For four years I have happily avoided the celebrated competition of Tiger Traks. Convenient excuses like “I have to commemorate my friend’s birthday in the location of her actual birth,” or “Oh darn it, I’ll be out of the country,” or “I’m sorry, but I believe I’ll be feeding Sudanese refugees that weekend” have kept my lack of athletic ability inconspicuous.
Until now.
It being the final semester of my senior year, I was struck recently by a staggering question: can I call myself a true Tiger without ever participating in Tiger Traks? I reasoned that, “no, I could not.”
So, I set out to make my Ouachita experience complete, searching for the perfect Tiger Traks Eight-some. I pondered questions such as “where can I find the poster children of sport?” and “who on this campus epitomizes physical intensity?”
Naturally, I looked to the English Department, a hotbed of athleticism.
Having assembled our team, we embarked this past Friday on what was to be the adventure of a lifetime. We—Liz “The Dark Horse” Richardson, Baronger the Brave, Sarah “Not Plain but Tall” Stark, Ellen Three Sticks Pointing East Eubanks, Jason the Pony-tailed Warrior, The Emperor of Ice cream, Mary Poppins on Speed, and myself set off on our quest, sporting much heart and several deer-in-the-headlights expressions. We hoped to put our name down in Tiger Traks history.
The name, however, posed an unexpected problem. Mary Poppins had a brilliant idea on the subject of team t-shirts. One of her students was selling shirts to raise money for Nigerian widows. Poppins thought that by purchasing said t-shirts for the team, we would save ourselves time as well as tender our finances to the poor and destitute in the process. In order to merge both our literary roots and represent our friends back in Africa (aka, the Motherland), we chose the name “Things Fall Apart” for our team, giving a shout out to our old friend Chinua Achebe and calling upon the sympathies of many a Western Letters student. We could not foresee at the time, however, the confusion said shirts would inspire.
Apparently, having the words “AIDS” in bold red letters on one’s back during Traks lends itself to a variety of responses, few not marked by condemnation and distain. What it also lends itself to is many a conversation such as this: [while running around campus on the tiger trek]
--“What! Oh hey! No, it’s not our team name” [several gasps for air]
--“Yeah, I realize AIDS is a serious issue” [more gasping]
--“No, we’re not trying to be funny.” [more gasping]
--“It’s a novel, you know, Things Fall Apart. Nigeria? Achebe? Beular?” [exasperation]
--“Yes, I know my shirt has the words malnutrition and sex-trafficking on the front, but isn’t it nifty how it fits into the shape of Africa?”
After settling any lingering tension from the above issue, we attempted to hold our own in a variety of competition events. We found that some areas were not our strength—specifically, all games relating to mud (at one point Liz, Dr. Amy Sonheim, and I were all dragged upside down, the only lifeline between us and death by mud-drowning being the bottom of a tug-of-war rope). However, in other areas we shined. 91 marbles with our toes! Can I get a witness?
However, in all Traks events, we felt prepared. We armed ourselves with proverbs such as “the pen is mightier than the sword” and “sticks and stones won’t break my bones…” We channeled our inner Borrimeers and Beowolfs. We rested in thoughts like, “Relay? Boat race? Volleyball? check! I’ve totally read about that somewhere! We got this!”
And in the end, we fared well. We walked away with our heads held high. We brought honor to many English majors who were safe at home, resting in the comfort of a book, cup of tea, or a solitary walk through a forest.
Perhaps, Africa Is not Done Suffering, but after the end of the weekend’s events, we, the members of Things Fall Apart, certainly are.
That’ll do, Things. That’ll do, indeed.
Please write a book and I will buy it.
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