The guy who bullied me in high school got arrested a few months ago. You’d think I’d be happy about it, but I find myself holding a surprisingly mixed bag of emotions.
I try to not wish misfortune upon anyone. Even my enemies. It’s bad juju. You can’t go through life hoping every person whoever wrongs you deserves a similar misfortune.
There’d be too many to keep track. Plus, as I’ve personally witnessed time and time again, what goes around comes around. The universe has its own special way of dispensing justice in a fairly reliable manner.
Now that I'm older, I know life is full of bullies.
But Allen was special. He was my bully.
And, yeah. I got bullied by an Allen. That still irks me.
Allen was the varsity baseball team’s ace pitcher. He had a good fastball and some decent off-speed stuff, but mostly he was just a cocky asshole who was blessed with one of the best defenses in the district to cover his butt.
My friend Scott and I were the only two freshmen that year to make the junior varsity team. That and the fact that we were into skateboarding made us Allen’s favorite targets.
It was all the usual bullshit. He’d push us around in the halls, fuck up our lockers and he especially enjoyed disparaging my good name in various places throughout the school.
He didn’t mix things up. He kept his messaging simple and consistent.
It always said: Jeff Eaker = Giant Pussy.
If nothing else, I always admired the symmetry.
One day, however, Allen outdid himself. It was the beginning of sophomore year. Football workouts start a few weeks before school begins. The coaches aren’t allowed to be there, so the upper classmen and varsity team captains run the show.
There were usually two workouts a day. One in the morning and one in the afternoon. I preferred the morning workouts because it was cooler. Houston in August is not to be toyed with in the afternoon.
One morning I got there early, and I was pretty much the first one there. I went to the weight room and was just about to start my reps when Allen and two of his friends walk in. Allen didn’t even play football, so it was odd that he was up there.
I didn’t like the vibe, so I went out to the track to do some running. I figured it’d be safer outside. I was wrong.
Allen and his two buddies followed me out.
“Eaker! Get over here you giant pussy!”
“Leave me alone, man. I’m just doing my workout.”
“Ah, you hear that guys? Giant Pussy wants to workout. Why don’t we give him a hand?”
Before I knew it, they had me on the ground. Allen grabbed one leg and someone else grabbed the other. I knew exactly what they were going to do.
The painful part isn’t getting dragged 100 yards down the field. You get a heck of a turf-burn on your lower back but it’s not as bad as getting posted.
Getting posted is what happens after they drag you 100 yards down the field. That's when they take you to the goal post, put one leg on each side and repeatedly try to ram your junk into the post. If you’re lucky enough to have your arms free you can attempt to cushion the blow. That and a lot of squirming helped, but they still got me pretty good.
As it turns out, this isn’t the first time Allen’s seen the inside of a prison cell.
In 2003, he got sentenced to three years for violating the terms of his probation stemming from a 1999 conviction.
This time, if convicted, he’ll be considered a second degree habitual offender—meaning he could be punished as a 1st degree felon which carries a sentence of 5 years to life.
And it just makes me sad. I actually feel really bad for the guy.
I would've loved to have found Allen’s car in a parking lot one day and written Giant Pussy on it, but it gives me no pleasure to see someone I know who’s allowed their life to descend into a hellish nightmare from which there is no escape.
As it turns out, Allen made his own life a thousand times worse than he ever made mine.
I used to think that ultimately bullies got what they deserved. But those were just the regular, everyday, run-of-the mill bullies.
These days I’m not so sure. These days the bullies are different. They seem to have figured out a way to escape justice.
These days the bullies have immunity.
These days the bullies have the richest men in the world by their side.
These days the bullies have the world’s most powerful country in their pocket and more than half of its citizens are cheering them on.
It kinda makes you think that maybe it took 80 years, but the Nazis finally won.
Allen got me good that day on the football field. But he didn’t get me as good as he wanted. A few minutes in, some of the other varsity players showed up and broke it up.
They came to my rescue.
Which is another thing that a few years of experience have taught me and what I cling to now more than ever: Wherever there are bullies there are also rescuers.
A few years ago, I actually ran into Allen on social media. I had commented on someone’s post who was talking about the Black Lives Matter movement.
Of course, Allen didn’t have an opinion on the post. He just wrote:
Jeff Eaker = Giant Pussy.
Thanks for reading. If you have any needs for a freelance copywriter, I currently have availability.
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