The older boy got himself into some low-wattage trouble at school earlier in the week, for “talking in class.” Since I’m his father I had to treat this as a serious offense, but come on. Talking in class? That’s the middle school equivalent of driving too slow, isn’t it?
After we spoke to him about it, I told Toney about a few of my talking in class episodes, one of which featured a gym teacher. From there I took a sharp turn and started telling ONLY gym teacher-related tales. And Toney occasionally said “uh huh,” to try to fool me into believing she was listening.
But since there were so many to choose from, a freakin’ category unto itself, I thought I’d take the liberty of turning it all into an update. A day with nothing but gym teacher-related stories…
You can type “uh huh” in the comments, if you’re so inclined.
When I was in Junior High I got into a fight during gym class, over a game called Four Square. It was my turn to move to the “serving square,” but this little prick named Jon, an ongoing pain in my hams, tried to jump ahead of me.
After a few words were exchanged, and he tried to shove me out of the way, I punched him in the face. Hard. I’d never hit someone with such enthusiasm, and it made a loud SMACK! sound, like on TV. The kid’s eyes went all wonky, he stumbled around like a drunkard for a while, and wasn’t able to mount a response.
Yeah, I guess it wasn’t much of a fight – just one punch – but I liked the way it had turned out. I liked it real well. Unfortunately, the episode wasn’t over…
Coach D, who wasn’t far away, swooped in and grabbed me by the arm. He was really angry, and shoved me outside, being extra-rough and mean about the whole thing.
I told him what had happened, but he didn’t seem to care too much about the details. In fact, he never even talked to Jon about it, and Jon was the one who’d caused it. In my mind, anyway. The coach told me to go to the locker room for the rest of the period, but not to get dressed.
When all the other boys came pouring back in, he gathered them ’round. He built an audience. Then he had me bend over the back of a chair, and smacked my ass three times with a large paddle.
And the crowd loved it! Especially the black guys, for some reason. There was much hooting, as well as some hollering. Paddling days were always extremely popular, and I liked them too. Under different circumstances…
Yeah, and it hurt. I was wearing gym shorts and underwear, which didn’t provide much of a barrier. So my cheeks were abuzz for the rest of the day.
But I didn’t care. I’d been hankering to punch that kid for weeks; it was way past due. The satisfaction of finally ringing his bell, far outweighed the humiliation of being the star of Coach D’s l’il homoerotic circus.
And I never had another ounce of trouble out of Jon, after that. It’s funny how that works, isn’t it?
Bill got the paddle during the same year, I think, from the same “teacher.” Some kid was using a urinal, and Bill shoved him down, for sport. This caused instantaneous wiener-retraction, and the poor sumbitch peed straight down his right leg.
I lent moral support by not cheering during the paddling session. It was about all I could do.
When I was in high school I had a gym teacher called Coach K, for an actual class. Probably social studies, or somesuch. I sat in the back row, near my friend Tim, and one day we were irritating everyone by talking in class.
The coach warned us to knock it off several times, but I kept it up. I was on a roll… He started to tell a story about his brother, who was a well-known local businessman named Roy, and I said real loud, “Who, Roy??”
For some reason this caused Coach K to snap, and he charged at me. He was all the way in the front of the class, and was moving desks out of the way as he traveled, many of which contained students.
Veins were appearing and disappearing on his purpled-up face and neck; the dude was completely livid. I seriously thought he was going to pull me out of my chair, and start working me over. In fact, that was probably his original intention. But he came to his senses, and only screamed for a long time.
And this episode caused the words “Who, Roy??” to turn into a minor catchphrase at our school. Other kids would yell it at me, in the hallways. And a guy named Richard had the balls to actually holler it during an assembly one day, while Coach K was speaking.
Good times.
A year after the Who Roy? incident, I had a class called Singles Survival. It was supposed to prepare us for living on our own. We were taught how to iron a shirt, sew on a button, cook a few dishes, and scrub the bacon strips out of our shorts. It was basically home ec for guys…
One day our four-man group made a cherry pie, and we put it in the oven before the bell rang. It was supposed to cook for a certain amount of time, and the teacher said I’d have to make arrangements to get out of my next class for a few minutes, to remove the pie from the oven. We had to do everything on our own, she insisted, we would receive no help.
