A Story For Kate

It's not that I'm no good at tetherball, I just don't like the damn game. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh it goes. Who the hell wants to stop an old, grey, rubber ball - one that hasn't been played with in a generation - from wrapping itself around that wobbly little pole weakly cemented just under the unsymmetrical, oblong patch of woodchips that, motivated by Nancy Reagan's "Just Say No" campaign, were once placed there in a loving circle? Not me.

But sometimes you've got to do things that you aren't very keen to do in order to protect what's important to you. And that mischievous little shit was beating the hell out of me. It's not like it mattered much. There were no pretty women standing around watching me. There were no old friends nearby to rag on me like I was drinking Miller Lite. I just didn't want to lose to a ten year old. Is that wrong?

Okay, so I'll admit that I'm competitive. Maybe a little too competitive. Normally I wouldn't have a problem taking it easy on a child in a game of tetherball, or any other game for that matter. But when this "sweet little angel", who just happened to be named Damien, growled at me (growled at me!) in response to my earlier gesture of tetherball mercy I couldn't take it. I decided to let him hang around and hit the ball a bit before I turned it on and showed him who was boss. Some may think this plan is like a cat toying with its prey before it pounces for good. I chose to think of it as an example of my generous humanitarian spirit. But I ran into a snag you see. Damien was really, really good.

We started out batting the thing back and forth, back and forth, like good competitors. Honestly, I became bored with the proceedings: a volley of back and forth exchanges with neither player making any headway. So, in the interest of staying awake I "missed" and let one fly by. This provided a moment, a very brief moment, for me to understand that the was gaining speed very rapidly and becoming difficult to track. The next thing I remember is hearing a smack and seeing a giant purple dot hovering in the foreground of my field of vision. Then I heard the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of an old, grey, rubber ball wrapping itself around a wobbly little pole.

I realized that my nose was numb and I had water in my eyes before I felt the surge of pure contempt, wearing a back stage pass and advancing undetected under the pseudonym Testosterone Laced Adrenaline, racing through my veins. At the last possible second I reached up and stopped the ball from wrapping itself completely around the pole and started it on its long journey back to the other side. It's a good thing that there was a cord attched to the ball because I don't think Damien had the gumption to make it all the way to Sante Fe (which is surely where it would have finally ended up) to retrieve his stupid ball. I roared maniacally as the circles became smaller and faster until the game had ended. I grabbed the pole in my left hand and proved my dominance by ripping it from the ground. Proudly displaying my trophy above my head I bellowed to the heavens, "I am Steve, Lord of the Tether!"

It was actually a beautiful day, even with the purple dot obstructing my view of the bountiful apple orchards and peaceful magnolia trees. Damien (who's actual name is not Damien) was giggling at me for standing in place, swaying dizzily, as the tetherball wrapped itself close enough to signal his victory and my defeat. I smiled broadly at his shaggy, brown-haired head. He was a cute little guy, that's for sure. And he didn't have a malicious bone in his body. Holding his hands out, palms up and  shoulders shrugged he looked up at me and asked me to play again. I said, "Sure, I'd love to."