7

Turkey of the month. That was me. It said so in the Coyote Times, our school newspaper. Angie LaPorte won Turkey of the Month. At least I had something to brag about. It’s a pretty big deal and I still have some left over embarrassment/pride. What’s the word for that? Empridassment. It’s what you have when you do something so stupid that it’s worthy of a column in a newspaper…hence the pride. It’s also something so stupid that the entire school has to take a time out for laughter. Not with me, but at me…hence the embarrassment.

I once read about the dumbest thieves possible. They drove their old truck to an ATM in the middle of the night, tied some chains to the machine and to their rear bumper. Then they stepped on the gas. After several attempts, something pulled loose and they took off. The next day the cops found a bumper chained to the ATM. The ATM hadn’t moved. But the bumper gave up the license plate, which made it very easy for the cops to catch the thieves. I’m pretty sure the cops laughed. There probably wasn’t much for the thieves to take pride in except for their regular appearance on national television. Empridassment.

I was shooting hoops at recess as usual. Me and a few friends were playing HORSE and I was kicking butt. I was on. I managed a perfect right-side layup. Swoosh. In your faces! Mr. Besta, the new English teacher and coach of varsity basketball, was watching. After Kathy bought her final “E,” the game was over and the bell rang out calling the cattle home. Mr. Besta pulled me aside and asked me if I played basketball often.

“Yah, I play at recess with my friends. I’ve even seen the Harlem Globetrotters.” Cool. Plus, Paul always played basketball at recess and I was in love with his butt. I played because he played. I’m very reward motivated.

“How’d you like to play for the varsity team this afternoon? We’re playing Vista and we lost a player. If you don’t come out, we can’t play. We’d have to forfeit to Vista.” Vista was the enemy. What person could say no? I was a sacrifice set on the alter of school pride. “Of course I will!”

Oh crap. I’ve played HORSE. I’ve seen the Harlem Globetrotters. Was there anything I was missing? Oh yeah…rules. I had no idea what the rules of basketball were. I chewed my nails, twirled my hair, tortured my pencil and squirmed through the next two classes. What if someone found out? How is basketball played?

I put on my short green shorts, the standard gym gear in the 70s. If I wore those shorts now, I’d be in the article in Cosmo called, “Seventies Retro: What Not To Do.” Hey, at least they weren’t Dolphin Shorts. Green shorts and my green and white Coyote shirt. I looked cool. I felt cool. I’ve never played on a team. I was always a me against them kind of athlete. Track and Field was my thing. That way I didn’t have to relate to people and wouldn’t come up short. They wouldn’t know the real me. Wow. This team thing was a pretty big commitment.

After a five minute coaching session from Mr. Besta, which included no walking, no staying in the key (what key?), no fouling and no screwing up, I was thrown into the battle. This time there were two baskets. One on each end. I didn’t know which one to try for, so I just stood there and got rid of the ball whenever it was passed to me. Don’t move. Just pass. My motto. That one didn’t catch on when the Nike people were coming up with slogans.

It was all going quite well I thought. The score was even and I didn’t screw up. Yet. But something was happening and I couldn’t stand there any more. I needed to help. Clearly, my teammates were a little stupid and needed some rescuing. Ang to the rescue. Gobble Gobble. The entire El Rancho team was down at one end of the court and they kept throwing the ball at the basket. But nobody was making it in. And what was really stupid was that the other team was there also. So there were a gazillion hands grabbing at the ball and once in awhile someone would throw it at the basket. How stupid. I mean, the other basket was completely empty. Why didn’t anyone try that one? It was my time to shine. I ran up the middle of the crowd and when the ball rebounded I caught it. I turned and ran toward the other side of the court. I was so fast that nobody was even behind me. I heard the crowd shouting, “Go Ang, go all the way!” Oh my gosh, I was a hero! Faster Ang! I pumped my short legs until they burned. The fans screamed in the background and I launched myself off the ground, arching up into a perfect layup and swoosh! Victory was sweet. I turned toward my team with my arms raised, fists pumping in the air. I yelled, they yelled.

No wait. They were laughing. Okay, that’s cool. They’re so happy they were laughing. I laughed. I ran up to my teammates and high-fived whoever I could. My first basket. Everyone was making such a big deal about it. Wow. I wished my parents were there. That was just a small flicker deep in my mind. I let it go. I enjoyed the moment. Why was the ref laughing?

Someone finally calmed me down enough to explain that I just made the winning shot for the other team. They weren’t yelling “go all the way,” they were yelling, “No Ang, you’re going the wrong way!” Thank God my parents weren’t there. Because the rest of the world was. 

After everyone finished laughing and the ref could get the whistle back in his mouth, he blew the blast that told the crowd that the game was over. My first game. Maybe my career. Over. The Vista players were really nice though. They lined up to thank me for winning their game.

Gobble Gobble.