My next class? Coach K again! Gulp.
The man couldn’t stand me, and didn’t even bother to hide it. I was (am?) a non-athletic smartass, which is like kryptonite to coaches and gym teachers everywhere. And now I had to go to him and ask if I could leave his class early…. to take a pie out of the oven. Yeah, this wasn’t going to help my cause at all.
And he let me do it, but had a look of utter disgust on his face during the whole conversation. It felt like I’d been caught sashaying about in a matching bra and panty set, or something. Flop sweat poured down my back.
And Tim was out in the hall during all this, buckled over in laughter. Yes, it’s important to have a strong support network…
Also in high school we were piled in the “little theater” for some sort of assembly, and Coach Y told me and Bill to stop talking a few times. And each of his little visits got angrier and angrier.
My internal sensor finally told me I’d better knock it off, but Bill continued generating noise. And out of the corner of my eye I noticed something large moving in our direction. I turned to look, and saw Coach Y approaching with his right arm reared all the way back to Chillicothe, Ohio.
And he punched Bill in the middle of the back! Nothing playful, nothing subtle. He slugged him, like in a bar fight.
I couldn’t believe it. Even in 1980 that shit was waaaaay out of line. The blow knocked Bill from his seat, but he immediately rebounded and shouted, “You and me, old man! Outside, now!!”
The floor of my ass nearly fell out. Teachers hitting students… Bill challenging the head football coach to a fight… and calling him an old man?! All of it was beyond comprehension.
I think Bill’s dad had a few things to say to Coach Y about it. In fact, I know he did. Nowadays a teacher would be fired and/or arrested for such a thing, but back then… they just got yelled at by angry parents, and that was that.
When I was a senior I worked on the school newspaper, and was sent to interview Coach Y about something or other. I made an appointment with him, and when I arrived he told me he didn’t have much time, and said we’d have to talk while he took a dump.
And I’m not joking. He told me to follow him into the bathroom area of the locker room, went into one of the doorless stalls, and, you know, had a seat. All I could see (luckily) was his knees sticking out from behind a cinderblock wall, but the interview was interesting.
“Yes, Coach… How well do you think the team will do during the upcoming season?”
“Well, we’re young, but we’re scrappy. I don’t think — ungggh bloop! — we’re going to be state champions or anything — zzzzzzp pop pop bloop! — but I have a feeling we might surprise a few people.”
This happened, I’m convinced, because I was the aforementioned gym teacher kryptonite. If I’d been a jock of some type, I can almost guarantee he wouldn’t have made me do the interview while he expelled last night’s pot roast.
Yes, he and Coach K undoubtedly had a big laugh about it, later in the day. And if I’d been Veronica Mars, or whatever, I would’ve gotten both of them back in some elaborate manner. But, alas, I’m Jeff Kay, and can only write about it on the internet.
And I have at least five more stories I was going to include, but I think that’s enough. I’ve already covered the best ones.
So, now it’s your turn. Do you have any good gym teacher-related tales to tell? Use the comments link below.
And I’ll see you guys next time.
First?
Good Afternoon Surf Reporters!!!!
Great update JK!!
Have a great weekend everyone!!!
Damn – I started reading instead of posting
3rd!!
uh huh
One good story – when I was a senior in high school, and therefore safely out of the way of havingn to take a gym class (sweet relief) ,one of my former teachers approached me and asked how I got so slim, because, in her words “I thought you were always going to be a pudgy thing.”
Whe I told her ‘marching band’ her response was ‘oh no way – that’s not a workout.’
Oh really? Then YOU go ankle-to-knee for and hour a day while playing an instrument, or, if she was me, be a hand-waving poofter.
Should have just told her I’d taken up the ancient art of gang-bangery; I have a feeling she’d have believed that one way easier.
Top Ten again!!
Top Ten
Jeff,
I almost fell out of my chair.. he pulled the old L.B.J on you
At one jr. high, there was a coach who had played some pro football and he was always on the swingin’ end of the paddle…the kind with the holes drilled in it. We moved and I had a coach for homeroom at the next JHS. Saw him humm an eraser across the room at a talker once ….PAFF!!…giant cloud of chalk dust and one very stunned pizza-face. Outstanding!!
