Read Online FITNESS CONFIDENTIAL by Vinnie Tortorich, Dean Lorey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vinnie Tortorich, Dean Lorey
Ads: Link
anything else. He just dropped me off at the office and they sent me home.
The next day, the coach called my house and told my parents that the JV football team was made up of eighth and ninth graders, although only the ninth graders really played. The eighth graders were basically blocking dummies.
My parents wondered what this had to do with me, because I was only in sixth grade. The coach explained that he did some checking and, because I was held back a year, I was a year older than the other students in my grade and, insurance wise, I would be eligible to join the JV team in my seventh grade year—something that had never happened in the history of the school.
So I joined.
The JV team got the hand-me-down crappy equipment that was dumped by the varsity team. The ninth graders got first pick. Then the eighth graders got what was left. Being the only seventh grader, I got the scraps that no one wanted. My helmet was made for high school kids, who were the size of adults. My head banged around inside it like a sneaker in a dryer.
Didn’t matter. I didn’t care.
We started practice and it turned out that I didn’t know a damn thing. In fact, the main piece of coaching I got when I was playing defense was “hit the guy with the ball.” Fair enough. I could do that. And I did it—a lot.
And then something miraculous happened. They posted the starting line up for the first game and I was on it. It was all ninth graders, a couple eighth graders and me.
Parents went batshit. They were furious that some of their kids got passed over so a seventh grader could play. But Lou Latino had my back. He told the parents that I earned my position and their kids didn’t. It was that simple. Some parents grumbled that Lou was showing favoritism to a fellow goombah. “The dago’s got the other dago’s back.”
Lou didn’t give a shit. I was on the team.
Finally, it was time for the pep rally before the first game of the season. The bleachers in the gym were filled with excited, cheering students. One by one, every one of the ninth graders on the starting line-up was introduced and they were met with cheers and applause. Then the couple eighth graders who were on the team. They also got cheers and applause.
And then, finally, me.
Now, you have to understand, everyone at the school hated me. Hated me. I had spent my entire life tortured by these kids. So when I walked out onto the court for them to announce my name, I was prepared for boo’s and catcalls. Instead, something completely unexpected happened.
The seventh graders cheered and gave me a standing ovation, which then prompted the eighth graders to do the same, followed by the ninth graders. Pretty soon, everyone in the school was standing and cheering me. And I stared at them and thought, but they hate me . Why are they doing this ?
In retrospect, all these years later, I realize why.
It was because, for the first time, the seventh graders were being represented on the team and they loved it. It wasn’t so much about me, it was about what I meant for them. And when they went crazy, everyone else in the school followed suit. In a weird sort of way, they were cheering for themselves.
The upshot of this was that, for the first time, they stopped picking on me. Now, if this was a movie like Rudy , this would be the last scene and you would leave the theater with your heart leaping and your eyes filled with tears. In reality, I got kicked out of the first game because, after one of the opposing players cheap-shotted me, I took off my oversized helmet and started beating the shit out of him with it. So … not exactly the rousing climax of Rudy . But I’d done enough good things in the game up until that point that the coaches let me keep my starting position.
Four games into the season, another miracle happened.
It was almost halftime and we were way ahead. We were trying to put one more TD on the board before the half, and that’s when I shattered my femur
The next day, the coach called my house and told my parents that the JV football team was made up of eighth and ninth graders, although only the ninth graders really played. The eighth graders were basically blocking dummies.
My parents wondered what this had to do with me, because I was only in sixth grade. The coach explained that he did some checking and, because I was held back a year, I was a year older than the other students in my grade and, insurance wise, I would be eligible to join the JV team in my seventh grade year—something that had never happened in the history of the school.
So I joined.
The JV team got the hand-me-down crappy equipment that was dumped by the varsity team. The ninth graders got first pick. Then the eighth graders got what was left. Being the only seventh grader, I got the scraps that no one wanted. My helmet was made for high school kids, who were the size of adults. My head banged around inside it like a sneaker in a dryer.
Didn’t matter. I didn’t care.
We started practice and it turned out that I didn’t know a damn thing. In fact, the main piece of coaching I got when I was playing defense was “hit the guy with the ball.” Fair enough. I could do that. And I did it—a lot.
And then something miraculous happened. They posted the starting line up for the first game and I was on it. It was all ninth graders, a couple eighth graders and me.
Parents went batshit. They were furious that some of their kids got passed over so a seventh grader could play. But Lou Latino had my back. He told the parents that I earned my position and their kids didn’t. It was that simple. Some parents grumbled that Lou was showing favoritism to a fellow goombah. “The dago’s got the other dago’s back.”
Lou didn’t give a shit. I was on the team.
Finally, it was time for the pep rally before the first game of the season. The bleachers in the gym were filled with excited, cheering students. One by one, every one of the ninth graders on the starting line-up was introduced and they were met with cheers and applause. Then the couple eighth graders who were on the team. They also got cheers and applause.
And then, finally, me.
Now, you have to understand, everyone at the school hated me. Hated me. I had spent my entire life tortured by these kids. So when I walked out onto the court for them to announce my name, I was prepared for boo’s and catcalls. Instead, something completely unexpected happened.
The seventh graders cheered and gave me a standing ovation, which then prompted the eighth graders to do the same, followed by the ninth graders. Pretty soon, everyone in the school was standing and cheering me. And I stared at them and thought, but they hate me . Why are they doing this ?
In retrospect, all these years later, I realize why.
It was because, for the first time, the seventh graders were being represented on the team and they loved it. It wasn’t so much about me, it was about what I meant for them. And when they went crazy, everyone else in the school followed suit. In a weird sort of way, they were cheering for themselves.
The upshot of this was that, for the first time, they stopped picking on me. Now, if this was a movie like Rudy , this would be the last scene and you would leave the theater with your heart leaping and your eyes filled with tears. In reality, I got kicked out of the first game because, after one of the opposing players cheap-shotted me, I took off my oversized helmet and started beating the shit out of him with it. So … not exactly the rousing climax of Rudy . But I’d done enough good things in the game up until that point that the coaches let me keep my starting position.
Four games into the season, another miracle happened.
It was almost halftime and we were way ahead. We were trying to put one more TD on the board before the half, and that’s when I shattered my femur
Similar Books
Behind the Yellow Tape: On the Road With Some of America's Hardest Working Crime Scene Investigators
Jarrett Hallcox, Amy Welch
