A Too Real Not To Be Real Conversation Between Ralph and a Football Coach

“Drop and give me ten!” yells the misanthropic football coach with tobacco juice dribbling down the side of his mouth like a rabid dog.

“No, no I don’t believe I will,” replies Ralph the team’s requisite conscientious objector.

“What do you mean?” asks the increasingly befuddled coach who on the surface appears about as comfortable wrestling with logic as he would a greased pig at the county fair.

“It’s too hot for unnecessary and purely punitive calisthenics,” begins the sturdy as ever school boy. “If I were to continue exerting myself in these conditions I simply do not believe that my body would be able to regulate its core temperature satisfactorily enough as to avoid such cataclysmic health events like heat stroke or a heart attack.”

The coach takes a step back and scratches his head. A few minor adjustments of the genital region and he is ready to enter the fray once again.

“Too hot you say. Heat stroke you say. Boy, when I was there wasn’t such a thing as a water break.”

“I know,” responded Ralph. “My father told me the same thing.”

“Ok, well did your daddy also tell you about the salt tablets and how when we got really thirsty our coaches would come by and place two tabsĀ on our tongue to help keep the muscles nice and hydrated?”

Ralph nodded compliantly.

“Why the only type of dynamic stretching we had back in my day involved carrying the senior’s pads to and from the locker room.”

“What’s your point coach.”

“My point son is that without rules and structure our entire society devolve into utter chaos. One minute you’re not listening to your football about doing some pushups the next you’re ignoring stop signs and refusing to pay taxes.”

“Coach, I’m only 8.”

“That’s my point. As a role model I need to impress upon you now the importance of social hierarchies.”

“Look Coach,” began Ralph, “I understand that you love your job but I play football because it’s fun and I’m not about to risk life and limb because things were different back in the day.”

The coach begins to weep quietly.

“What’s wrong, Coach?” asks a genuinely concerned Ralph.

The coach wipes the tears from his eyes. “Nothing son, except I remember feeling that way too…now look at me. I’M A MONSTER!!!”

The coach falls to the ground weeping like a baby as Ralph puts his hand on his shoulder.

“Coach, can I get anything for you?”

“Maybe just a couple of salt tabs.”