Got paddled by the gym teacher in 9th grade. He was ‘teaching’ some class or other and left the room. Some guys started playing ‘Zorro’ with highlighter pens, and once I had the ‘mark of Zorro’ on me, it was my duty to join in.
Coach came back and rounded up everyone marked with highlighter and marched us outside. Took us down to the gym and had the gym teacher ‘witness’ while he gave us each a swat. Not too bad.
Got a swat as a sophomore, but that was a shop teacher.
Here is my favorite story from middle school gym class.
http://bigringcircus.blogspot.com/search?q=mediocrity
…….and we’re back.
I, too, received the business end of a wooden paddle after gym one day. The gynasium in my school could be seperated in half by a floor to almost ceiling partition that operated on hydraulics and hinges and whatnot. During class, that retractable wall was used to cut the room into two, girls on one side, boys on the other.
Well one day, I just couldn’t resist the urge(s) of peeking through one of the sections separations to check out the girls in the oh so short shorts on the other side.
I was warned to stop and get back to the task at hand ( i think it was volleyball). That lasted about 2 minutes then I was back to the wall. leering and lusting. I was warned the second time and I retreated. In all fairness I was warned that I better not be caught doing it again.
Yeah, you know it, third time was a charm. I didn’t even hear him coming up behind me when suddenly my right ear was caught in what felt like vise grips. Teacher twisted and turned my ear around. Naturally the rest of me followed. He hauled me off the court by my ear and sent me into the locker room, practically throwing me across the benches.
I was commanded to stay there, he would see to me after class. And much like JK our humble host, I was lined up in front of the guys, told to assume the position and given one solid one across the backs of the thighs. I didn’t see it of course, but I’m guessing he used both hands across the grip and used a John Daly backswing to load up the swing.
And I agree with Jeff, that was just normal operating procedure back in the early 80’s. Nowadays, assault charges would be pressed, police would be involved, etc.etc.
Sometimes I think that’s what is wrong with schools/kids today. A little ass whipping and corporal punishment goes a long way. I never tried to check out the girls again.
Hahahhaaa poop.
I hated all of my gym teachers, they were all bullies.
Like Mr. Woodcock.
Shudder.
Most excellent stories.
Gym? Nope. Stopped taking that in 6th grade, thanksverymuch. Band relieved my of my PE requirement.
And we were a corps step band, so it was relatively non-aerobic.
The only reason I wanted to take gym was for swimming. I was an all-city swimmer and I’m pretty sure I would have had a “Jon” or two in my class.
I’d probably have killed somebody in the pool. The swim team played rough enough to bloody each other up from time to time. Some dipshit doing the dog paddle would have gotten hurt pretty badly.
I do have a talking in class story though. In my senior year we had a band teacher that was generally disliked by the band.
My best friend and I used to sit next to one another and were constantly a problem. One day we were busted for talking and my friend was moved to the end of the section.
Naturally we couldn’t let this go unchallenged. We both went home and had a can of spaghetti-o’s for dinner. The next morning we showed up with the cans and a ball of string. We fashioned a phone before class and while the rest of the band played we brought it out.
There we were with 8 or 10 trumpet players between us, leaning back in their chairs to keep the stiring clear.
The band teacher stopped everyone and yelled “That’s what I’m talking about!! I still don’t get that.
He told my friend to throw the can away. I dropped my end and he just walked over to the steel trash can dragging my end behind him. It was banging off of chairs and instruments and music stands and making a hell of a racket. And when my friend got to the trash can there were two very loud bangs as he dropped those cans in.
And that, my friends, is how you talk in class.
I was in HS from 1980-1984, and I saw kids get punched by teachers more than once. And yes, it always seemed to be the gym coach who did the paddling. I don’t think that sort of thing goes on anymore – right?
My therapist says that it’s okay if I say “no”.
I was also filed under “unathletic smartass” and when I did my required two pull ups for the presidential fitness “exam” and then dropped to the floor in theatrical mock-exhaustion, Mr. Short would just shake his head and say, “Hall, you are a fag.” Hilarious.
