defense, the running back tried to change direction, slipped on the turf and fell to the ground. I was standing next to where he fell, and reached down, touched him, and was credited with another tackle.
My season total: Two tackles.
Over the next year I lost a lot of weight, and grew several inches, so I no longer had lineman bulk. I was a bean pole. No more football.
Then I started playing baseball. My coaches and I quickly discovered I had a good eye for hitting, but no power. A contact singles hitter who was occasionally able to hit a double. My batting average was over .400!
But I was still slow of foot, and had a tendency to trip when I tried running. If I’d been able to run faster to first without tripping I would have had more hits. And once I got on first, the coaches often put in a pinch runner in my place.
As for fielding, well, if I got to the ball, and didn’t trip, I was likely to drop it or fumble it. I also had a tendency to close my eyes if the ball was flying toward me. Even if I did manage to hold on to the ball, I had a weak throwing arm. Opponents could run - heck, jog - on me. This was in the days before designated hitters, so for the sake of the team I spent most of the time on the bench, getting in as a pinch hitter or again at the end of games because the coach had to play everyone.
I later wrote a haiku about my fielding adventures:
drifting clouds
he notices too late
ground ball passing him
Then there was basketball.
My brother was a talented player. He was so good that even as a high school freshman and sophomore he’d go over to the college near our home and play with the college students in pick-up games. We started scrimmaging against each other, and I knew I was outclassed, but I enjoyed playing, and even developed into a decent shooter (when I was open).
Our school had an intramural basketball league. I recruited a team of people who had been rejected by other teams, and a couple of good players. I was the player/manager. One of my rules was that everyone, no matter how bad, got to play. And we had some really bad players. One game, our center grabbed a rebound and went back up and put it in the basket, scoring for the other team. We had one fellow who missed almost every shot even if he was standing below the basket unguarded.
Yet we managed to win games.
In one game where we were way ahead, I told one of our best players to come out so I could put in one of our worst payers. He refused. I again told him to come out. He refused once more. I was about to demand again, when he suddenly quit the team. In the middle of the game.
We would have been in trouble, except my brother joined the team. We proceeded to win every remaining regular season game, and our first two playoff games, making it to the championship game. But then the team we faced had recruited some really good players, including the fellow who had quit our team, and we lost.
At that point, I decided to try out for the varsity team. My shooting was fine, but my lack of speed or jumping ability left me as the last man cut. The coach asked me to become the manager.
At practices when I wasn’t doing manager duties - rolling out the ball rack, collecting the balls at the end of practices, making sure there was water available, providing the players with clean towels, running to the math office to get the whistle the coach forgot - I took part in all the player drills. For games, though, I did not suit up. I just did all those manager duties I mentioned, and keeping shooting and rebounding statistics. But as the season wore on, players got injured or suspended, and in order to have enough players for scrimmages during practices the coach allowed me to play, but just in the practices. I was not very good, but I was a warm body. Then, finally, after some of the players pestered him, he permitted me to suit up for one game, but it was just an exhibition one. I got in late in the game, my teammates fed me the ball one time when I was open and I hit the shot.
At the end of the year sports banquet, I was awarded a letter for basketball not because of my stellar play, but because I was a senior.
At that banquet I was awarded a second letter, one I actually earned, for bowling.
I’m the fellow in the upper right.
I had discovered bowling in middle school. A couple of friends had a team, and they needed one more bowler. I joined and did well. We even won the junior league championship, as we would do for several years in a row. I got better, getting my average up to around 170, and my senior year qualified for the school’s bowling team. Every week we would have a practice session, and the top five bowlers would then bowl in the league game the next day. I was not the best bowler on the team, but I was usually 4th or 5th in qualifying, so I bowled regularly in the league meets. We didn’t win the league, but we did win the city championship.
The only other sport I tried was track. I was not fast, I couldn’t throw or jump, but I was a steady distance runner. I had managed to build leg strength and endurance because I rode a bicycle everywhere. It was not unusual for me to ride 10-20 miles at a time, even peddling to other towns. Early in practices I ran a mile in a time that would have been the school record. But then I developed a problem that would eventually need surgery, so I had to quit and never got to officially compete.
My brother, by the way, set the school records in the broad jump, the high jump, the triple jump, and even got drafted in one meet to run the hurdles, winning, of course.
At the end of the year our school had a sports banquet. My brother and I only had one suit that we had to share - my family had financial issues - so my brother said as a senior I should go, even though he was up for MVP for track. We reasoned that he could attend the next year to pick up letters or awards.
I got my two letters, and as I noted, qualified for the Varsity Club and for a Varsity Jacket. But since I was going off to college, I didn’t want to wear such a jacket on campus and look like an idiot. Besides, I didn’t have the money for the jacket anyway.
As for my brother, he never got to go to the banquet the following year. He had some issues and did not play on any teams.
In college I played (poorly) some intramural basketball, but nothing serious. I had to give up bowling because I couldn’t afford to bowl as much as would have been necessary to really improve. My last “competitive” track event was an unofficial two-mile race when I was 21. I finished a distant 3rd.
As a teacher, I later played in some exhibition games and gym class with students, and coached track and bowling. Even in my 60’s I sometimes played some basketball shooting games like “around the world,” and would impress students by hitting shots.
After all, no one was guarding me.
Now, I just enjoy watching sports, and remembering my own poor attempts to play, with occasional highlights and with some humbling moments.
I think G. K. Chesterton prophetically described my athletic career when he observed, “If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly.”
Pax et bonum
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