Thursday, August 18, 2011

Last Kid Picked

Tonight was my second least favorite derby practice ever.  It barely inched by the one where I cried at practice and then for forty-five minutes after practice.  And got a hug from my seventeen year old babysitter.    

The drills were fine.  I didn't even mind monkey sprawls.  Or five minutes of sprinting. 

I showed up in a good mood, excited for practice and ready to skate.

Then I got picked last for scrimmage. 

And really they almost didn't pick the last two of us at all.  Just two of us were left, already humiliated by being the last ones standing there, and then we just stood there for what seemed like an eternity while the captains were talking back and forth.  I honestly think they forgot about us. 

Now, I'd like to say I faced this with a good attitude and let it roll off.  However, I didn't.

It ticked me off.

So, while they were whispering and giggling and ignoring us, I yelled at them,

"Hey!  We're still here.  We are already humiliated enough.  Put us on a team."

And as we skated over to our teams, someone trying to be nice said, "They were fighting over you."

Yeah, right.


Now, I understand that someone has to be picked last every week.  I have never been picked last before tonight, although I have been picked close to last.  I have even been picked first.  Normally, I'm somewhere in the middle.

Being picked last brings up every last insecurity I have about my athletic abilities.  It doesn't make me want to try harder, so that I don't get picked last next time.  I know it might motivate some people; it makes me want to go home.  And that's what I wanted to do, but I didn't.  I stayed and had a lousy scrimmage because, in reality, isn't that what I was set up for?    

Yeah, yeah... rise above.  Show them they are wrong.  Blah. Blah. Blah.  This isn't a scene from a Lifetime movie. 

It hurts our feelings to be picked last.  There is nothing nice or kind or redeeming about this process of team selection.  And I am not going to pretend that I'm fine with being picked last.  I'm not.  I don't care if you are forty or twelve or six or eighty-two, it still stings. 

All I know is that there has got to be a better method.     

Every woman standing on that rink has earned the right to be at bouting practice. We have all had off practices and off weeks. And being picked last only serves to kick us while we are down.   


  1. On one of our mission trips, we decided to play ultimate frisbee and two of my favorite girls were choosing teams. In my head, I thought "yay! finally I won't be picked last!"

    They started by saying that they couldn't decide who gets me so they were going to pick everyone else and when I was left I'd go to which ever team was next to pick.

    I may or may not have shouted "Hell NO. This is the only time in my life I have the chance of not being picked last. I don't care if you rock paper scissors for me- I am not going last!"

    I hear you. So loud.

  2. I knew we were meant to be friends. I was picked last probably EVERY.SINGLE.TIME there was any sort of team picking while in elementary. EVERY time!!!! Yeah, it still stings at times when I think about it. It's a terrible way to do things. I love you and know you will be fine. This was a great gut-honest post, friend. ; )

  3. if i may, suggest a potential silver lining?

    your post so reminded me of 8th grade. just about the very worst year of my life. isn't your beautiful girl about to enter her middle school years? they are awful. they suck. maybe it is good to be reminded of those times when we are mamas. my middle school reminder right now is when i wait for my girls to get out of ballet, wondering if there will be a nice mom for me to visit with. sometimes there is. sometimes i'm reminded of eighth grade again--new to california, growing out my bangs, and eating lunch alone.

    i hope your miss proper has few "last moments." but when she does, you will be a wonderful shelter for her.

    blah blah. i'm done. sorry you had a crappy practice. you are still amazing--everyday.