I got out of gym my senior year by being a model (essentially sitting with my head slumped) for an art class, thus further endearing me to the staff of the athletic dept.
First off, let me say that I don’t think it’s any coincidence that the subjects most of us are worst in (Geography, Civics/Government, etc.) were “taught” by coaches. I got a couple of tales, too:
–The head football coach at my high school had a head so big that an adjustable ball cap wouldn’t fit it. He had to undo the little plastic snappy closure thing completely, and then staple it together with just the ends of the thing barely touching. He had to squeeze every centimeter outta that thing.
–Same guy never wore long pants. Never. Ever. I distinctly remember looking out a window one day in class and watching the snow pour down. And here comes Coach, cruising across the courtyard with his shorts on. Douchery, I say.
–A buddy of mine played peewee football, and he had a coach who would blatantly pick his nose, eat it, and … wait for it … stand in the huddle and pick booger-scraps out of his teeth with a blade of grass, slurping and sucking his teeth the whole time.
–In middle school, we were coming in from softball one day, and some of us ran in through a side door in the gym. Totally unbeknownst to us, this was evidently off-limits. I’d never heard it mentioned before, but evidently the coach didn’t dig it. So he was gonna paddle us. I was pretty cool with it until I stepped into his office and saw that the “paddle” was a baseball bat that had been planed flat on one side. And no, I’m not joking. Being, like our esteemed Mr. Kay, a non-athletic smartass, I somehow managed to talk him down to the point that he barely even tapped me with that instrument of destruction. Praise the lord, it was like I jedi mind-tricked him.
–Had another coach in high school, and he and I both had Food Lion stock, so we’d chat about that from time to time. And since we were seniors, we’d go hang out in his “lab room” after we finished lunch. One of our “experiments” was to bury a cheap gold bracelet in a huge vat of IcyHot-type stuff and see if it’d dissolve; it would not. The year after we graduated, that coach got fired for inappropriate contact with a female student, and then a couple of years later I ended up working with him on a groundskeeping crew at a golf course. Never mentioned his dalliance with said student, but it was always at the back of my mind. Yeah … un-com-for-tab-le.
–One more: Had another coach in high school who taught Social Studies or some such foolishness, and he was just an all-around weird old country dude. He always talked about “burpsy-colas” (sodas) and “rat crackers” (packs of cheese crackers). And if you fell asleep in his class, he had no compunctions about coming over and kicking the bottom of your desk–often sending the offender’s head bouncing off the desktop like a volleyball. Good times.
AAH! Only gym teacher story I have is that the Middle School Teacher for Wimmens was a Lesbian– which shocked our 11 YO minds.
I have a paddling story though: My mom used to beat my bottom so frequently that I devised a “clenching” method of taking it to the point where she hurt her hand more than It ever hurt me. Thats when she started using her shoe–Bush has got nothing on me!
Random thoughts about Gym Teachers:
Girls Gym Teacher = Lesbian
Boys Gym Teacher = Asshole
Jeff I used to love Jot but my favorite moral cartoon had to be Davey & Goliath.
Our h.s. football coach (and a gym teacher as well) was a real jerk. Every day he somehow managed to work into the conversation how his brother was a starting linebacker for the Miami Dolphins — like it mattered one bit to us in suburban Cleveland, especially those who were Browns’ fans. His main distinguishing physical characteristic was a deep cleft in his chin, which of course caused him to be called AssFace behind his back. Whenever we wanted to make fun of him — which was often — we’d use our fingers to pinch the two sides of our chin together and emulate his cleft. One day during assembly, a bunch of us came into the auditorium with clear adhesive tape holding our “ass-chin” in place. That was hilarious.
I can’t say that I have ever been hit by a gym teacher, but I started high school about ten years later than that.
I was also an unathletic kid, compounded by the fact that I was smart, and a juvinile delinquent. No one quite knew what to do with me. In fact, once I remember going to gym class completely drunk and missing the ball completely for kickball – falling rather spectacularly on my ass and giggling like a fool – and no one said anything to me.
And I am not lying when I say that is about all I remember about gym class. Gee, I wonder why?
in highschool i was on the bowling team. our coach (female gym teacher) used to harp on me for not taking the “sport” seriously. but come on… it was coed and i spent most of the time looking at girls. and trying to make out with them. and also trying to get beers at the consession stand.
i’ve never had to shower in front of a buncha guys and that makes me so happy.
