NOTORIOUS

When I was in high school

I wrote an editorial column

for the weekly newspaper

in the small town where I resided.

It was my only chance at fame

because I despised all scholastic activities.

I had no desire to shake pom poms

or turn cartwheels

or engage in acts of civic improvement.

I hated team sports most of all

because they seemed like

a thinly veiled excuse for violence,

and I couldn't fathom the irrational hatred

towards people from other places

simply because they didn't have

the misfortune of being born

in the same town that we were forced to live in.

Our football team was called the Warriors

and the mascot was a tough girl

who dressed up like an Indian

with a feathered headdress and moccasins

and then ran around the field

to the beat of pounding drums.

Even worse were the pep rallies in the gymnasium

which always occurred after school

when I wanted to go home badly.

Clusters of students huddled in the bleachers

screaming at the top of their collective lungs,

and the loudest group had the dubious privilege

of fondling a large corduroy tomahawk

that the principal would hurl into the stands

as a kind of reward.

The students tossed the tomahawk back and forth,

stopping briefly to grasp it with both hands,

as if it were a talisman and had life-giving powers

that were vaguely phallic in nature.

After the ritual of groping ended

the principal dispersed the students

with an impatient wave of his hand,

while barking final instructions like

“All right. Class ring pamphlets are in.

Boys get blue, girls get pink.

You are dismissed”

and then we stampeded for the exit like dazed cattle,

our feet pounding on the bleachers,

screaming loudly the instant the door was opened.

One afternoon, I thought it would be fun

to lampoon my fellow students' blood lust

with rows of sharply pointed words.

I wrote a column entitled

“A Cynic's Guide to Pep Rallies”

which was published a few days later.

The reaction amongst my fellow students

could hardly have been more negative

if I'd set the school on fire--

in fact, I'm sure they would have liked that better.

There was talk of picketing the newspaper office,

but this failed to transpire.

An emergency pep rally was called

to rev up the lagging school spirit

to which I was pointedly not invited.

One of the quarterbacks intoned solemnly

that if our school lost the game that night,

the blame would rest upon my shoulders.

I was a bit afraid that everyone

would show up at my door with

flaming torches and pitchforks,

but the only person who came over

was the head cheerleader

who asked me whether I believed in God.

This struck me as laughable,

but then she really flattened me when

she looked at me directly and said,

"I bet you just sit in a chair

and figure out what is wrong with everything.”

In retrospect, I think

I would have preferred the torches and pitchforks

because it would have been over much more quickly,

but forty years later, I'm probably even worse,

and there are still so many flaws in everything.