I've never been embarrassed in my entire fucking life. I'm pretty much good at everything I do. Always have been.
But,
I spent some time back in So Fla for a year of HS. During that year, I had two moments that made it abundantly clear to me that I was not cut out for Division 1 football.
1. As a sophomore, I got moved up to the varsity. Seemed like a good thing. In the red/grey game, a kid who would go on to the U as a special teamer and buried deep on the depth chart at linebacker (think tight end body) took a short kick on kickoff and ran up the sideline free. I had the angle and I was speedy so getting to him was no big deal for me. Mind you, he is tight roping the sideline. I get there full steam and he dips his head and shoulder and knocks me on my ass without breaking stride. I think I may have nudged him an inch to the left to make him step on the line. Or maybe he scored. I've chosen to forget. But let's say I took the brunt of a situation where it's normally the other way around. Probably concussed to boot.
2. The first actual game I was on the varsity, we went up to play Miami Columbus. David Shula was the QB, there were a bunch of other D1 players, including this kid named Alonzo Highsmith, who played full back and linebacker. I didn't get into that game. The embarrassing part was that I didn't want to. Alonzo, who is in that gif I like to post (I ain't scared of you bitch), was a fucking man, and trust me, you wouldn't have wanted to either. He scored a TD the next year as a true freshman against the 83 Huskers. And he was not afraid of the Boz.
3. Walking out of class on my way to the HUB, I was walking with a buddy and we were bitching about the Colorado game where Brunell throws a fade to Bailey on fourth down. We're inside the 10 as I recall and a td and PAT win it. But we threw to our great, but 5' 8" wide receiver. Anyway, I'm not Mark Brunell, so that's not the embarrassing moment. That came when my buddy and I are bitching about that play and eventually notice this guy walking next to us obviously listening to the convo. It was Brunell. He didn't say anything, didn't scowl or tell me to fuck off, just kinda kinda grinned and walked on ahead. Camaro would've probably said, "no shit. shitty call." But Brunell wasn't as mouthy I guess. Anyway, that was kinda embarrassing at the tim. Now I think it's just funny. Not an athletic moment; but we were talking about sports so it counts.
Trying to shoot the ball into the opponent's hoop in basketball multiple times before realizing what I was doing (kept getting my own rebound after each miss).
I showed up to the club to play a round and didn't bring my own caddy. I thought that they would provide them. They didn't, so I had to find a homeless guy out in the parking lot to loop for me.
(all of my sporting moments are from Adam Sandler movies)
I was never an athlete. Was always too small and uncoordinated and was often picked on by the football players so my story is more by association. It's really more of an odd story than being embarrassing. Anyways, A couple years ago, 5 of the really popular football players from our school pull up to my house at 2 in the morning, honk their horns and tell me to come outside. I thought they were going to beat me up but instead they made me get into my dad's toolshed, get out his pressure washer, and clean out the bed of their truck for like 2 hours. What's even weirder is there was an older guy with them that told me never to tell anyone about it or he'd sue me for defamation. Never figured out what any of that was all about.
Surprised @Tequilla hasn't posted yet about the time he had an off day and only put up 35 points in an IMA pickup game against Isaiah Thomas, Spencer Hawes, Jamal Crawford, and Bobby Jones. I heard his team almost lost that game. Embarrassing.
For me, it was probably the time when I was in the 6th grade playing Pee Wee football for the Fremont boys club team, and my mom was mad at me so she washed my white football pants with some clothes with a lot of red colors and the pants turned pink. This was back in the mid 70s when guys could get beat up for wearing pink.
Ankles broken multiple times as I tried to defend players of @Tequilla prowess. Really happy no one was recording.
Once boxed out my guy on the free throw, easily pulled down rebound and shot on the opponents hoop. Missed the open, uncontested, wrong hoop. Never felt so relieved.
Buddy once relayed a story of playing high school baseball. Had been sick all week, and was given a prescription, and was feeling better, and decided to play. One of the side effects was diarrhea which decided to hit him while playing right field. Try as he might to hold it, the inning lasted longer than desired and he shit his pants, green apple splatters. At the end of the inning he ran to the bathroom and fortunately most of the shit was contained to his spandex under his uniform, threw them away, washed up and returned to the game. Spandex kept the shit inside, but didn't stop from staining his pants. As he got up to bat, his dad, loud so everyone could hear, "Hey Dave, you shit your pants?" Everyone else was being nice, but dad wasn't going to let this one pass.