I was in middle school and high school throughout the 80s and I don’t recall any paddling. I dunno, maybe I had to be a guy for that to happen.
In middle school dodge ball was a regular event in gym class, a rite of passage no longer foisted on today’s kids in case it hurts their feelings. Anyway, I was a squirrely kid and pretty good at contorting my body in all manner of pretzel shapes to escape the hurtling ball, until usually I was the last one left with fifty balls sailing my way.
But I was an honest kid too and one day a ball hit me, so I started to remove myself from the field of play. The gym teacher stopped the game and came charging over to demand why I was leaving.
“I was hit.” I protested.
“No you weren’t!”
“Yeah, I was.”
He then reared back and nailed me with the ball (much to the delight of onlookers).
“NOW, you’re out!”
Asshole.
Uh huh. Uh huh. Jeff who?
I farted at basketball practice once. Stunk up the entire gym I kid you not. I’m sure it was me or there were other guys that did their own wind-sprint thing in sync with me. Coach Bishop cut the session short and made the comment about the stench. Honest!
Slugged a kid in band one day. There I was warming up and he walks by and shoves the bell of my trumpet driving the mouthpice into my chops. OUCH!! I stood up and nailed the dickaphone player and he went down. I don’t remember who hauled me off but I was THE trumpet player and even the priciple was on my side.
Two incidents….like many I had a partner in crime. Well it was more like I was the partner, he was the criminal. Anyhoo…
One time in French class (yeah, French class, what of it?) it was a particularly hot day so my friend decided he would change into shorts – by cutting off his pantlegs with a pocketknife.
The classroom, you see, was split down the middle with two sets of students facing each other. I was on one side so I could clearly see my friend at work.
Things started out well enough. He managed to cut through the first leg and removed it without incident. However when he got the second leg, I think he hit a snag at the seam and the edge of the knife went full-force into his thigh. This of course caused two things to happen – his leg started to bleed profusely and I just about fell out of my seat with laughter.
Up to this point no one had noticed the ghetto shorts job unfolding across the classroom, and the teacher had his back to us up to this point.
Things didn’t end well.
The second incident involved both of us again, this time in a biology class. The teacher for this class was a shriveled up, chain smoking, no-fuss old-timer matron with no tolerance for BS, and she was well aware of our mischievous minds.
We were sitting behind one of several patsies we used for our tomfoolery. My friend was eating an orange (we were allowed food in this class) and we got the bright idea that we should put the pieces of peel onto said-patsy’s shoulders. We very carefully worked each peel onto alternating shoulders…never did this guy realize he was rocking the orange-peel epaulets.
Until our snickering gave us away, that is. A shrill, raspy “What the f#@k do you think you’re doing” blasted out at us at 70db, and we knew the jig was up.
Funny, we didn’t get into much trouble for that. However whenever I think of that guy with the orange-peel shoulders I still bust up.
My gym teacher was a great guy, former pro football (the 60’s) running back and local hero. I broke my hand senior year, so was exempted from gym, but had to sit there during gym period. One day he looks at me and says, go pick me up a cup of coffee from the local diner. That was how I finished out my senior gym class, even after the cast came off. I’d pick up a cup of coffee for him and his friend every day…
In junior high we had this woman coach who looked like a man…she was really funny looking. Anyhow, I was and am still not an athletic person…she could apparently see this in me and decided to have way too much fun picking on me to play all the hard positions in various sports. Now, in my school we had what we called “slam books” where we would list people and what we really thought about them…and you guessed it..her name was in it. So being the child I was and not thinking things through I wrote that “I hate her…she’s a manly looking bitch”…LOL…long story short some sporty popular girl ended up showing her and she called me out in front of the whole class…I was embarassed but I spoke my mind and didn’t deny that I wrote it or how I felt. For the rest of the year she didn’t say shit to me, she didn’t put me in the “hard positions” and I never got below a B…I like to think that maybe what I said to her made her look a little closer in the mirror…but who cares…I got what I wanted.
principle…crap! Messing with my new laptop so distracted…Crap!
