Derek and I were bench warmers on the football team our freshman year in high school. One day, as often happens in August when you’re 14, we were bored. The big game with our archrival, the Albemarle Bulldogs, was coming up and, as already stated, we weren’t going to see action.
So. We got into a little mischief. (I’m sure this was my idea; or, just in case my mom’s reading, it may have been Derek’s.)
Before practice one day, we called up all the starters on our own team — the North Stanly Comets — and pretended we were players for the Albemarle Bulldogs. We talked … what is it they call it these days? Smack? Anyway, we talked junk to our own players and got them all hoppin’ & cussin’ mad.
We would hang up from each call and laugh ourselves silly rehashing our hijinks.
A couple days later, even Coach Cullivan got in on the act. He soothed the egos of the big ol’ boys by saying that although our opponent may act unsportsmanlike, we would not reciprocate. (Ouch!) We would do our boasting on the field.
And ya know, I don’t wanna give myself and Derek all the credit but, our team won! Wait. Change that. He and I, though bench warmers, knew that we’d secretly done our part for the team. In a way, we’d forced the issue.
You gotta guess that this is exactly what happened when the bishops voted to elect a woman as the first Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church. Conservatives switched sides — at least pretended to — and chose to push the envelope WAY forward.
In the end, which only God knows, this shocking invention may yet bear good and plentiful fruit.
Practice is over.