Confessions of a Benchwamer

Every Saturday morning I put on my jersey, velcroed my shin guards, pulled up my socks, and tied my shoes. Every Saturday morning I could only wish that my coach would finally decide that it’s time to put me in the game. But every Saturday morning, I was disappointed. I sat on the bench and played with the bugs because that’s all I had to do. I would beg, “Mom, please please please let me play for like 5 minutes.” But then I would get in trouble for calling her mom instead of coach. I was supposed to know that on Saturdays from 10 AM - 2 PM, she was coach. On the rare occasion that my coach (mom) would let me in the game, only because three other kids were hurt on the bench, I was the best player on the field. I kicked the ball all around, left and right, up and down. I’ll admit, I made a few goals, they may have been in the wrong net, but that doesn’t really matter. While I was out on the field living life to the fullest, the parents on the bench were not happy with my mom’s, I mean coach’s, decision to let me in the game. When my three minutes of fame on the field were up, I crawled back to the bench and began popping Tums like a high schooler would pop Adderall on the day of the ACT. Acid reflex is real, and it is the devil.

So what, maybe I just wasn’t very good at soccer. I had to be good at something. If I couldn’t work with my feet, I figured I could work with my hands. My mom allowed me to join the cheapest team in Memphis. It was at a church that I had never seen in a part of town that I never want to return to. They called me, “Great White Hope,” the hope was that the skinny white girl would get sick and not show up. But there is plenty of picture proof that I attended every game, the pictures may all be of me sitting on the bench, but does that really matter? It gave me an excuse to drink Gatorade, because I was an athlete. I must say, I was put in the game quite often for being the worst player on the team. I wasn’t actually bad until someone threw the ball at me and you would see me run the other way or an extremely awkward hand/arm motion that didn’t protect me from the ball at all. It’s safe to say that basketball only lasted one season.

Some people would like to think that dance is not a sport, but those people have probably never taken a dance class before. Honestly, dance was probably my favorite sport because I had tap shoes that I could annoy my older brother with daily. My dad, however, was not a fan, “Bridgett, take them dang tap shoes off. You’re ruining my floors.” My dance teacher allowed breaks for snacks, but the ending of the snack break was the worst part because I had to stand back up and put in some effort. My mom claims that I hated dancing because I thought we stood up too much, but in my defense, I had a broken foot for part of the time. Either way, I made it through one recital and killed the can-can dance.

When I reached middle school I was determined to become a professional beach volleyball player, even though I sunburn easily and I lived nowhere near a beach. I settled for recreational volleyball at the community center and one would think that my height and abnormally long arms would help me out, but they failed me once again. However, I could serve the ball all day long, but when it came time to switch positions, I should’ve just gone home because I was basically a bump on a log. The only time movement came from me was when I was dodging a ball. When we played volleyball in gym class, basically everyone wanted me on their team, they just didn’t really know it. I decided to quit the recreational volleyball team when all of my “friends” started disliking me for always backing away from the ball. It seemed like the other team knew what I would do, so they aimed the ball at me on purpose.

There is one sport in particular that I attempted without a team and I tried to teach myself. It was probably the most successful sport I’ve ever attempted. Golf. My dad loved golf, so I figured it would run in the genes and I’d be the next female version of Tiger Woods. When we went to the front yard to practice, he gave me these soft yellow balls, who knows why because I was already skilled enough to use the real ones, or so I thought. One day I went to practice by myself and I was going to prove that I was good enough to use the real golf balls. I got it all set up, swung my arm back, and hit it - it went far. Glass may have been shattered, police may have been called, I may have gotten into a lot of trouble.

When I finally reached high school I was ready to fulfill my lifelong dream of becoming a cheerleader. I watched all of the Bring It On movies and I was ready for try-outs. It had nothing to do with popularity since no one really liked the cheerleaders and they got booed at pep rallies, or the fact that my best friend was a competitive cheerleader who was also trying out for the team. Anyway, I definitely had an advantage due to my previous dance experience, as mentioned earlier. My splits, high kicks, and toe touches were on point. Even though the only flip I could accomplish was a cartwheel, I had the routines down. I showed my mom, and she did that mom thing, when they’re trying to be a good parent so they say, “Yeah, sweetie, that was beautiful. I loved it, of course you’ll make the team.” with that fake, devious smile of theirs. Try-out day had finally arrived and when we were stretching I pulled a muscle in my thigh and it threw me all off my game. If it weren’t for that muscle, I would have willingly got booed at pep rallies, too. Even though I was the only girl who tried out for the squad and didn’t make it, I may or may not still wish I was a cheerleader. I may or may not secretly watch Youtube videos of cheerleading routines in my spare time. It’s no big deal.

I may suck at sports and there may not be one athletic bone in my body, but I am thankful that I am aware of these facts. It may have taken me a long time to notice it, but I found something that I enjoyed and somewhere I felt like I belonged. It may have been in the auditorium of my high school, and the stage was my second home. I was not weird because I liked to dress up and perform for other people. I was simply an entertainer.