In 6th grade I had a gym teacher named named Ms. Cocaine (I kid you not).
And she wasn’t some frumpy man hating gym teacher either, she was hot enough to do a line of her namesake of off.
I had Coach K at Dunbar Junior High for gym and a lousy attempt at 8th grade football before he later moved on to the High School.
What a jerk. Flattop haircut that you could land a plane on. As I can recall Coach K would call everyone “Son”. I always felt like saying “you are not my dad you a**hole”, but the threat of the paddle always put a stop to that notion.
Paddles were always a threat at the old Dunbar Junior High and in that building the echos would travel down the hallways throughout the school sending shivers down the spines of all students. Many a teacher would have designer paddles that were manufactured by the shop teacher to be the least resistant to the air for maximum thrust to the rear. WHACK, WHACK , WHACK . . . .
What times!
“sashaying about in a matching bra and panty set”? Geez Jeff, thanks for searing that particular visual into my forebrain.
Great update!
And DA, I hope you don’t mind if I attempt to somehow wiggle the phrase ‘booger-scraps’ into casual conversation over the holidays.
I just saw this awesome video of a kid playing guitar to a classical piece. I posted this on yesterday’s comments by accident……..check it out!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QjA5faZF1A8
I had one really good math teacher who was an assistant football coach. His was the hardest math class I took in high school, but his presentations were good. We joked that he practiced before a mirror, because he was lucid, rigorous, never got stuck at the blackboard, and rarely made any mistake.
Among gym coaches, or gym teachers or whatever, well… I went to six different schools in four states between sixth and twelfth grades, and I never met a solitary one who I’d put out if they were on fire. More useless SOBs I never met.
Sports coaches are one thing, but the gym “teachers” I met were punks to a man.
I didn’t read the previous comments yet, so if some of you are gym teachers, I will concede that my observations may not apply generally.
Phil
uh huh
But, alas, I’m Jeff Kay, and can only write about it on the internet.
That line should go on the next t-shirt, dood!!!
No good stories to share, but I did just add Black Christmas to my DVR for tommorrow. It’s on TMC.
My best gym teacher story:
Back-end of elementary school Mr. Lottage was the creepy Mid 30’s gym teacher. While we were sitting on floors he would stand and offer the instructions for the day’s class. Always wore shorts with pockets and would scratch himself via the pockets during said instructions.
Disgusting.
While in normal class he “showed up” for one of our class parties. Let’s say it was The Valentines Day party. For one of the games we were all given a 4 oz baby bottle with koolaid in it. You guessed it. The first to suck out the koolaid won the game!
I happened to win and the look Mr Lottage gave me creeped me the hell out. I was young and innocent then but had enough sense to know that something about what I just did made him happy for reasons that made me feel dirty.
As an adult, I understand now.
But back then I had no clue.
Thanks for bringing back horrid junior high gym memories for me, Jeff. Don’t worry – about 5 glasses of wine from now and I won’t be fretting it any more.
When I was in Junior High, we lived in Kansas (ugh). For gym, we had to wear these uniforms – they were one piece dealios, navy with white piping and white ribbed necklines. One got into the uniform thru the neckline. It had to have your first initial and last name written across the front in white fabric paint (your shoes and socks were treated similarly, but with black sharpie). We had to line up, alphabetically, on numbers on the floor. I was always number 13 or 14, being about mid-alphabet (maiden name). And if your feet didn’t fully cover your number – even though you might be physically a large body standing there – you were counted as absent. No shit.
Then, we get to shower time. Showers were required. You had to strip off your uniform, and everything else, then walk -not run – to the shower area. Cool if your locker was near the showers, but mine was about 5 rows back. If you were on your cycle, you were allowed to just lower your uniform to the waist and wipe your underarms with a cloth. Either way, at the end of the ordeal, you had to drop your towel (or bathcloth), state your number and then walk – not run – back to your locker to redress. In the event you were on your cycle, the gym teacher wrote a big “M” next to your name. If you had more than five “M”‘s or more than one week of “M”‘s on your chart, it was felt you were lying simply because you didn’t want to be humiliated at being nude in front of all the girls and the lesbian gym teachers.
