Ugly by Robert Hoge

Author:Robert Hoge
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2016-08-04T21:39:14+00:00

13

Games Not Played

One afternoon I returned from school extremely excited.

“Mom, Mom, I’ve got something to show you!” I yelled. “Can I, Mommy? Can I?”

“How about you tell me what it is you want?”

I rummaged in my schoolbag, pushing aside books and pencils and half-squished bananas I hadn’t gotten around to eating, and pulled out a sheet of paper. It was a permission slip for parents to sign, allowing their boys to play school sports.

“Can I? Can I? Can I play?”

“Stop!” Mom said. “I’m trying to read this properly.” She read it once, then turned it over, but there was nothing on the back. She read it again, taking it slow. Then a third time.

“Well, I’d like to have a think about it and talk to Dad,” she said. “Is that okay?”

Everyone else in the family was involved in sports in one way or another. Even Mom, who didn’t really play anything much, had started managing the tennis team Catherine played on.

The sport I wanted to play was called rugby league.

Rugby league is a lot like American football, but with no helmets and no pads. And fewer cheerleaders. Two teams of thirteen players line up against each other on a grassy, rectangular field. Each team tries to carry the ball downfield and score a try, like a touchdown. Teams had six tackles, or downs, to score before the opposing team took possession of the ball and tried to score.

It was a simple game, and where I lived, it was the most popular sport to play and to watch.

Even for young kids, though, it was a tough contact sport. You ran at a bunch of kids standing in front of you trying to block your way and either somehow managed to break through, or a bunch of them would fall on you when you didn’t. It was a mess of arms and legs going all over the place. One way or another, you’d come into violent contact with some other kid.

Mom and Dad were under instructions from my doctors to avoid knocks to my head. Surgeons didn’t want a forearm or a foot undoing all their good work. Neither did my parents.

Just as bad was the chance another player could cop a whack from one of my artificial legs. Both were much harder than a real leg and could cause some serious harm.

There was no way Mom and Dad could let me play.

Mom went to school to see Mr. French, who was in charge of organizing the teams for our school. She explained to him the reasons I couldn’t play and asked if there was some way I could be involved on the sidelines. They came up with a plan for me to be a ball boy on the side of the field, kicking the ball back in when it came out of bounds, and helping players set up the ball for place kicks.

“Do you mind if you only play on the sidelines, Robert?” Mom asked when she arrived home.

“I don’t mind what I do or where I am, as long as I’m playing and as long as I’m there.

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