By this time in my life, for some reason, I had already developed a deep distaste for team sports. I think originally it was that I didn’t want to be depended on, and later in my life, probably for my ego’s sake, it turned into not wanting to depend on anyone else. Plus I hate losing… a lot. So much so that often, I’d rather not try than lose
Anyway, while everyone else is running up and down the court playing offense and defense and all that, I’m kind of trotting the baseline back and forth not making eye contact and hoping that no one will notice me and pass me the ball.
My main fear at the time was the possibility of shooting an airball. Independently, “airball” sounds pretty cool. It sounds maybe like a magical toy, or a game played in the clouds by angels, or like a marketing gimmick to sell balloons. But in basketball an airball is a mark of shame, an athletic scarlet letter, and I wanted no part of it. For the 45 minutes or so of that game, all of my self confidence and self worth was inversely proportionate to the distance of a ball shot from my hands to the basketball hoop. If the ball never touches my hands then the equation is null and I can go home free of self and peer inflicted humiliation.
So there I am, jogging up and down the court looking anywhere but at my teammates. Suddenly out of nowhere (nowhere, in this case, being the hands of my overzealous teammate) the basketball comes flying towards me. Having trained myself, over the course of the past half an hour, to not touch the ball or have anything to do with it, there was but one correct reaction: to duck, which I did almost reflexively. The ball shot over my head and out of bounds.
As it turns out, there are actually more embarrassing things you can do in basketball than shooting an airball.
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I’m the best student in my Japanese class in my sophomore year of college. This is doubly impressive considering that I attend the class approximately half of the time. This percentage is actually considerably higher than for my other classes. I like Japanese.
There is a multi-school speech contest to be moderated by Tim Cook, the very teacher who starred in the video lessons I took in my senior year of high school as a part of its fledgling Japanese program. He is a celebrity to me. My teacher hounds me relentlessly to participate, and I finally give in. It’s not like I’m doing anything else.
I write my speech and my teacher helps me translate it. There are two weeks until the speech contest during which I must memorize it and work on my delivery.
I spend those two weeks doing everything but that.
Two DAYS before the contest my teacher calls me in for a 1-on-1 rehearsal. Two HOURS before the rehearsal I start to look at the speech. By the time I am to meet her, I’ve memorized about half of it. The next day at the final rehearsal I’ve somehow managed to temporarily jam almost all the words into my head.
The next day, the day of the speech contest, I enter the auditorium which is surprisingly and disconcertingly full. My classmates are looking at me like I’m Luke Skywalker come to save the day.
The rest of the day is a blur. I remember small snippets: students from other schools spouting the most eloquent and perfect Japanese I’ve ever heard; a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach I’ve come to recognize as that of impending doom. And, of course, there was my inevitable performance.
I remember my nausea after finishing the first four sentences of my speech, the only ones I still had memorized. I remember glancing up occasionally as I woodenly read the rest of it off of some sheets of loose-leaf.
What I see: my teacher holds her head in her hands and is either laughing or sobbing uncontrollably. My classmates shuffle their feet and won’t make eye contact with me. Tim Cook sits at the judges table, a look of distaste and disdain on his face. Some girl mouths the words “my god” to her neighbor.
I drop out and join the Air Force. It was the only choice, really.
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2 comments:
That's an awesome picture at the end! Did you have a professional photographer take that? How do you set something like that up?.. pretty amazing really. Ok. Im done.
well phrased highlights:
'Athletic scarlet letter'
great comedic timing at the end.
'As it turns out, there are actually more embarrassing things you can do in basketball than shooting an airball.'
I have a similarly horrifying experience of an experience I had while I was on the speech team. It was something called 'impromptu' and you had to make up a story in 3 minutes with a few random words they give you on a piece of paper and say it in front of your competitors and a judge. I had a good idea but quickly ran out of steam and was just trying to stall my time until the end. I was stuttering and dragging it out because I had never practiced doing anything like that. They just threw me in cause no one else wanted to do it. It was mortifying, but in the end my judge wasn't too harsh. I never did 'impromptu' again however.
I love this because of your honesty and clarity surrounding these memories which can be painful if dwelt upon. I love the humor at the end and the decision, it seems, not to truly relive the past. ur my favorite writer!!
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