Time to Throw in the Towel

A rare sports moment: myself heading for the end zone after a completed catch.

A rare sports moment: myself heading for the end zone after a completed catch.

It's that time, folks. It's finally come. For better or worse, I am here to admit — wait for it, this one's a real shocker — that I may not be the most adept athlete that has ever graced this earth. Now, I know what you're thinking: "Oh come on, he caught, like, nine passes during four seasons of varsity football, and surely he had at least a sub-.200 batting average in three seasons of varsity baseball... And didn't he *almost* win like four intramural volleyball playoff games during college?" 

Granted, I can take credit for those overwhelming athletic achievements, but we have to be honest with ourselves here: a ceiling's been reached, and there might only be enough room for a midget (little person?) under there. 

My waving of the white flag comes in the face of the relative athletic success my younger brothers have both been able to accrue in recent years. One, two years and two months my junior, has become an ace pitcher in his summer softball league, and the other, six years and two months younger than me, is now a three-sport athlete in high school, rushing for touchdowns like there's no tomorrow, hitting the occasional layup on the hardwood, and smacking those golf balls around like a force to be reckoned with. Both of them seem to have something I was not gifted with: critical reaction time — or bodily awareness perhaps. 

I recall once when the coaches decided to play me at third base in a home baseball game. This may have been my sophomore year of high school and I had limited playing time at that position, though that doesn't account for the mental hiccup I am about to describe. Let's say there were runners on first and second, and I was playing in in case of a bunt (that's a plausible enough scenario, right?). That bunt materialized and I was quick to field it, but then I stood there with my head on a swivel, looking back and forth between first and third, unable to decide where to throw the ball. With ample time to get either of the runners out, I opted to look like a complete idiot and do nothing. 

Now, you could say, "Well that was just once, and everybody makes mistakes." But when you have an indexed catalogue of mistakes like I do, it becomes a little harder to dismiss as an outlying occurrence. And I'm not saying all this so that you will have pity upon me; it's just nice to stare the truth in the face sometimes. 

So I only caught two touchdown passes in my whole high school football career; I never successfully stole a base or hit a home run in baseball; I've never carded lower than a 48 on nine holes; and my intramural volleyball track record could use a little polish...

...you know, I don't know where I was going with that. Sounds pretty pathetic to me. At least I can write (right?).