When I was 4 years old my mom dropped my older brother and I off at the YMCA for our first ever karate class.
I could not for the life of me figure out how to tie the inner strings of the gi together and was too embarrassed to ask for help, so I sat outside the classroom sobbing the entire hour into my folded white belt.
When my mother picked us up and found out what happened she spanked the shit out of my brother for not looking out for me.
My brother then used the skills acquired from his first day karate lesson on me the rest of my life.
Many years ago, I had a “Judge Smails” moment golfing with a couple of friends. It was hot (Eastern WA hot), and the course was nearly empty.
I had a Ping Anser putter at the time, because it was cool to scoop you ball up rather than bending down to get it after the gimme. We had just made the turn, and there were several carry-overs riding. I have a baseball background, and had developed a nasty habit of flipping the ball up, and taking a swing at it after missing a “big” putt...usually hitting it on the shaft (if at all). Not this day.
Well, I missed a putt, got pissed, flipped the ball up, swung and squared it up on the sweet spot...coming in hot, headed directly towards a pond next to the previous green. First thought was “Fuck, I just threw that ball away”...immediately followed by “Oh shit, there are people there!”
I didn’t lose my ball, because it smoked a 14 year old girl (no pics) in the forehead. She was walking with her 16 year old brother (no pics), who was playing. After profusely apologizing, they joined our little game...her bro took all our money, and I bought them lunch...CSB
I played little league baseball for the Bellevue Cardinals. I made the All Star team as a third baseman. This was the year after Kirkland National won the World Series.
We opened up play against a team from Rainier Valley. They scored 12 runs in the top of the first. Looked like it was going to be a long day. But then we scored 13 runs in the bottom of the first. Neither team scored again and we won 13-12.
So that set us up against Kirkland National. While we were Bellevue, we felt ghetto compared to Kirkland National. Our uniforms were a bit ratty, while theirs were gleaming and bright. Their crowd was bigger and louder than ours. I just remember looking at their big giant banner that said WORLD CHAMPIONS and thinking oh fuck. They ended up beating us 34-2.
Baseball practice in High School. I was out in CF and the batter hit a bomb out to straight away center. I started running back for it, but didn't realize just how deep I had been playing to begin with. Ran face first into the hard plastic covering on the top of the fence, and knocked myself out. As I was running back I remember thinking "Shit, I must be getting pretty close to the fence by n...*smack*".
I only pitched twice in formal games. I had been nagging my coach to let me get out on the mound. His name was Bobby and he was white but had a giant afro that was a bit too 1970s given that it was 1983 or 84. I remember we jokingly called him "High School Drop-Out" for reasons I don't remember.
Anyway, I kept nagging and he finally brought me in to pitch. I came in and struck out the side 1-2-3. I come back to the dugout and Coach Bobby was pounding me on the back all excited. I asked "can I keep pitching?" He said "damn right you can keep pitching!"
The caveat to that episode was that I had faced the 7-8-9 hitters and two of them were girls.
So I go back out there to face the top of the order. I surrendered two doubles and two triples and he yanked me out of there. I never pitched in a formal setting again.
In fact the next year I was playing for a chain-smoking motorcycle riding manager named Lon. He was a gruff individual. I asked if I could pitch and he said no because he heard about what happened to me the previous year.
Hit one of the tee with a driver. Ball went sideways and into the hole on the green of the previous hole I just played.
When we were kids, my late sister and I played Golfgreen Golf Center in Longview. @WhiskeyDawg
I was 15 and she was 11.
It was a par 3 course with most of the holes being 110-150 yards. But hole #8 was 25 yards. She stepped up with a putter and smacked a hole in one. I was so flustered that I got a 5 or 6.
Many years ago, I had a “Judge Smails” moment golfing with a couple of friends. It was hot (Eastern WA hot), and the course was nearly empty.
I had a Ping Anser putter at the time, because it was cool to scoop you ball up rather than bending down to get it after the gimme. We had just made the turn, and there were several carry-overs riding. I have a baseball background, and had developed a nasty habit of flipping the ball up, and taking a swing at it after missing a “big” putt...usually hitting it on the shaft (if at all). Not this day.
