Smoke Break

“I had a friend was a big baseball player back in high school, he could throw that speed ball by you…” You know the rest. That’s also the only time I want to hear anyone talk about the prolific high school athletic career of anyone.

Yet whenever you run into someone from high school that you played organized sports with, the conversation creepily lurches back to the athletic prowess of your contemporaries on your high school athletic teams.

It’s rehearsed, rehashed and I almost always regurgitate when the conversation comes up. Living in the past is for cowards and losers. This wise quote from a man who has done nothing but financially live off his past more than Michael Jackson.

Between bites, Tony Soprano even said “remember when is the lowest form of conversation,” but it’s a form of conversation that most are comfortable with.

So when you run into any of these people you’re left to make small talk about what was and what could have been. “If we didn’t botch that snap and the quarterback didn’t fumble five times, we would have played for the state title that year.” Yes we would have. Oh balls said the queen, if I had two I'd be king (that's an old Uncle Frank line).

Then you’re forced to deal with the high school revisionists. I believe their ethnicity is one part Mel Kiper Jr., one part Ken Burns, two parts jackass. The talent scouts/historians always sing the praises of one person who in their mind could have played Division One football. Never mind the linebacker was 5’9, slower than Dick Vitale’s mental math skills and didn’t fit into any one position. (The linebacker can be read every Wednesday on CTT).

There’s no denying that playing sports in high school lays the groundwork for many outstanding friendships that still endure years after graduation. Many of the basic lessons of treating people with respect and conducting yourself as a human being are crafted on how well you perform under duress and how you cope with failure. There is no discredit to playing sports in high school, but there’s a certain nastiness that accompanies sharing tales of gridiron glory.

So, in my enduring crusade to make the world a better place (have you received my petition to make Jim Belushi the ambassador to Pakistan?) there are certain steps one can take to rid themselves of the annoyance that these historians bring us:

1. Make up a story: If you’re just in the second quarter of a Gulliver Travel-sized tale regarding the second game of your senior season, make up something to confuse the storyteller. When he comes at you with “Remember when Thomas hit two threes coming off screen-and-rolls to give us a seven point lead?” Rebut with, “Yea, it was right after Sister Alex decided to flash the scorekeeper!” It should scare the Dickens out of him and shut him up.
2. Produce amnesia: Ask your buddy for some background information on every name he mentions. “What did Brekston do?” “How was Timmons the running back? I thought he was in prison?” “Wasn’t Jennings the wide receiver who knocked up his girlfriend before he left for Iraq?” Your friend will be so perplexed he will lose interest in telling his story.
3. Fake a bladder control problem: The storyteller should understand. It’s a going problem, not a growing problem.
4. Walk away: Just like that…