I Don’t Play Soccer


There was a dumb blonde in my grade. I can remember participating in a handful of debates about whether or not someone could really be that stupid, or if she was faking it for the attention. After all, they say that no press is bad press. Who cares if people are having debates about your lack of intelligence, as long as they’re talking about you? And she gave us plenty to talk about.

Having known this ever-gossiped about girl since elementary school, I’ve gotten to see and hear some pretty interesting things.

When we were in kindergarten she told me that her family had “at least $100. Maybe $200.” Her family lived in a seven bedroom, four bath, lake side mansion.

When we were in fourth grade she invited me to her birthday party and when I showed up, pink wrapped gift in hand, she asked what I was doing there. I had to show her the invitation with my name on it to prove my presence had been requested.

When we were freshmen, she caught the ball midplay, midgame during a volleyball tournament. Everyone in the gym was so taken aback that a full minute of silence passed, followed by a roar of laughter, which was so deafening that the ref – who finally found her way back from pure disbelief enough to blow her whistle – was outdone by the immense noise of the crowd.

When we were sophomores the soccer team was having a fundraiser by selling t-shirts. While in art class, she came up to my table, singled me out, and said, “You know what you need?” Slightly taken by surprise, I asked,


“A soccer shirt.”

Still a bit surprised I asked, “I don’t play soccer, why would I want a soccer shirt?”

Her reasoning was priceless. “You don’t play basketball, why would you want a basketball shirt?”

“I don’t want a basketball shirt.” I said.

There was momentary silence and then …

“Will you just buy one?”

Like a pushover, I agreed.

“Awesome! What color do you want?”

Choice is always fun. I asked, “What colors are there?”

Big inhale … long pause …


My art teacher later told me that that was the strangest sales pitch he had ever heard. A few weeks later, I was the proud owner of a black Bison soccer shirt. What made me think of the dumb blonde I haven’t seen in years? This morning I chose to slip on said shirt.


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