I’m talking KANSAS, UNITED STATES, not RUSSIA here. It was horrid. I think that is why I drink today.
Coach Charlie Kuhl was great coach and mentor and I’m sure he was positive influence on many…Coach Bill Young, one tough mean son of a bitch at least till he was 80 would have kicked the shit out of Bill who he would have had at least 50 years on…great times!
Two words: Gertrude Drasnin.
She was the gym teacher at Stonewall Jackson in the late 50’s. I barely survived.
jeezum crow surf reporters…
after reading all the last posts, and refreshing suppressed memories, gym class was a lil concentration camp ordeal.
Made to wear the same uniform.
Worked to a point of physical and some emotional exhaustion.
Being barked at before we’re all…
Hustled into a small room with crowded showers..
Totally off topic, but are the T-shirts on the way? Jeff? huh?
Totally off topic, but are the T-shirts on the way? Jeff? huh?
Junior High…Coach C. was at baseball practice one afternoon. He was warming up one of his pitchers, threw the ball right when kid turned his head to say something to a friend of his. The ball hit the kid right in the temple and killed him. It sucked because Coach C. was a really good guy.
Mr. A., one of several of my High School gym teachers was a really nice guy. Always friendly, never mean to anyone. Several years after I graduated he was arrested and convicted of being the serial rapist that had terrorized a nearby city for the past 5 years.
Miss S., the female gym teacher. I had her for health class, and she was a total asshole to all the kids from my side of the railroad tracks…but fawned over, and generally sucked up to a small clique of rich kids in the class. We all referred to her as “Hopalong” because she had polio as a child, and walked with this very pronounced stiff legged limp.
Mrs. H., while not a gym teacher, was the toughest of any teacher I had. Once threw an eraser (the long ones!) and hit Jim B. smack in the middle of the forehead because he was talking in class. Had a paddle on the wall she referred to as the “board of education.” She was missing the middle finger on her left hand. She lost it as a child when she reached into her mothers Kitchen Aid mixer to get a taste of some cookie dough.
scrub the bacon strips out of our shorts
That reminds me of the time I farted while seated on the gym floor in the sixth grade.
I went to a little independent school district in Texas – there were only about 35 people in my graduating class. It was stuck in the 50’s, but I didn’t mind it. Boys couldn’t have sideburns or facial hair or long hair in the back or earrings, girls couldn’t have short dresses, etc. When a girl got pregnant (I only remember this happening twice) they’d shag her ass across town to the pregnant girl school. And we got into a lot of fist fights. No big deal. Sometimes I see videos of high school kids fighting on national news and I have to shrug and say, “So what?”
I got paddled several times by coaches, teachers, principals. Coach M caught me setting off bottle rockets down the main hallway. He had a paddle hanging by his desk that he and the shop teacher made. They burned the words, “Board of Education” across it. Hurt like hell.
Coach W was much older and cooler. Me and a few other guys spent many Fridays on his little flat bottom boat, fishing and drinking beer. He caught me and this cheerleader named Sunny going at it one time in the girl’s locker room. Well, the female coach caught us. She gave me to him and took Sunny into another room. He just laughed and said, “You need to slow down. You won’t have anything left to do in college.” And that was that. But Sunny had her parents called and got into deep shit over it.
I’m trying to remember the name of the little cartoon shown on youtube (via the further evidence link) the other day. It’s a little white blob and he got in trouble for telling lies about stealing a cupcake. Please help.
In St Albans, our gym teacher was an asshole who everyone called Cageball. He was a big fat tub of shit.
He always used the coach line of, “Boys, I wouldn’t ask you to do anything I couldn’t do.”
Yeah, well you drag your ass out here and run till you puke, you fat bastard.
That prick is now President of the county Board of Ed.
I had a Coach Buzzcut when I went to Hayes Jr High. I sure he was an ex-marine.
We were rope climbing one day when I cracked an enormous fart from the exertion.
He pulled me down and said” “What’s the matter? You have bowel problems or something?”
I then proceeded to get my ass paddled.
Jason, The cartoon was called Jot, and was broadcast on Sunday mornings when I was a kid. He was apparently a moralizing child with no torso, but I’m not completely sure.