It Started With A Game (How a regular guy landed the girl of his dreams)
I bragged the day I was scheduled to work with Angie McGinnis, called my best friend up and rubbed it right in his face. We worked concessions at a local ball field, which meant busy weekends as cowbell-ringing parents and uniformed tots packed the diamonds playing all day tournaments. Brad and I consistently worked together (which was great, he being my best friend and all), but this time I had a sudden, unexpected opportunity: not only was I scheduled to work with arguably the hottest girl in school, but we were scheduled to work on a weeknight when the fat, retired, professional wrestlers played softball. Less sat in the stands than played on the field and that meant a slow night and lots of opportunity to talk, if she would talk to me.
I dwelled in the friend zone, perpetually it seemed, with every girl I knew. It didn’t help that most of us attended our small private school since first grade, so I was “like a brother” to all the babes. Angie, however, was different. She entered our school in 7th grade and she was an upperclassman. Now, don’t misunderstand, I never dreamed I had a chance with her, but this was the one girl who hadn’t put me in the friend zone, probably because we weren’t friends. In fact, we were nothing.
Yet, we talked a lot, right off the bat (no pun intended). I learned that she’d been to my house numerous times with her grandmother. My Dad was a Chiropractor and his office was on the front of our place, so when Mammaw McGinnis needed an adjustment, Angie was often in tow, hearing about the Doc’s cute son who shot hoops in the backyard parking lot.
I believe Angie was the one who first suggested a game of iceball, the game that would change the direction of my life. The rules were simple: you take an empty pickle jar (the boss always had a ton) and put it near the floor drain, then you grab ice from the ice machine, smush it in a ball, and shoot freethrows (with the health code standards today, iceball is probably not as popular). First one to 20 wins. The great thing about iceball is when you play between customer rushes, there’s virtually no evidence, just a pickle jar and a few puddles of water so the boss has no idea.
Angie will tell you that she won that night, which is ridiculous, but something did happen in that game, something sparked. I didn’t know it at the time, for the friend zone makes you ignorant to such things, but there was something between us. We had flirted for sure, but more than anything, we laughed, and the laughs continued night after night as we were scheduled again and again (Angie, unbeknownst to me, had requested it).
The summer ended and we headed back to school. I assumed because she was older and so fine, that our little friendship would be kept under wraps, so I played it cool.
But Angie wasn’t into being cool.
She confronted me at my locker and asked me if I was going to continue to ignore her in front of my friends. Shocked is a mild way of putting how I felt, I mean, this was the girl that all the guys wanted and I was an underclassman and she wanted friendship. I mean, when the fish are biting, you don’t change bait, so I agreed to continue the relationship we’d developed despite the audience.
But she wanted more than friendship and I was clueless.
See, the friend zone causes emotional callousness, screws up your relationship radar. Signals from girls are already difficult to decipher, but for me back then, nearly impossible. So as Angie drew and colored a Mississippi State Bulldogs print for my birthday (she is a gifted artist and I wanted to play baseball for State) and as her best friend cajoled me into to asking her to the winter dance, I still didn’t get it.
Until the night I realized I loved her.
After a football game, she jumped in another guy’s truck and I realized that it was supposed to be me. My pursuit began and nearly four years later we married. We were young, on fire, and convinced we’d change the world. We’d risk it all and move 500 miles away from family, only to experience years of ministerial disappointment to such a level that both of us sat on the counselor’s couch. There were weeks where pancakes were all we could afford with no paychecks in sight. Yet, through it all, we’ve continued to laugh and flirt and have a blast just like we did playing iceball.
It has been 20 years since the day I married Angie and 23 since we met. She’s bore me four blessed children so our laughter has multiplied. And sometimes, when we go out to dinner or watch a favorite movie, the debate ensues on who won that first iceball game. She’s still deluded about her victory and the argument is bound to continue. Which doesn’t bother me one bit, because I’d take another 20 years of this kind of fun any day.
Happy Anniversary, My Bride.
I dwelled in the friend zone, perpetually it seemed, with every girl I knew. It didn’t help that most of us attended our small private school since first grade, so I was “like a brother” to all the babes. Angie, however, was different. She entered our school in 7th grade and she was an upperclassman. Now, don’t misunderstand, I never dreamed I had a chance with her, but this was the one girl who hadn’t put me in the friend zone, probably because we weren’t friends. In fact, we were nothing.
Yet, we talked a lot, right off the bat (no pun intended). I learned that she’d been to my house numerous times with her grandmother. My Dad was a Chiropractor and his office was on the front of our place, so when Mammaw McGinnis needed an adjustment, Angie was often in tow, hearing about the Doc’s cute son who shot hoops in the backyard parking lot.
I believe Angie was the one who first suggested a game of iceball, the game that would change the direction of my life. The rules were simple: you take an empty pickle jar (the boss always had a ton) and put it near the floor drain, then you grab ice from the ice machine, smush it in a ball, and shoot freethrows (with the health code standards today, iceball is probably not as popular). First one to 20 wins. The great thing about iceball is when you play between customer rushes, there’s virtually no evidence, just a pickle jar and a few puddles of water so the boss has no idea.
Angie will tell you that she won that night, which is ridiculous, but something did happen in that game, something sparked. I didn’t know it at the time, for the friend zone makes you ignorant to such things, but there was something between us. We had flirted for sure, but more than anything, we laughed, and the laughs continued night after night as we were scheduled again and again (Angie, unbeknownst to me, had requested it).
The summer ended and we headed back to school. I assumed because she was older and so fine, that our little friendship would be kept under wraps, so I played it cool.
But Angie wasn’t into being cool.
She confronted me at my locker and asked me if I was going to continue to ignore her in front of my friends. Shocked is a mild way of putting how I felt, I mean, this was the girl that all the guys wanted and I was an underclassman and she wanted friendship. I mean, when the fish are biting, you don’t change bait, so I agreed to continue the relationship we’d developed despite the audience.
But she wanted more than friendship and I was clueless.
See, the friend zone causes emotional callousness, screws up your relationship radar. Signals from girls are already difficult to decipher, but for me back then, nearly impossible. So as Angie drew and colored a Mississippi State Bulldogs print for my birthday (she is a gifted artist and I wanted to play baseball for State) and as her best friend cajoled me into to asking her to the winter dance, I still didn’t get it.
Until the night I realized I loved her.
After a football game, she jumped in another guy’s truck and I realized that it was supposed to be me. My pursuit began and nearly four years later we married. We were young, on fire, and convinced we’d change the world. We’d risk it all and move 500 miles away from family, only to experience years of ministerial disappointment to such a level that both of us sat on the counselor’s couch. There were weeks where pancakes were all we could afford with no paychecks in sight. Yet, through it all, we’ve continued to laugh and flirt and have a blast just like we did playing iceball.
It has been 20 years since the day I married Angie and 23 since we met. She’s bore me four blessed children so our laughter has multiplied. And sometimes, when we go out to dinner or watch a favorite movie, the debate ensues on who won that first iceball game. She’s still deluded about her victory and the argument is bound to continue. Which doesn’t bother me one bit, because I’d take another 20 years of this kind of fun any day.
Happy Anniversary, My Bride.
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