Extra Test Tickles

Every year around this time in cities around the United States, high schools are preparing their young men for Friday Night Football. Before a single snap takes place or pass patterns are learned, there must take place try outs (aka HELL WEEK). Hell week is up to two weeks of very extreme physical conditioning.  It was usually held on the worst field with more dirt than grass and you were given enough bear crawls and water to make you throw up. The coaches are watching to see who they can count on in the last two minutes of the fourth quarter.

My freshman year of high school my father informed me that I would be attending tryouts. My limit of knowledge about sports included the names of the teams and which sport they represented. Who was I to argue with a man who knew every player’s stats better than his own family’s birth dates? Hell week quickly approached and as is typical of my family, they were late in getting the one thing I needed most, the jock strap, also known as jock, supporter or athletic supporter.  In case you aren’t familiar with this contraption, let me attempt to explain.

A jockstrap consists of a waistband (usually elastic) with a support pouch for the genitalia and two more elastic straps affixed to the base of the pouch extending to the left and right sides of the waistband at the hip. Ideally it should be sized like a woman’s bra with different strap and cup sizes but they are sized by waistband and as the waist sizes go down, so does the pouch size. Now dear ol’ mom either forgot my waist size or confused me with my little brother but she bought one that was two sizes too small. I waited until just before the first practice to try it on. Why? WTFK. I knew immediately that I was in trouble when the jock slipped on my nuts and used the express lane to my brain. “Injury is occurring! Cease and desist! NOW!!!” The jock was two sizes too small (I’m not trying to boast but come on), this couldn’t be good for anyone but I had no choice. I felt like every nerve, muscle and tendon was connected to my balls whenever I made any attempt to bend over but I had no choice but to press on and dress for tryouts. I could just barely make the slow jog that was required of us out to the field where the coaches stood. Who knew you could pass out from pain and still function as if nothing was going on? 

In my pain-induced stupor, I was able to make it through the first ten minutes of try-outs but when the coach started lining us up, five men across and ten deep, to complete our drills, I knew I had to tell the coach what was going on. Two guys ahead of me left, sweat is pouring out of every pore. One guy left and my voice is becoming more soprano, Michael Jackson style. Now it’s my turn. “Coach…I…uh…its too…well”, I could no longer voice my concern so I pulled down my gym shorts to show him what was going on. “Oh my God!” he screamed and immediately called in the medics. “Please…cut it…off (the jock strap) Thank…you…coach.”

Let’s face it, there aren’t exactly MIT graduates lining up for jobs at landscape companies. Most of the time they’re lucky if the potential employee has a valid state driver’s license and will show up every day.

My List of People who are applying for jobs in the Landscape Industry.

1.       Gangbangers

2.       Ex-gangbangers

3.       Felons

4.       Ex-felons

5.       Ex-felons on probation

6.       Burnouts

7.       Tweekers

8.       Ex-tweekers

9.       Ex-tweekers just out of rehab

10.   College drop-outs

11.   High-school drop-outs

12.   Poor white guys

13.   Short guys

14.   Poor short white guys

15.   Poor, short white guys who dropped out of college to join a gang, robbed a Circle K, then were sent to and released from jail, quit the gang then got arrested for peeing on a police cruiser while high on meth, then released on probation and sent to rehab.   

"Have you noticed that whatever sport you're trying to learn, some earnest person is always telling you to keep your knees bent?" Dave Barry

I've been lucky enough that in the time I've been washed ashore on the beaches of the landscape industry, a castaway on an island of both the savage and the savagely ridiculous, I've worked with some real top notch guys. I've also worked with some real mensos. We are half-way through the scorching heat, the second half is always the worst. Hold Fast! The Serial Landscaper.