What struck me most was that the students were mercilessly and relentlessly driven by sports (you had to be driven --after all there were no girls around). Each kid was assigned a team either Spartans, Trojans, Crusaders, or Buccaneers. Each student was then graded on level of skill, often by size, age and class. I was assigned a level 5 Spartan. After that it was then a matter of forming teams and electing team captains. I played constant ping pong and handball, then football in the fall, basketball most of the winter and then, as I recall, we had this huge track day at the end of the school year to see which team got the most points and won. The competition was tremendous and the pressure awesome. It came down to the final race of the final day between my beloved Spartan team and the despised Trojans. The Trojans won by two points.
My coach came up to
me and said "Hey Vautier. Put these on. I want you to run the
100." "The what?" I said. He handed me a pair of track shoes made of delicate kangaroo skin
having these tempting long sharp spikes. He continued, "Stand here and
when the gun goes off run like hell that way." He pointed to
the finish line. Believe me, I suddenly felt like
Mercury in those shoes and ran hard, winning third place and two points
for my Spartan team. Boy was I proud. Everybody was surprised. I
found out later that if I had entered the quarter mile, certainly a better race
for me, I could have easily taken first for my team.
There I am second from left.
"Gore" struggles across
the finish line in the 440 to get 5 points first place for his Trojans.
In September each year the school holds its annual
baseball game between the "minors" and the profs. Here Fr.
Giaquinto
takes a mighty swing at the ball for a strike. The minors won that
year.
Brodie heaves a mighty shot put and places it well
beyond the competition.
All sit around for the measurement. It was a
winner.
And here I am clearing all of three feet on the high
jump. Wow! I
probably could have stepped over the bar.
Here I am with a few classmates, O'Reilly and Morris. Behind us is a high jump bar set at 6 feet--fat chance.