In seventh grade, I joined the field hockey team. Not willingly, mind you, but because Carlisle Upper School had this Stalin-like rule that every student must play at least one sport each year. This ensured that the sports teams would have enough people since our Upper School had a paltry 107 students. Sadly, I was a horrible field hockey player. I lacked the drive, the energy, and the brute, physical strength required of a girl with a plaid skirt and wooden stick. I hated running the two laps around the field hockey and soccer fields because I'd always be the last one at the finish line - I'd be all red, sweaty, and panting - not an attractive site - as all the cute soccer players watched.
Because I lacked the athletic prowess necessary to climb the field hockey ladder of success (aka a much coveted starting position), I was banished to the far corner of the field, where all unathletic losers were placed, as a fullback. The fullback's job is defensive - help the goalie keep the ball away from our side of the field. Usually, the fullback merely hits the ball back to the halfback, who carries the ball far, far away, and then, said fullback stands around and makes conversation about the weather with other defense players. Nevertheless, I was a benchwarmer for even a loser position such as this.
My field hockey coach, Betty Meade didn't really know what to do with me. I was nice, quiet, uncomplaining, and relatively unobtrusive, so she didn't have any reason to hate me. I was just a fundamentally bad field hockey player, and no amount of practice in the backyard was going to help a lost cause like me.
On top of this, I passionately hated away games because the schools we played were hours away; I was more academically inclined and liked to spend after school hours doing homework and being the best I could be in English and biology rather than wasting away in the glaring heat warming the bench at some crappy school in Chatham, Virginia. Also, away game bus rides gave upperclassmen an opportunity to harass us freshmen girls about who we were going to take the big Upper School Homecoming dance (sadly, for a Moslem like myself, the answer was no infidel would be quite appropriate as a date).
Once, we traveled three hours to get to Salem Academy for Girls, and when I got there Betty Meade told me she had "forgotten" to put my name on the field hockey roster. This meant I couldn't play for that game - convenient wouldn't you say? I have always been a conspiracy theorist and thought that this was just a passive aggressive way for Betty Meade to not play me. I spent that entire game fetching water for the team at time outs. That was fun.
I was finally put out of my misery my sophomore year when Betty Meade told me she wanted to talk to me. She told me that there wasn't enough room on the Varsity team anymore (I wasn't aware that the a crappy field hockey team was as selective as the Viper Room was in the early 90s), and she wanted to demote me to JV. Now, everyone knew that no self-respecting 10th grader would play on the JV team. I started to cry and fed Betty Meade some bullshit about how my parents made me study all the time and that was why I was a completely inadequate field hockey player. Coach felt sorry for me and referred me to the guidance counselor because she thought I was disturbed. Sure, I looked like a crazy, potentially self-destructive Asian kid on the verge of a breakdown, but hey, it got me off the field hockey team. I never played another sport at Carlisle despite our stupid rule. And that, dear blog reader, is why I am a badass.
--By Mariam, who only joined the field hockey team, really, so she could get her locker decorated at Homecoming by the cute soccer players.
5 comments:
Badass rating 10/10.
I was in 7th grade band and hated carrying my stupid clarinet around because I always forgot it everywhere. When I asked if I could leave my clarinet at home and use a school clarinet when I was at school the band teacher yelled at me and told me I was lazy which made me cry. So I quit band and took art instead.
whoa, Mariam in a mini-skirt, thats hot, wait, I mean thats haram.
That's a crappy rule. I'm fairly certain I would have pretty much died if my high school had made me play a sport.
hahahha, I loved that story! Hey, at least you didnt try out for JV softball with a glove that your brother had from 3rd grade. It barely covered my hand and my fingers were so much bigger that I couldnt bend my glove at all, making it impossible to do anything but hold the glove out like a weird, immovable extension of my hand. OH and I also wore really heavy sweatpants, so that when I had to run to catch the balls they threw at me, it was as if I had some muscular dystrophy problem and moved my legs at super slow speed. Needless to say, what with my gimp glove and lead heavy legs, I never did catch many balls or make the Phillips Middle School JV softball team. hahaha, their loss-I went on to become a champion clarinetist.
I played Tennis badly for two years in high school, but this dream boat Frank would teach you how to play in the first two weeks = totally worth it. One time the varsity coach filled in for our crappy JV coach and started yelling advice at my while I was playing Mullen High School = really stressful.
Also, Soccer players are haram.
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