Any Given Sunday

I got into exactly one fistfight in high school, when I was a freshman. And then I didn't need to anymore.

On our school bus, the cool kids sat in the back. The losers sat in the front. The football team sat in the back; I sat in the front.

One day I got to the after-school bus late. All the seats up front were taken, but there was one on the border between cool-land and un-cool-land that wasn't taken. I scrambled into this seat, books spilling out of my backpack, out of breath, glasses askew, etc. I didn't realize that I had sat down next to one of the less friendly guys on the football team. I want to say that he was the quarterback, but I didn't care any more about the team then than I do now, so I really couldn't say.

Anyrate. Apparently, my presence offended this individual. He said, "You can't sit here, faggot," and shoved me to the ground. My glasses went one way. Books went the other. It had been a rainy day, so I landed ass-down in grimy, stale school bus water a half inch deep.

When I stood back up, the entire back of the bus was laughing, and the front of the bus had turned around to see what had happened. So everybody's eyes were on me when I punched the guy as hard as I could square in the nuts, and then when he doubled over in pain, I hit him again in the face. I may have been small, but I had been a swimmer my entire life, and I was made of whiplash and bone. I was fast. I was strong. But most of all, I was mean.

I ran off the bus sobbing. My parents had to come to pick me up from the principal's office, and they never made me ride the bus again. This event, therefore had several major consequences for my social life. First, I lost the kind of connection to the kids in my neighborhood that can only be cultivated by years of bus rides along the same daily routes. Second, I began to find every excuse I could to stay after school and thus have a plausible reason not to have to ride the bus -- band, debate, orchestra, French club, quiz bowl, etc. etc. etc. You could not find a bigger geek, or a less popular one. Third, I established the precedent in my high school that there were some nerds that you fucked with and some you left alone. Because there is nothing worse for your popularity than sporting a black eye at school and having to admit to everyone that some scrawny faggot gave it to you.

But most importantly. I have maintained a smoldering hatred of football for twenty years. I was thinking about this earlier today, when I realized that football was the only sport I've never come to terms with. I'd love to be able to say that I hated the brutality and inelegance of the game play. But my favorite part of hockey is the inevitable crazy melee out on the ice. I would love to say that it was the crass commercialization of professional football that I objected to, to which the Grecian ideal of noble manhood had been lost. But I was swept along with Red Sox mania just like everyone else when I was living in Boston during their first World Series victory.

But the truth is that my hatred is completely unreasonable. So I will thank you, please, if you let me ignore all the Superbowl hoopla in peace. I may not be as fast or as strong as I once was, but I am still mean. And, apparently, I am still mad.