By Chris Crutcher
Those six tales from acclaimed writer Chris Crutcher are approximately athletes, yet are usually not easily activities tales. the following he provides characters from a few of his best–loved novels, in addition to developing a few unforgettable new personalities, in stories of affection, dying, bigotry, heroism, and coming of age. a long time eleven+
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Additional info for Athletic Shorts: Six Short Stories
I think you’re finished with your dinner. ” I stare at my plate, hiding my glee. ” There is madness to my method. Wrestling is in full swing. I can’t eat anyway, and it drives me seriously loony to sit and watch my family packing away steak and potatoes when all I can hope for is that the dishwasher didn’t get all the egg off the back of my fork after breakfast. I mean, I’m ready to sit below MacArthur’s chair with my tongue hanging out to catch the overflow of strained peas, and Dad simply will not allow me to be absent for our one sit-down family meal of the day unless I foul up on protocol.
Coach Everett stands in his starched referee’s shirt, arm raised and whistle ready, facing us. Dad wears his Oklahoma wrestling togs, which fit like the day he wore them last. For the past two weeks I have heard him in the wee hours of morning, grunting out push-ups and sit-ups, and three nights ago I awoke after midnight to the rapid whap-whap-whap of his jump rope slapping against his study floor. He hasn’t mentioned increasing his workouts. In fact, he told me he was taking a couple of weeks off at the club to even things out for me.
It’s guys like you and me that are brave, Angus. ” I looked at the tux. ” Alexander put his hand on my shoulder. ” He left. So now I stand at the door to the gym. The temperature is near zero, but I wear no coat because once inside, I want to stay cool as long as possible, to reduce the risk of the dike-bursting perspiration that has become my trademark. No pun intended. Melissa—along with almost everyone, I would guess—is inside, waiting to be crowned Queen of the Winter Ball before suffering the humiliation of being jerked across the dance floor by an escort who should have “GOODYEAR” tattooed the length of both sides.