Last week, I had a simple enough assignment. I have been helping get the Warner Robins High School media guide ready for the first football game. We needed a few more photographs to finish it, so I needed take pictures of some of our football players in front of signs of some of our football program’s advertisers.
Sounds easy enough. No problem, right?
From now on, I will refer to that Saturday as the day I paid for an eating tour of Warner Robins.
It is actually my own fault since, instead of inviting cheerleaders who eat like birds, I invited offensive linemen who eat like -- well, they eat like o-linemen.
Never miss a local story.
To my credit, I did arrange to start at 1 p.m., foolishly thinking that most would have had lunch. I was sure I had watched Scotty eat lunch before we left, but Scotty consumes food so fast, I could have been mistaken. Regardless of my intentions, I was reminded that in the world of those that wear football jerseys and play o-line, meal time is all the time.
During the course of the afternoon, there were about 10 gallons of tea gulped, chicken sandwiches eaten in two bites, ice cream cones licked, milkshakes slurped, a large pizza inhaled and something called jalapeno poppers consumed, which I would really regret later.
One of the highlights of the day was the presence of Scotty’s friend, Autumn, who looks like Miss America and is so obviously not an o-lineman. To her credit, and the credit of her parents, she also does not act like an o-lineman. Offensive linemen, or at least the one I gave birth to and all of his friends, tend to have a very, very, very high opinion of themselves and their skill levels. I am not talking about just on a Friday night either. To hear Scotty and his friends talk, they are the reason any football game is won, never the reason a game is lost, and are responsible for a number of other things such as the moon landing, the polio vaccine and the discovery of the Americas.
I may be exaggerating here -- my friend Tracey Mallory thinks I sometimes go a little overboard in this column -- but the point I am trying to make is that o-linemen I know think the world of themselves. So having someone like Autumn along made up for the fact that the most intelligent conversation coming from the boys was a recap of the latest “SpongeBob SquarePants” episode.
The worst part of the afternoon, however, was not the damage done to my wallet, which I admit was significant. It wasn’t even the mess left in my car -- empty cups, bags and the “useless” parts of a sandwich (think healthy items such as lettuce and tomatoes).
No, the worst part was being trapped in a car with the after effects of young men who have consumed massive amounts of jalapeno poppers in a short period of time and are used to being together in locker rooms.
I will just let you figure the rest out for yourself.
To contact Alline Kent, call 478-396-2467 or email email@example.com.