“How ‘bout we play a volleyball game — the Teen versus the Hi-Teen Sunday school classes?”
When a tight-knit group of teenage boys — brimming with swagger and full stomachs — wrapped up their lunch beneath the picnic pavilion, this rising freshman tossed out the challenge.
Fueled by a mix of daring and determination, I was convinced I had the grit to beat the lot of them at their own game.
While trying to get a rise out of Dirk Arkwright — my self-appointed guardian angel — who sat across from me, I instantly regretted my bold words the moment they left my mouth.
“Sounds like an exciting matchup,” the Riverside track star admitted, sealing the deal with a firm handshake. “With just three Hi-Teens against five Teens, we’re a few players short — looks like we’ll need to get creative.”
“We could grab a few girls to even out the teams,” David “Huck” Allen joked with a guffaw, jabbing me playfully in the ribs.
“No way, Jose!” I exclaimed, giving the Huckmeister the stink eye.
“Then we’ll have to expand our search beyond the two classes to get six players each,” Aaron Pellicano confirmed as we stepped out of the covered shelter and made our way toward the volleyball court.
“I’ve got a gnarly idea,” James “Jimmy” Bubb Jr. quipped, snapping his fingers as the opposing teams took their places on either side of the court. “Since Jimmy Allen and Donald Streckeisen are rising seventh graders, they should play for the Teen class.”
“Then we’ll take John, since he’s a rising sophomore,” Dirk snickered, flashing me a wide grin as the minister’s firstborn stepped to the other side of the net to join his new teammates.
“They can’t take my big brother — he’s our best athlete,” I thought, shooting the Beaver County resident the hairy eyeball through the mesh netting.
“How ‘bout we go one year higher to add Dan Allen, and youns drop one year lower to bring in Jason Streckeisen?” my lifelong roommate blurted out, catching my sharp glare.
“But that would leave the Teens with one more player than the Hi-Teens,” Huckleberry Finn chuckled, giving me a playful poke in the stomach — just like the Pillsbury Doughboy — before flashing a wink and a smile.
“I’ve got a solution to our dilemma,” Jimmy spoke up again, nodding slyly at his fellow conspirators. “We’ll take the oldest player from the Teens — that’ll even the teams out.”
I thought I had them in the palm of my hand — until it blew up in my face.
Thinking I was the oldest player on the Teens’ team, I strutted toward the other side, sporting a Cheshire cat grin.
“Not so fast, big boy,” the rising junior teased, flashing a grin as he stepped in to block my path to the other side of the volleyball court. “You and Aaron may be in the same grade, but I believe the Italian Stallion has a couple months on you.”
I felt my smug expression crumble like a sandcastle hit by a rogue wave.
“You’re on my list, Dirk Arkwright,” I fumed, wagging a finger at him as my fellow classmate abandoned ship — defecting to the dark side with the rest of the Imperial stormtroopers.
“Does Markie Pooh need a smoochy-woochy to make his boo-boo feel better?” the newly licensed driver jeered with a babified voice, puckering up his lips to blow me a kiss across enemy lines.
“Fat chance, cupcake,” I countered, shaking my fist with mock indignation. “Unless you’re craving a knuckle sandwich, you’re out of luck.”
This game is looking more and more like David verses Goliath.
You know what the commercial says — you asked for it, you got it, Toyota.
The winners will have epic bragging rights until next year’s annual Sunday School Picnic.
And to think, I almost missed all that back-and-forth good-natured ribbing with my circle of friends from church, and the highly contentious game that followed at our annual Sunday School Picnic in Ewing Park, the third Saturday in August.
Uncle Carl and his new wife, the former Elizabeth “Liz” Bieniek, paid us a surprise visit two days before one of the biggest events of the year with a very generous proposal — to whisk me off to Grand Island, New York for a week.
My extended family members were hoping to adopt a little boy in the very near future, and they thought taking care of me would help to prepare them for what’s to come — sort of like a trial run.
Don’t get me wrong, I was flattered.
The thought of spending a week with my favorite uncle and his new bride was totally mind-blowing; but missing that exciting outdoor event was a deal breaker, so they ended up taking Kathleen as a replacement.
As we lingered over our last breakfast together, guilt gnawed at me. Wrapping my arms around them for one final hug, I watched as they headed back to the Empire State with my younger sister.
However, those pangs of guilt were quickly replaced with unadulterated excitement upon hopping into the family station wagon with my other siblings before heading to the city park for an unforgettable day of fun in the sun.
Once the high-stakes volleyball game commenced, the members of the Hi-Teens team mercilessly hurled pointed jabs at us every time they scored a point as we quickly dug our own grave.
When the score reached a humiliating eighteen to ten points, we didn’t see any way around the public spanking being handed to us in front of the entire congregation — that is, until Junior sprained his ankle.
With no clear rules on replacements, our opponents had to play the remainder of the game with only five players — it was the play that changed the tide of the match.
It didn’t take these Teens very long to even the score, and, in essence, begin a brand-new ballgame.
On the very next play, William “Billy” Hogue spiked the ball over the net, sending the two older Allen brothers crashing into each other — like a scene straight out of a classic Laurel and Hardy black-and-white film.
Unable to get their rhythm back, the Hi-Teens couldn’t return two serves that landed inside the back edge of the court before rolling out, thereby giving us a twenty-one to eighteen victory.
“Didn’t I hear something about this game being compared to David and Goliath earlier?” Saul Pellicano inquired, looking around at all of his elated teammates. “Well… we just slayed our giant.”
Several shouts of “Hallelujah” and “Amen” could be heard from the interested spectators surrounding the makeshift battlefield.
“Does the Riverside track star need a smoochy-woochy to make his boo-boo feel better?” I asked, blowing him a kiss from the other side of the net.