Playing With My Shuttlecock

Most men don’t talk about badminton. They’re missing out. This is one of the greatest games ever and I have some great memories of playing it in high school. In my school they forced us to play coed, and it was always interesting to see which people would pair up. But I always knew who I’d get paired up with.

Every single time badminton week rolled around, I was sought out by my high school crush. Well… one of my high school crushes. Let’s call her Betty. We didn’t talk to often, but we had an unspoken bond. Most importantly because she happened to be one of the best badminton players among all the girls. But also, because she had this sultry look in her eyes, long flowing curly blonde hair. And these legs that were longer than our stolen gazes at each other.

But back to badminton, because that’s what really matters. I had a girlfriend, but she was at another school. Definitely a different area code. And my girlfriend wasn’t athletic, so she was probably terrible at badminton. Betty wasn’t. Betty was a natural athlete, and we had a natural chemistry on the badminton courts. We’d high five every time we won. Maybe a linger hug or two when she found herself caught up in the sweet moment of victory.

I never kissed her, but we had out share of moments that would make me blush if my girlfriend saw. Once during a game of whiffleball, she slid into second base as I reached up to catch a high throw. She took out my legs and fell on top of her. I put my free hand out to brace myself and noticed her smirking at me. My hand had grabbed something softer and squishier than the hardwood gym floor. I looked down and found my hand cupping her perky breast… in front of all my classmates. High school is awesome…

Every weekend my friends and I would meet up at someone house. Then had out to this empty road where a future suburban development would grow into a series of tiny little boxes on the hillside. We’d meet up to “shoot the shit” and smoke cigarettes. Then we’d plot how we’d find a better vice. This was our spot. Betty knew this. So did her friend who also had a crush on my friend.

Sitting in a 1994 Toyota Previa (AKA Pussy Magnet) I’d pull out my Indestructible Brick Phone, the Nokia 3310, and slowly text the older guys I knew. Hey man. Want to make some cash? Beer? We would each try and find a 21 year old who could get us beer. It was challenging. But if we failed, we knew we could easily find someone who’d get us some weed. That was easy to come by.

Our spot was secret to cops and parents. But not Betty and her friend. They would simply cruise through and often find us there on a Friday night. This is what kids today miss with constant contact and social media. It was way more fun to cruise through town and stumble onto girls, booze and parties.

Betty and I would hang out, flirt and talk. I’d give her my jacket as it got cold and act all manly as the sun set and the temps dropped. We’d lay down on the hood of her shiny red Cavalier, named after our attitude. Passing cigarettes back and forth as we flirted with the idea of touching lips. But somehow it was all more interesting and exciting having never giving in to our lust. Perhaps it was better this way, and maybe somehow, subconsciously, we knew that.

Most guys have a few Bettys in their memory. Occasionally we find ourselves ruminating on these girls. You can’t help but wonder what might have happened had you gone down one of these roads left untraveled.