Honey, You’re Already in My End Zone

In high school, I was small for a defensive lineman–even in those pre-steroid times.

To compensate, I tried to explode across the line of scrimmage and stay really low. So low that the opposing offensive lineman couldn’t block me.

(The amazing thing about this is not that it worked so often. It’s that I did anything quickly. I’ve spent my life recovering—in slow motion—from those bursts of speed.)

Eventually, my teammates started calling me “The Mole.”

Now, as high school nicknames go–that’s not bad. I could’ve been The Leach. Or The Slug. Or even The Festering Boil.

But probably not The Stud.

↓ Transcript
SCENE: Male football player is talking to a woman.

FOOTBALL PLAYER: Really? There’s a way to score…without a football?

1 Comment

  1. John: I’m sure if you ask her nicely, your wife will call you that. After she stops laughing. (Just kidding.) Seriously, not being part of any “in” crowds in high school myself, I never had any nicknames. Or at least none I ever want to hear again.



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