GNOP GNIP

This is a follow-up to Thursday's blog. To get the full impact, please read that NOW. Thank you.

The ONE sport I managed to excel at in high school was ping pong. That’s right. Go ahead and cackle. I can hear you thru the internet waves right now. But it was my claim-to-fame in a world of junior high competitive testosterone. I was pretty good, too.

Here's how it worked. All our names were put on a tote board numbered 1 to 75. It was a BIG class but our school owned eight ping pong tables. They started us in alphabetical order, which put me at about #68 on the first day. It was up to each boy to work his way up (or down) the tote board based on table tennis wins. You win, you switch places with the person you challenged. Simple as that. After a couple of weeks of playing one another, the tote board quickly began to take shape, with the better players taking the lowest numbers.

Some boys went right for the jugular. For instance, on the very first day, #71 challenged #2, trying to hop on the fast-track to victory. But unlike those with that kind of raw courage, I opted to start off slow - afraid to challenge people too high up, truly lacking confidence to take anything more than baby steps. So I, at #68 challenged #64. I won. Then I (#64) challenged #57. I won. Then I (#57) challenged #50. I won.

But really – deep inside – I was just waiting for someone to come from behind and cut me off at the knees and send me to the basement of the standings -- but it never happened. With my extra long arms – a good sense of hand-eye coordination – more defensive playing than offensive, I made my slow ascent. No matter where or how hard hit from the other end of the table, I nearly always managed to return the ball. The law of averages worked in my favor. At some point, the other player was going to either miss the ball, hit it into the net or smack it way off my end of the table. And they did.

Then one day, something crazy happened. I (#50) challenged #39. Unfortunately for him, #39 ended up having to suddenly go to the doctor’s – and I had no one to play. The coach said, “Go play that kid over there.”

I looked. “Oh, no.” ‘That kid over there’ just happened to be #5. Just what I needed. Full-on humiliation. I cringed – I sweat – I shook – and I returned every ball. Sooner or later, he succumbed to my mega-defensive ball returns. Before I knew it, I was the new #5. Now, with only four people above me and it being illegal to officially challenge anybody beneath you, I had no choice.

I played #4 – no reason to be greedy. I won. I played #3. I won. I played #2. I won. This had NEVER happened to me before – EVER. I was suddenly being looked at in new ways. They were respecting – revering – even FEARING me. So this is how the other half lived. I loved this.

By now, it was near the end of the season. There was only one place left to go. Number one. The second-to-last day of the year, it was time. It was a hard fought game. I was a defense monster. Slams from #1 were being miraculously returned. Shots way at the edges of the table were given back courtesy of my eight-foot wing span. It was a masterful display of ping-pong after the fashion of Chen Weixing (look it up). I would be King of the Campus – or at least King of the Gymnasium Basement.

Well – he beat me. That’s right. I lost. And on that last day of the tournament, my name was etched in history - at NUMBER TWO. I got a little trophy and was crowned the SECOND BEST PING PONG player in my school.

It’s the LAST time I’ve won anything quite like that. I’ll never forget it.

By the way, "GNOP GNIP," the title of this blog, is "PING PONG" spelled backwards. Just a little serendipity.

And be blessed.