The Pony participated in a Mathlete competition today at the local junior college. Our high school sent six competitors at each grade level. The showing was impressive. Freshman placed 1st and 2nd, Sophomores (The Pony's category) swept 1st, 2nd, and 3rd. Juniors raked in 1st and 3rd. And the Seniors hauled in a 3rd. Needless to say, but I'll say it anyway, our little school won the small schools division handily. Awards are only given for 1st/2nd/3rd each grade level. So we garnered 8 of the 12 awards. Yay, us! The Pony himself earned a red-ribboned medal for 2nd place.
I figured my best old ex-teaching buddy Mabel might be interested to hear that. Some of the winners are her proteges. That information is simply too lengthy for me to text her. Ex-job well done, Mabel.
The rest of you might see it as too much bragging on my little den of learning, but by cracky, we're good enough, we're smart enough, and doggone it, people need to stop belittling us as Backroads hicks. Our school has a history of being the little uncool loser enclave, way back to the days when I was valedictorian at a bigger, cooler, winner school. We are a school of distinction, by cracky! And I'll say by cracky whenever I feel like it. We are Backroads. We are proud.
The team left this morning and stopped for breakfast on the way. The Pony said he had a sausage biscuit, which for him is a substantial meal. Good thing. The team went to KFC for lunch. The chicken buffet. I might have mentioned that you could count the foods The Pony eats on one hand, if it had six fingers. He's not adventurous in the sustenance department.
"What did you have at KFC?" Let the record show that Thevictorians never go there.
"All I had was some biscuits and mashed potatoes."
"That's it? That's all you ate from the buffet? Biscuits with butter, and mashed potatoes with gravy?"
"No. Just biscuits. And mashed potatoes. I HATE chicken!" Said the boy who eats chicken nuggets, planks, strips, tenders, tenderloins, lemon-pepper breasts, Shake 'n' Bake breasts, Sweet & Sour, patties, chunks, and sandwiches. Seriously. Chicken is one of his six food groups. What he meant, I think, was that he does not eat REAL chicken with a bone in it. Maybe he's lazy, like his brother before him, who once brandished a leg and demanded, "WHO PUT THE BONE IN MY CHICKEN?"
Maybe The Pony didn't want to put himself in the midst of a feeding frenzy. I can only imagine 24 high school students at a fried chicken buffet. The image that comes to mind is the scene in Gremlins where Billy looks at the unplugged clock, thinks it's safe to feed his hungry new Gizmo offspring, and hands them a plate of leftover fried chicken from the fridge. You've seen it, right? How the bones fly through the air, strings of saliva fling willy-nilly, and at the end there's a big BURP. I suppose The Pony is lucky to escape with all his limbs intact.
Forget carb-loading for marathons. Forget fish as brain food. Let your future Mathlete eat his fill of biscuits, mashed potatoes, and fried chicken. He might just let you know if you got the correct change.