What A Tool!

I've never been known for my physical prowess. The closest I've come to that is tetherball at summer camp. It combined some of my favorite things, like standing still, playing ball-related sports, and hitting stuff with a closed fist. But it also added some stuff that made it manageable for a fat kid, like the fact that the ball can't roll away and the longer you play the closer the ball is. But besides tetherball (and maybe bowling), I'm not an "athlete." Which is why I was so surprised when the Cowboys took me as the number 7 pick in the 2002 NFL Draft. Boy were they surprised when I walked on stage.

Okay, obviously just kidding there. But the point is that I was not the kid who got picked first for anything. And I'm totally fine with that (after years of extensive counseling). But, I have to admit, I've got the reflexes of a puma (and the magical powers of a liger). I think the problem is my brain. If I have to think about something for too long (like a slowly-pitched softball), then I suck because I overthink it (and strikeout). But if you throw a screwdriver at my head as hard as you can without much warning, I might catch it. And in fact, my older brother once did that very thing. He got mad at me for some sarcastic comment I made at his expense (which totally doesn't sound like me). So he stormed up the stairs to go to his room. But he stopped at the top of the landing and grabbed the first thing he saw; a medium-sized flathead screwdriver. So he picked it up and hurled it at me as he said, "Hey Taylor...." I can only assume that saying my name like that was his way of justifying attempted murder. ("If I yell his name, then I'm giving him fair warning.")

Well my puma reflexes (and possibly my liger powers) kicked in, and I reacted (notice the bolding on the word "reacted" - reread that sentence and really put emphasis on that word). I dodged the screwdriver with a quick head movement and snatched it out of the air with my right hand (see Mythbusters representation below). I looked up at my brother, narrowed my eyes (as ninja-like as I could) and whispered, "How dare you." I wish I could accurately describe the expression on his face. It was half "oh snap, he caught it" and half "oh snap, I just threw a sharp metal object at his head." So he went to his room and didn't mess with me for a good hour (which is a record).

So anyway, that was my shining moment. And no one was more surprised than me. And while I'm glad I caught it for dramatic effect, I'm more glad he gave me a little warning. Otherwise I'd have a wicked scar that nobody could see, and I'd never have gone to college.