High school gymnasiums have an unmistakable scent and sound all their own. It's a world where polished wood, gym socks and overpowering teenage cologne mingle with buzzers, screaming fans and squeaking sneakers. Of all the sporting events I've been to in the 23 years I've lived in Benton County, Friday night marked the first time I'd ever set foot in Tiger Arena.
I used to love watching Larry Bird, Magic Johnson and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, but somewhere along the way, I lost interest in basketball. Watching Bentonville and Bentonville West play this weekend might have cured that affliction.
Sitting with friends, I watched and cheered and chatted away the evening. I can't recall having been in a high school gymnasium since, well, high school. Holly and Todd explained some of the traditions the kids displayed, like the humorous chants and jingling of keys. The room was filled with a familiar camaraderie and competition evocative of those coming-of-age years.
As the players ran to and fro, I noticed a volleyball mural painted at the end of the gym.
"That was my sport," I said to Holly, pointing to the mural. "I was highly mediocre."
"I was a cheerleader," Holly chuckled, "And I was highly mediocre, too."
"No cheerleading for me. I had the mouth, but not the moves. I did have one claim to fame, though," I said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You see, there was this girl on my team..." Cue the flashback sequence!
We were the Home of the Mules, which was a fitting mascot in more ways than one. There was a girl on my team -- I'll call her Stacey, because her name was Stacey -- who I'd be hard pressed to forget. Neither she nor I was a stellar athlete, but we were warm bodies on the court who gave others the opportunity to be stars. Our team was playing another school with Mules as their mascot. (I guess Lions or Tigers was just too highfalutin for us poor country folk.)
I was serving, and Stacey was in the left front position. As I bounced the ball in preparation to serve, I noticed a glimmer of light from the court. Right there in front of the net, Stacey had taken out a makeup compact from -- well, from where, I'm still not entirely sure -- and began to powder her nose.
I was gobsmacked. Fellow teammates also noticed, and their mouths gaped open. My higher self was trying to Heisman my lower self, but at 15 years old, my lower self was a powerhouse. I squinted my eyes, tossed the ball and delivered what can only be described as the perfect serve -- squarely into Stacey.
Coach benched the both of us -- me for the not-so friendly fire and Stacey because she seemed confused about her ZIP code. It was not a proud moment for either of us, but it did teach us a thing or three.
Stacey never powdered her nose on the court again. I never beaned her with the ball again. And Coach never put us both in at the same time again -- just to be sure.
NAN Our Town on 01/31/2019