Tough Guys

Tough Guys

By Mark Leitheiser

Something is going on in our country and I’m worried. Specifically, I’m worried about our children, especially our young men. Perhaps you’re worried too. Now, you need not look far to find outstanding young men and young ladies. There’s no debate there. It just seems like something is missing these days and that something is toughness.

Back in the day, we were ruled by an unwritten code that said you took your lumps, sucked it up, and toughed it out. The training for this code started early and reached its zenith in jr. high school where toughness was premium. Being hurt meant you were a sissy while playing hurt meant you were tough. Of course, living by “the code” could be, and often was, a painful experience.

Nowhere was this code of manliness more clear than in jr. high physical education, (phy-ed) and the ultimate proving ground was the time-honored game of Dodgeball, where we tried to eliminate our opponents’ existence. Sort of like a game of Monopoly with heavy rubber balls and headshots.

 Dodgeball offers the opportunity to improve physical skills such as running, throwing and catching, yet a growing number of critics want to see it removed from phy-ed curriculums nationwide. Already, states such as New York, Texas, Utah and Virginia have outlawed Dodgeball and other states may soon follow, yet the opposition doesn’t stop there.

The National Association for Sport and Physical Education (NASPE) believes Dodgeball is not an appropriate activity in phy-ed courses. These good folks seem to have a problem with using teenagers as “human targets.” Further, they argue that those who struggle and need healthy exercise the most are often targeted and forced to sit on the sidelines for much of the game. Finally, they object to, “throw-to-kill ratios” and “headshots.” While I disagree with their position, they make a valid point; Dodgeball can be painful.

Nearly every boy in my jr. high school was a lanky, disjointed version of a human being with long arms, skinny legs, and zits. Then there was Jim, who was strong, fast and aggressive. He played varsity hockey and dated the prettiest high school cheerleader-while still in jr. high. Naturally, as I would soon find out, Jim could be lethal while playing Dodgeball and my commitment to the code of manliness would be severely tested.

There was nothing unusual about the start of that fateful game. A few guys got plugged and had to leave the floor. Grinning at their misfortune, I grabbed a ball and looked to my right to see if I could find an opponent with his guard down. Which was a bad idea because Jim, who was hunting to my left, loaded his mighty right arm and let fly with a 250 mph fastball aimed directly at my head.

When the ball arrived, it struck me directly in the face which felt roughly the same as being hit with a cannon ball. It clocked me with such force that, to this day, I believe the outer edges of the ball touched both my earlobes at the same time. By the time the ball had reformed and pulled away from my face, I had “WILSON” tattooed on my forehead for the rest of the day.

Thankfully, my teacher saw what happened and was kind enough to drag me to the bleachers to see if I was still alive. Although I wasn’t sure what planet I was on, in accordance with the code, I assured him I was fine and wanted to return to the game as soon as possible. The blast to my face may have caused a little watering of my eyes, but I can assure you, I was NOT crying. The code forbade it.

Eventually, when I realized I was somewhere on planet Earth, I returned to the game but I kept a close eye on Jim. Later, in the locker room, I did my best to laugh it off with the boys, assuring them that it hadn’t hurt a bit although that was a tough sell with “WILSON” still tattooed to my forehead. A friendly game of Dodgeball would quickly separate the men from the boys but there were other opportunities as well.

Another challenge to our manhood arrived in the form of a rope. A big, thick, rough rope anchored to a rusty steel ceiling beam some 30 feet above the hardwood gym floor.

For some, the rope represented an opportunity to show their strength, courage and coordination. To the rest of us, the rope looked about as attractive as a charging lion.

Climbing the rope, of course, was part of physical fitness testing. Yet each of us knew that successfully climbing the rope was another notch in the belt of manhood. Failure was not an option.

With little choice and much trepidation, I began to climb with the rope squeezed tightly between my thighs, which would prove to be a bad idea. When I finally touched the beam, I suddenly remembered I was afraid of heights. I also became acutely aware that what goes up, must come down. So began my slow descent, with the rope still grinding tightly between my thighs.

About half way down, I began to understand Mr. Berman’s science lesson on friction and heat. This lesson was aided by the growing sensation of a blowtorch between my legs. When I finally reached Earth, I hobbled down the locker room stairs to inspect the damage where my fears were confirmed. I could have roasted a marshmallow on my groin. Lesson complete.

Yes, I’m worried about kids these days and I think a game of Dodgeball or a daring rope climb would toughen them up a bit. Granted, my experiences may have been a little painful but hey, look how I turned out!