Gary Pettus: Demanding a recount

I demand a recount.

Better yet, I demand that the vote be overturned.

I insist that I be reinstated — or, more accurately, instated — as a member of the eighth-grade basketball team for what is now William M. Colmer Middle School, located in my hometown of beautiful east-southeast Pascagoula.

Go, Cougars.

Sink to the bait

Yes, my basketball tryout was held 46 years ago.

Yes, my current and shaky Cream of Wheat legs are bisected by knees boasting the consistency of Jell-O pudding.

Yes, I have a vertical leap of minus one inch.

Yes, I once thought "camping in the key" meant "a nice vacation in the tropics."

But I'm still not conceding. I will never concede. I don't know the meaning of the word "concede" — not to mention the meaning of "grasp" and "of" and "reality." Also: "shame."

I refuse to admit that I was not, and am not, fit to play on my former junior high school's basketball team, in spite of the overwhelming "evidence" to the contrary.

I did not lose in the tryout. How could I have lost when the decision was not fair, when the vote was stolen?

This is how many questionable ballots were cast: more than zero. Officially, only one vote separated me from making the team: the coach's. He had the only vote. He voted "are you kidding me?"

That's right: The margin of my "defeat" was one. Yet, there was no runoff.

Why did he vote to keep me off the team? I'll tell you why: The guys who did make the team conspired against me; they went to the coach and called me names like "terrible" and "shorty."

I was short-baited.

Net loss

It was 1968. They could put a man on the moon (well, they could a year later), but they couldn't put a guy who missed every layup in tryouts on the basketball team.

Furthermore, I can cite dozens of irregularities in the voting process, but, in the interest of time, I will list the most important:

A.) It made me mad.

I realize that I'll have my detractors. That certain DRAINOs (Devoted Rooters for Athletics In Name Only) will tell me that I need to move on, that my unwillingness to bow to the merciless march of time's corroding journey, not to mention my habit of shooting at the wrong goal, could fatally wound the Colmer Middle School athletic program and set the sport of basketball back 50 years.

They will say that, yes; but they'll have to repeat themselves as I was thoughtfully plucking invisible straws from my hair at the time.

Anyway, this is bigger than me: It's all about the integrity of the tryout. Is it also about finding a way for me to raise money? Oh, yeah!

My plan is to flog this issue until Kingdom Come while you, concerned and gullible sports fans, keep sending your hard-earned dollars to my fund: the Cause to Annul and Negate This Despicable Outcome That Has Exposed My Amazing Talent for Hoo-ha. Or: CANTDOTHEMATH.

Your generous donation will pay for an attorney, who will prepare an expensive, but idle, threat. So, dig deep, my friends, and remember: You're never too old to dribble.

I'm Gary "Jell-O Knees" Pettus, and I approved this mess.

Age.

Message.

Gary Pettus is a Jackson journalist and syndicated columnist.