Okay – you were slow – you were prone to things – fast moving things – out of control things – accidentally tossed-in-your-direction things.
Softball didn’t call to you – dodgeball didn’t call to you – Physical education in general didn’t call to you.
Head-in-a-book, they would call you – mind-on-vacation, they would call you – lights-on – nobody’s-home, they would call you. Thick-as-a-Porterhouse Steak, the jocks would call you. Hopeless. But you try anyway. Even your PE teacher groans when he calls your name.
Last one picked for the team – first one to spend the entire period in the Nurses office with a head wound – a broken nose – a split lip – a broken arm – a broken leg. People remark when you’re NOT wearing a cast. You’re just in the way of flying objects – you may not make to adulthood – you are deemed hopeless.
Except . . .on the dancefloor. Shingaling – Boogaloo – Monkey – Pony – Watusi – Twist – mashed potatoes – slop – Slauson – Madison – Hully-gully – the only one who dances better is James Brown. You’ve taken awards at The Teenage Fair – you’ve been in The KRLA Beat – were asked to be a regular on 9th Street West.
But around a baseball? It’s like asking for a trip to the emergency room. Even you don’t get it.
You’re going to look back on all this – you’re going to wonder how you could be so hopeless at one thing and so good at the other. You’re going to look back and not remember a single name of any team captain in 11th grade – but you’re going to remember the night you danced with Cam Nelson in the 10th grade.
Some things are just important – other things, not so much – and you’re going to remember by heart every song you ever listened to between 8th grade and college.
Funny how brains are – you even remember the name of every disc-jockey you ever grew up listening to.
Like Dave Hull fr’instance.
Here’s a slice of May 5, 1968 with Dave Hull and KRLA to test that theory out with.
