My sophomore year in high school I tried out for football. After the first practice, most of the boys said, “Who’s the fairy?” And I was like, “No, dudes, I’m one of you! I’m playing football!” Soon I learned from the coaches that my only duty was to bring down the water jugs before practice and bring them back up after practice. So I decided that maybe I was better suited to be a cheerleader.
That’s where it all went to poo.
I went to tryouts on a Friday (I remember that specifically because I had plans to go see a Miley Cyrus film after tryouts with some of my girlfriends). I got dressed up in my tightest tights (they were pink and fiery, like my personality). I got up in front of the judges and declared, “I’m Ben! And that’s all I’ve got to say on the matter!”
A shocked judging panel responded, “Okay…”
I then began my routine. It was a double backflip somersault (I had been practicing all summer). And at the end (the cherry on top, if you will) came the chef d’oeuvre: my split.
Unfortunately, it did not go entirely as planned. At the top of my double backflip (which was going swimmingly), I heard in the distance a faint bark from a dog. It made me think of my cat, Joey, who used to bark like a dog sometimes when he ate too much peanut butter. Next thing I know, I’m in a hospital bed at DHMC with my scrotum in a permanent cast.
The doctors say it may never heal.