Just Say No To Splinters!
This is a true throw back - from 1996 to be exact. This is a speech I wrote and delivered many times, including two pivotal moments. The first was to win a state championship for my high school Academic Decathlon team in Chicago. The second was to win the campus presidency at Michigan State. It a story of the young nerdy me still struggling to find a way. I hope you enjoy.
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“Just say no to splinters,” a wise man once told me. At first, I did not understand. I mean, splinters are irritating. Picking little annoying fragments of pointy wood out of my skin is not my idea of a good time. As I sat and thought about this, I knew there had to be more to this. Then it happened.
I was 12, a scrawny, ugly little kid with coke bottle glasses and teeth like Bugs Bunny. Somehow I managed to make the team, probably because only 9 people tried out. Then came the chore of finding a position to play. I was too blind to be an outfielder, too short to play first, too scared to pitch or catch, and too clumsy to play second or shortstop. So it was decided that I would play third base, where my strong arm could be of use. Of course, being a lefty playing third is like a green sky. It’s just not natural. This would cause me problems later.
My first game was against the Untouchables. Ironically, the only thing untouchable about this team is that they couldn’t touch home plate. They were so bad, they eventually were disbanded (but that’s a different story.) Anyhow, I went 0 for 4 in the game, striking out three times. I sucked up every ball like a human vacuum cleaner, but my throwing was terrible. I nearly broke two windows near the park. However, we won 14-0, so I was content. After all, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Skill took time to develop.
As the season progressed, my futility continued. My team had a division leading 17-3 record at the All-star break. In contrast, I led the league in the dubious categories of strikeouts and errors (25 and 20 respectively.) At this point, the coach decided to move me to center field, since he noticed that I could catch and had decent speed. It was soon after that the turning point of the season, and maybe my life occurred.
It was the first game after the all-star break, against the Untouchables. This slowly became my worst game ever. After two at-bats, I had struck out swinging twice, the second time flinging my too heavy aluminum bat into the dugout, nearly killing my coach. That was the last straw. He said, (actually more like screamed) that if I didn’t hit the ball soon, it world take me a year to take all the splinters out of my you knew what.
So I stepped to the plate. We were winning 10-3, but who cares. I was scared out of my mind, chattering my teeth and shaking like I saw Freddy Krueger on the mound preparing to throw knives at me. The count quickly went to 0 and 2.. The tension mounted. My father was at the game, and it took all his will power not to kill the guy next to him riding on me. The next pitch came and “Crack!” The ball went flying over the left fielder’s head rolling into the sewer. I was awarded a home run and had saved myself for another day. My bat had broken, the handle hitting my coach. But it didn’t matter. The rest of the season went well. I bought a wood bat my size (I hate aluminum.) I went on to hit 15 homers in the second half, only committing one error. The bench was fixed too (it was badly splintered.) I was elected an all-star and was heavily recruited.
I had finally learned what the wise man meant. The coach realized that even Steve Erkl lookalikes can come through once in a while. My dad learned that I had skills. And as for me. I just say no to splinters. Speaking of which, I wonder who the wise man in my dreams was. Was it God? My coach? My dead grandpa? Who cares! At least I would not be the next Porky the Porcupine.