THERE'S NO KWIT ON THIS TEAM #6

The upper grades were always an exhilarating place to be.  You were climbing the grammar school ladder and starting to feel your oats. You had an exaggerated sense of wisdom and entitlement upon entering the world of higher education that you had only heard about previously.

   In seventh grade only one thing stood in the way of scholarly dominance. Eighth graders.

    At St.William, this rivalry was made manifest by an annual end of the school year  softball game between the seventh and eighth graders.

    Held starting at recess, the student body was invited to watch the game which more often than not resulted in the bigger and stronger eighth grade squads victorious.

    I was never a member of any of the cliques that composed these teams. No matter what kind of baseball talent you might possess, this was one of life's first lessons in ,"It's not WHAT you know,it's WHO you know."

    I was ignored in the composition of the 7th grade team. I wasn't athletically built by any means and I wasn't in with the in crowd.

    In eighth grade, apparently having seen me hit on the playground, the leader of the eighth grade pack, the crew cut kid with the freckles, Bill W. issued me an invitation to join the 8th grade team. Wow this was an honor! I was suitably excited that I would be among the softball elite, my baseball talent on display for the entire school to see. I am sure I bragged to family and friends about my selection ....so you can imagine my disappointment when Bill ,speaking for his clique, told me earlier on game day, that I would not be playing. Charlie Brown,I know how you feel.

   I went home for lunch and when I returned for the game,I wore my gym shoes just as I had planned when I was included. I would tell anyone who asked about my footwear that I had a game after school,though I did not. I hoped to look like I belonged and harbored the hope they may have a change of heart and play me.  They didn't.

   Now it can be told, Bill W and company. You never got to know the after school me.  I was better than just about anyone on that eighth grade squad. I had my own neighborhood baseball team, was team captain,regularly hit fourth and played a more than adequate third base. I knew my way around the diamond but was deprived of the chance to show my stuff in the biggest game of the school year because I wasn't a part of that select group.

    I suppose the 8th grade won the day I was left off the team but at that point I didn't care one way or the other.