June Light Inspired

Champion of the Wallack Elementary Hall of Fame

"Will I be the champion?" Stephen asked, his hand waving at the man at the front of the room.

"Put your hand down Stephen." One of the man's eyes was steel grey, piercing each face of every boy slumping on the hardwood floor. His other eye - his right eye - was covered by a black patch, a patch that did not mask the scars that ran the length of the right side of his face. He leaned on an oak branch that had been carved and polished to become a gnarled cane. Unheated, the gym echoed every shiver of every boy seated in three rows of ten.

He shifted his weight and walloped the hardwood with his oaken stick. "Champions are a breed of human that overcome the pain in their backs. In their legs. In the very roots of their hair. I can't see that any of you! There is a breed of human - Champion breed - but you know what? It ain't any of you. Not you Stephen. Not any of you! You think your bodies are hard enough to even finish this race? Any race? Hah!"

Another boy waved his hand at the man and sputtered, "But aren't you the coach?"

"Yeah!," another boy said, waving his hand about, "aren't you the coach? And don't you know that we don't even want to run this stupid race!" The boy pushed himself to his feet and pointed a finger at Stephen. "Not even you Stephen. You can hardly walk. And you ain't no runner. You can't even walk a mile, how you gonna run it? You're for sure not a runner and you are for sure no stinkin' champion!"

"Aww," said the man, "now there is the truth of the matter isn't it? Its a mile race. And its not up to me whether you race it or not. Coach or no coach, you have to run the race, as yoyos or bozos you will run it."

The man's good eye closed causing his face to appear to be carved granite.

"It is because of some chuckle headed rule for all schools in this district. Ain't that the baddest of the bad news boys?"

His eye popped open as he lurched over his stick and blurted out a huff that as a laugh lacked sentiment and conviction.

"Oyyy, you will run boys. But champions? I don't think I can go that far. You are racing against each other and from what I have seen so far, that is the sorriest news of all. You are all pathetic! Not a single athlete among you. Champion? Hah! What a sorry race! A sorry, sorry race it will be."

The man lifted his cane to his chest and stepped forward within inches of the boys seated in the front row. "So! Now that we have all that guff out on the table. Lets begin...and hope and pray that the proverb is true that says 'champions are not born! They are made!" His oak stick pummeled the hardwood deck as three boys barely dodged the thunderous rap. "Get on your feet before you're dead meat!

Within a second they were all standing. Every boy's eyes bugged out and stared as the man ripped the shirt from his torso. They gasped as they saw the gruesome scars on his back. Some counted four or five before closing their eyes; others who stared deep into his flesh counted fifteen or twenty.

"Follow me!" the man shouted as he began jogging towards the end of the gym. "Get your whimpy carcasses moving before my stick teaches you something to regret! Move it! Champions hah! There is only one hall of fame for the likes of you and you know it!

The soles of the shoes pounded the hardwood in chaos while the coach shouted out derisive terms of endearment. Soon the pain of his words was overshadowed by the pain in their legs and backs and hips and ankles and...


24 Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. 25 Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. (English Standard Version of the Bible, 1 Corinthians 9:24-25)