Well, I missed a putt, got pissed, flipped the ball up, swung and squared it up on the sweet spot...coming in hot, headed directly towards a pond next to the previous green. First thought was “Fuck, I just threw that ball away”...immediately followed by “Oh shit, there are people there!”
I didn’t lose my ball, because it smoked a 14 year old girl (no pics) in the forehead. She was walking with her 16 year old brother (no pics), who was playing. After profusely apologizing, they joined our little game...her bro took all our money, and I bought them lunch...CSB
Could you have played D-1 baseball? Axin' for a fren.
Comments
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elysian_Fields,_Hoboken,_New_Jersey
(all of my sporting moments are from Adam Sandler movies)
Got lucky to only get a bone bruise there
Even the coaches were laughing at me.
It sucked.
Once boxed out my guy on the free throw, easily pulled down rebound and shot on the opponents hoop. Missed the open, uncontested, wrong hoop. Never felt so relieved.
Buddy once relayed a story of playing high school baseball. Had been sick all week, and was given a prescription, and was feeling better, and decided to play. One of the side effects was diarrhea which decided to hit him while playing right field. Try as he might to hold it, the inning lasted longer than desired and he shit his pants, green apple splatters. At the end of the inning he ran to the bathroom and fortunately most of the shit was contained to his spandex under his uniform, threw them away, washed up and returned to the game. Spandex kept the shit inside, but didn't stop from staining his pants. As he got up to bat, his dad, loud so everyone could hear, "Hey Dave, you shit your pants?" Everyone else was being nice, but dad wasn't going to let this one pass.
I could not for the life of me figure out how to tie the inner strings of the gi together and was too embarrassed to ask for help, so I sat outside the classroom sobbing the entire hour into my folded white belt.
When my mother picked us up and found out what happened she spanked the shit out of my brother for not looking out for me.
My brother then used the skills acquired from his first day karate lesson on me the rest of my life.
I had a Ping Anser putter at the time, because it was cool to scoop you ball up rather than bending down to get it after the gimme. We had just made the turn, and there were several carry-overs riding. I have a baseball background, and had developed a nasty habit of flipping the ball up, and taking a swing at it after missing a “big” putt...usually hitting it on the shaft (if at all). Not this day.
Well, I missed a putt, got pissed, flipped the ball up, swung and squared it up on the sweet spot...coming in hot, headed directly towards a pond next to the previous green. First thought was “Fuck, I just threw that ball away”...immediately followed by “Oh shit, there are people there!”
I didn’t lose my ball, because it smoked a 14 year old girl (no pics) in the forehead. She was walking with her 16 year old brother (no pics), who was playing. After profusely apologizing, they joined our little game...her bro took all our money, and I bought them lunch...CSB
We opened up play against a team from Rainier Valley. They scored 12 runs in the top of the first. Looked like it was going to be a long day. But then we scored 13 runs in the bottom of the first. Neither team scored again and we won 13-12.
So that set us up against Kirkland National. While we were Bellevue, we felt ghetto compared to Kirkland National. Our uniforms were a bit ratty, while theirs were gleaming and bright. Their crowd was bigger and louder than ours. I just remember looking at their big giant banner that said WORLD CHAMPIONS and thinking oh fuck. They ended up beating us 34-2.
As I was running back I remember thinking "Shit, I must be getting pretty close to the fence by n...*smack*".
I only pitched twice in formal games. I had been nagging my coach to let me get out on the mound. His name was Bobby and he was white but had a giant afro that was a bit too 1970s given that it was 1983 or 84. I remember we jokingly called him "High School Drop-Out" for reasons I don't remember.
Anyway, I kept nagging and he finally brought me in to pitch. I came in and struck out the side 1-2-3. I come back to the dugout and Coach Bobby was pounding me on the back all excited. I asked "can I keep pitching?" He said "damn right you can keep pitching!"
The caveat to that episode was that I had faced the 7-8-9 hitters and two of them were girls.
So I go back out there to face the top of the order. I surrendered two doubles and two triples and he yanked me out of there. I never pitched in a formal setting again.
In fact the next year I was playing for a chain-smoking motorcycle riding manager named Lon. He was a gruff individual. I asked if I could pitch and he said no because he heard about what happened to me the previous year.
I was 15 and she was 11.
It was a par 3 course with most of the holes being 110-150 yards. But hole #8 was 25 yards. She stepped up with a putter and smacked a hole in one. I was so flustered that I got a 5 or 6.