found drama

I’ve morphed into the school yard bully cum born again chum.  After school, we convene on the athletic fields for a little intramural 3-on-3 rugby.  At least, we’re calling it rugby.  The game is more like a hybrid of rugby and soccer but yet is a far cry from football.  We get strapped into our masks (white plastic things that lower onto the face from above and velcro across the back of the head) and the referee (our math teacher?) explains the rules of the game before the tip-off.  I have retained the proprioception of my normal size and though my body is larger than my mates, it is definitely not the same as my perceptions.  Regardless, we tip-off and commence playing.  We’re running up and down the field, dishing out savage blocks to our opponents and tossing the ball on fierce advances down-field toward the goal posts.  I yell and shout at my mates: “Heads up!” and “I’m on your right!” and “Pass left!”  They respond to the shouting like this is a new concept, something no one has ever tried on the field before (talking to your team mates) and we’re the better for it, scoring the first goal.  As our opponents move the ball back up-field however, they make an errant pass that doesn’t quite go out of bounds but the ball definitely goes wide of any of us.  Once that ball hits the ground, the white leather sphere sprouts legs and eyes, morphing into a giant spider that tries to scurry away.  We dive after it and give chase.

About Rob Friesel