Tag Archives: football season

Bus

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Bus:(n) a large motor vehicle carrying passengers by road

I was a town kid.

Growing up, I always lived close enough to my school that I was expected to walk.

I would occasionally complain that I was at least a half a mile away, and maybe the school bus could pick me up. The administration thought it was neither valid nor particularly humorous.

So I never got to ride a school bus.

It was annoying. Other kids who came in “from the country” always got off the big, yellow magic machine with frowns, and I thought to myself, don’t they understand the beauty of the moment? They’re on a school bus. I’m walking or peddling my cheap Schwinn bike.

Then came football season.

Our first two games were held at the local field, so there was no travel. But the third game was scheduled away from our little burg, so required a school bus to take the team to the game.

Even though I was excited about playing the sport, what really thrilled me was that I would get to climb on a school bus and travel.

It was a road trip.

I couldn’t sit still in my seat. I kept trying to get everybody to sing songs. I even fought back some tears over the sanctity of the surroundings. I was so loud, so overbearing, so all-encompassing that the coach finally screamed, from the front of the bus, “Shut up! We’re just going to Mount Gilead!”

My fellow teammates laughed.

But I was hurt.

It is an evil thing to quell the enthusiasm of an expanding mind.

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Bale

Bale (n): a bundle of hayDictionary B

I think she liked me.

I know I liked her.

I don’t know how much I liked her. When you’re a teenager you’re so anxious to have romantic encounters that you’re willing to consider many obtuse options. It is amazing who looks good to you by Thursday afternoon at school when you really want to go out on a date for the weekend.

All summer long, I had been driving around town with this girl as we tried to conjure various adventures, while experimenting with conversation, learning how to communicate with someone of the opposite sex.

One day I told her I wanted to go out to a nearby farm and see my friend, Jack, who was working there baling hay. He chose this occupation in order to get in shape for the upcoming football season.

I knew she had a small crush on Jack, but I was not aware of the full extent of her hidden affections. When we arrived at the barn and Jack appeared in the doorway of the upper loft, shirtless, holding a pitchfork, with perspiration streaming down his pectorals, she lost it.

He looked like an image from a John Steinbeck novel, perfectly framed, with a sweaty, well-chiseled body. I peered down at my own well-nourished middle as she practically drooled, staring at the sight before her.

I thought to myself, this was not a good move, to come and see Jack.

We spent the rest of the day driving around, talking about how handsome Jack was and discussing how I should help her make connection with him.

I felt completely left out.

Rather than being the pursuer of budding romance, I was cast into the role of matchmaker.

I explained that I had planned to work on the farm this year, but discovered that I had hay fever.

She squinted, concern in her eyes, and said, “Hay fever?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Whenever I think about working in the hay fields, I break out into a sweat of great anxiety and fear.”

I thought it was particularly funny.

She didn’t even fathom my joke, but instead stared out the window … obviously conjuring images of a topless Jack. 

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