Dodging Bullies

STEVE
Oh, the whole school board is here.
I thought this was going to be an
internal thing. Jesus Christ, I’m
not a bully; wrong place wrong
time.
Principal Terwin, Mr. Flanagan!
Glad you could come! I’m excited to
clear up this little
misunderstanding.
What up, Johnny! Oh man, you’re
missing first period for this? You
look good, though. Are those the
new Steph Curries? Baller. Man,
this is some bullshit, though. I
could get fired. I need a job or my
’rents’ll kick me out, and running
the computer lab here is stupid
easy. You’re cool, though. What are
they gonna do, hold you back from
7th grade? Don’t think so. Tight.
Aight, catch ya on the flowp.
Well, well, Joel Gabrielson. Are
you sure fourth grade could spare
you? (Doubling down, crybaby? If I
lose my job, I’m coming for
you--ah, in a way that’s totally
metaphorical and non-actionable).

What’s that, Mrs. T? Time to start?

Let’s do it.
Thank you all for inviting me to
clear the air. Most of you know me.
Jim Thorne. I run the computer labs
at the middle school.
Now, I assume you’ve all heard the
audio that little Joel Gabrielson
recorded on the court by my house.
--Who gave that boy a smart phone?

Did I have a burden of care? Hard

to say. It was 6pm, so I was off
the clock, working on my shot. I
didn’t want to play with little
kids--I didn’t know how cool Johnny
was--but there’s only one good
 2.

STEVE
hoop. Maybe the district could put
some money into fixing the other
one?

Anyway, you know how in life, one

thing kind of slips into another?
Stuff comes at you fast. Like, I
practice my shot over and over so
come game time, it’s automatic. But
no one taught me anything about
bullying, so really, no disrespect,
if you want cast blame for what
happened, it should probably be on
the lack of training in this
district, not on me, the victim.
Because yeah, I guess I can see why
people might think I should have
intervened. But who’s to say where
the line is between bullying and
applied situational awareness
training?
How did it start? How does anything
start? But yeah, at one point
Johnny was calling him a hairy
little piggy. I thought, "ooo,
harsh," but it wasn’t toootally
inaccurate, and we were shooting
hoops, you know? A little razzing’s
natural on the court. I ain’t no
busybody.

So maybe I laughed and said "oink,

oink, lard-butt." Out of context
that seems bad, but that’s the game
Joel and Johnny were playing, and
sure, I’m a good sport, I’ll play.
Joel seemed like he could take it.
I admired him at first: he seemed
willing to take the note and keep
plugging away.

I wish I had someone I admired to

point out my flaws. It’s the
ultimate sign of respect.
Not that being fat is a flaw. I’m
not saying that. I get pushed
around the court by big guys all
the time, and most of them are not
in good shape. Look at Shaq--not
exactly skinny, but dominant af.
 3.

Okay, yes ma’am, I was getting to

the "punching." Have you ever
played basketball? It’s a contact
sport. Every time you enter the
court, your manhood is on trial. "I
cannot praise a cloistered virtue,"
right? Teddy Roosevelt, greatest
president.
I don’t want to call Joel a "dirty
player." He’s too small to go
around hurting people, but he’s
what we call on the courts a
"crybaby." Is there a nicer word?
If you’re going to call foul when
someone barely touched you, then
someone’s going to foul you
harder...that’s the rules.
Did Johnny punch him on top of the
head when he was going for a layup?
That’s what Joel says, but it’s
kind of a boy who cried wolf
scenario. There was probably some
contact, but that’s pickup b-ball.
He’ll learn not to call touch
fouls.

He cried for a few minutes. Johnny

gave some kind of pep talk that I
didn’t hear. I guess it had some
profanity? I didn’t hear it at the
time. I was working on my
hook-shot. It seemed to work
because Joel pulled himself
together.
Next possession, I take a solid
charge--like I was perfectly
square--so I call Joel for the
offensive foul. But crybaby starts
up the waterworks, threatens to
tell his mom I bullied him unless I
change it to a defensive foul.

Super cheap, but a big man is

magnanimous, so I give it to him.
He missed his foul shots anyway.
Then I thought, no, this is a
teachable moment. I can’t teach him
that crying on the court works,
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STEVE
he’ll be eaten alive in a real
game. Plus, I can’t have Johnny
(shout-out, J-dog!) thinking I’m
soft. What would that teach him? So
the next time Joel comes in for a
shot, I spike-block it back at him
and it comes down on his face...
Have you ever thrown the perfect
ice-ball at your younger brother
when he’s distracted, and as it’s
bearing down on his head, you’re
like, oh shit (sorry), it’s
actually going to hurt him? And you
yell, "No," because you’re a good
person, but it’s too late, and it
cuts up his face? That was sort of
the situation here. The ball is
just headed right for Joel’s weak
little face...it’s in my mind in
slo-mo..and I’m thinking, "Too
strong?" But no, better he learns
once and for all. Pain can be an
excellent teacher.
And sure, I was mad at him (and at
the system) for making him so weak
and forcing me to hurt him, so
yeah, I said, "That’s what you get,
little piggy baby. Go oink with
your bloody nose back to Mommy."

Was that too harsh? Kids are just

exasperating, you know? Sometimes
they just need a little tough love.
But what do I know? I’m just a man
who was thrown into a situation he
hadn’t been trained to handle. If I
did anything wrong, I’m sorry, and
I hope that in the future, the
district will train me better. I
love my job, and I would hate to be
fired and be forced to start an
investigation into the negligence
of the board.
Thank you all. I yield the
remainder of my time. Hope to see
some of you on the courts. Thorne
out.