Here’s an old favorite from the archives of Jonathan-Rogers.com. I hope you enjoy it again.

Think of all the amusing anecdotes you know about junior high football. I’m guessing 75% are set in that “magic hour” when the boys have arrived at the practice field but the coach hasn’t. Thirty junior high boys, no adult supervision. Something’s bound to happen.

In eighth grade, my cousin Brett got his pants pulled down at football practice. The coach was elsewere–wrapping up bus duty or finishing one last cigarette in the teachers’ lounge before facing the barbarians. Frank, the starting fullback, snuck around behind and snatched Brett’s pants in front of God and everybody. It was a beautiful pantsing, not one of those awkward affairs where the victim clamps his knees together and goes into a squat, clutching at his britches and his dignity. No, this was clean and quick. Brett’s pants went right to the ground.

Frank whooped and cavorted in his triumph. It was easily the best pantsing of the season. The other boys howled and pointed at Brett.

Who just stood there.

The hooting mockery swirled around him, but Brett stood his ground–pants around his ankles, arms akimbo, a look of perfect serenity on his face. The howling became nervous laughter as the mockery gave way to confusion. The boys had never seen such a thing before: the one boy who maintained his dignity was the one whose pants were crumpled around his ankles.

Frank looked fitfully toward the school, whence the coach would soon be coming. “Hey, Brett,” he said, his voice broken by a nervous chuckle, “pull up your pants, man.”

Brett crossed his arms and stared off into the middle distance, as grave as a statue.

“Brett, man,” Frank repeated. “Pull up your pants. Coach gonna see.”

Brett shifted his weight but didn’t otherwise move. “I didn’t pull them down,” he said, with withering dignity, “and I’m not going to pull them up.”

Frank looked from Brett to the school building and back to Brett. The fascinated boys had gone silent. The door from the equipment room swung open, and the boys gasped in unison at the sight of the coach’s lanky form emerging. Frank hesitated. For an instant it appeared he would run away. He took one last look at the approaching coach, then circled around behind Brett. Sighing grimly and rolling his eyes, Frank pulled Brett’s pants back up where they belonged.

It was one of the great moments in the history of eighth graders.

  • Philip Nel
    2:41 PM, 18 August 2010

    You, sir, are a born storyteller. Of course, I’ve known that since I’ve known you. And readers of your novels know this also. But readers who — knowing neither you nor your work — stop by this blog are in for an unexpected treat. So… keep up the good work!

  • Tom Hoffman
    8:33 PM, 18 August 2010

    Brilliant! I love it. I have dozens of these stories, too. Of course, they are all about how I WISH things had turned out, and occurred to me hours, days, sometimes years after the actual events took place.

  • Brett Minter
    12:40 AM, 19 August 2010

    Thanks for taking me back to “Warrior Country” and our dominant football program. We couldn’t win but atleast we could laugh.

  • Terri DeFoor
    1:33 AM, 19 August 2010

    I have learned something new about cousin Brett. Thanks, cousin Jonathan! And thanks for the blog. I’ll be checking back in soon now that I know you’re here.

  • […] his many gifts, Jonathan is an accomplished practitioner of the art of the amusing anecdote. He appears poised to regularly unleash this gift on the public at the aforementioned blog. See, […]

  • Canaan Bound
    1:08 AM, 2 October 2010

    Bahahahahahahahahahahahahah!!!! Still laughing at this…

  • […] is a concert. Ideally, there’s cognitive dissonance in a celebrity sighting. Like the time my cousin Brett saw Hulk Hogan and Ric Flair–mortal enemies in the rassling ring–driving down the […]

  • Anonymous
    2:49 PM, 2 June 2011

    Still just as funny.  🙂

  • Canaan Bound
    4:43 AM, 12 June 2011

    Pantsed stories never get old…

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