Chocolate milk stains on the upper lip. Boogers of the sleeves of "Sponge Bob"
T-Shirts. "Toughskins" with grass stains on the knees. A puddle of tator tots and bile underneath a swing set. Children picking gravel out of their palms. And Darwin's theory of natural selection being played out for all to see. There is only one place where all of this can transpire: the elementary school playground during recess.
There is no venue, no activity that has done more to develop great leaders and athletes than the elementary school playground. Recess is the cradle of leadership in this fine country, and former winners of "Eraser Tag," "Heads Up
7-Up," "Four Square," and teatherball line the halls of Congress and the boardrooms of Fortune-500 companies. Long before MJ was dunking on Mel Turpin, he was hustling his fellow booger-eaters in a cut throat game of "500" at fabled Laney Elementary in Wilmington.
But it cuts both ways. For instance, it wasn't long after Nathan Sloan pegged me out in kickball in the 3rd grade that I developed my own chronic bed-wetting problem...a problem that went into brief remission only after I developed an uncontrollable masturbation problem in middle school. Sloan, meanwhile, has gone on to live a happy and prosperous life as the newly named Vice President of the WWE. And yet, I digress.
Last week, I was roped into visting an elementary school by one of my little leaguers. Obviously, I decided to hang out for lunch and recess. And what I saw made we want to avoid anyone who was planning on telling me how to get to Sesame Street.
After pounding down a training-table lunch of pizza burgers, wavy fries, peanut butter squares and chocolate milk, the kids were ready for some serious playground action. Undeterred by the grotesque 8-year-old boy who drank his milk after squeezing three ketchup packets and dropping six gummi bears into his carton, I was ready to play.
I was told that basketball was the game of choice as Mrs. Rhodes lined us up alphabetically. She blew her whistle and we were off. Roughly 78 kids ran a beeline to the basketball court to play a nice quiet game of 49-on-49. I was chosen first, and with that power comes responsibility: I had it in my mind that I'd always pass to the open man and be a consummate team player. All of that changed, though, when I got mugged like a Park Tudor freshman in Haughville.
I was gang tackled by 27 kids who smelled like mildewing Cheerios...and I was pissed.
In the survival-of-the-fittest world of 4th grade recess, I had the conch and I was ready to smash 77 "piggies" with my orange MacGregor rock. I swatted shots, I threw down thunder dunks, and I made kids cry. Lines like "call me when you get bicuspids" and "bigger in the bathroom...bigger on the court" and "my nametag should read, 'Hello My Name is Deez' Nuts in Yo' Mouth'" were just flying from my lips after each blocked shot and 360 slam. Even the gym-teacher was impressed; it was the first time he had taken his eyes off of "Training Bra" Ashley on the monkey bars since school began in August.
However, kids are smarter these days, and they quickly reverted to a box-and-40 zone and shut me down. The game was tied at 20 and Mrs. Rhodes had the whistle in her mouth. We needed a basket and we needed it quickly. Being the cagy veteran that I am, I yelled "poop!" at the top of my lungs. Their 40 on-the-ball defenders fell down with laughter. I drove to the seven-foot rack and threw it down Shaq-Fu-style. We win. Unfortunately, the ball hit one of the children on the soft spot of his skull and he was subsequently moved down two reading groups.
Despite the impending lawsuit, recess was a great experience. I can't help thinking that I have reversed the curse of Nathan Sloan on account of my virtuoso performance at Highland Park Elementary. I haven't wet the bed in four days, and I'm looking to buy a Dodge Stratus. Things are looking up indeed. |
