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played and the city manager, Tim Krueger, gave a speech about Bluffton values. (We value winning apparently.) It was on fire! November heat, baby! So much fun.
    And then, the Wednesday after our victory, I felt that hole in my stomach and I slept in my basement bedroom one door away from where Dad killed himself. The recruiters texted and Facebooked, and I didn’t want to go to Wisconsin and I couldn’t go to Northwestern because of my dead dad, and ESPN had me announcing my college choice live on TV in a couple months (seriously) and so I had better damn well pay attention to what the hell was going on and so…Sexpot U.
    ***
    The School That Shall Not Be Named
    No ancient libraries and big books.
    Talk about culture.
    First, at this not-named school, I was offered pot by a linebacker. He said, “You smoke up, man?”
    I said, “Cigarettes? My friend Gus used to.”
    He said, “Herb, dude. Helps with the pain. You want to chill?”
    I had only heard rumors of weed up in Bluffton. Burner rumors about one-hitters and Dumpsters, and I didn’t know what the hell and I got real jumpy. Before I flew down there, Abby Sauter told me people in the South are polite, so I said, “Oh jeez! Heck! Wow! Jeez! No thank you, sir!”
    Duh. I’m a dipshit.
    I’m sure he wanted to punch my dumbass face.
    Second, they had a girl (blond girl who said she was a former pole vaulter) give me the school tour. The first thing she said to me was, “Wow, you’re bigger than I dreamed.”
    How am I supposed to respond to that? I said, “Why, thank you, ma’am.”
    Then she grabbed my hand like five times while we walked around, and she put her hand on my thigh while we sat on this bench next to the administration building. And finally—I’m completely serious—while we ate a damn cheeseburger in the student union, she laughed and leaned back, then leaned forward and reached her hand pretty much directly into my freaking groin, which I found way too exciting. For real —I jumped like a monkey on a hot stove—“ Wow! Whoa! Heck! ” And then I thought about Aleah and asked to go back to the hotel.
    The girl looked really hurt. “Are you sure?” she asked.
    â€œI’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I said. And I felt bad. But, Aleah. She was on my mind because, as I mentioned, she’d been acting weird. And, really, what should I have done? Do players really end up doing it to random pole vaulters on recruiting visits?
    I didn’t sleep a wink.
    The remote control worked very well in the hotel, which was nice.
    Then Saturday, I got to be on the sideline for the big game!
    Third problem, the Unnamed team lost by three points to its rival and the jerk players yelled at each other and a couple shoved each other and they spat on the ground and swore a lot and pointed fingers in each other’s faces. (I don’t respect players yelling at each other for messing up.)
    I can’t tell you how bad that sideline smelled. Southern heat. All that anger. All that steaming football gear. Disgusting.
    Then I refused to go on the football facilities tour. The shit on the sideline got into my body and I worried I might fight someone because I can sort of lose my head and go nuts and I was especially jumpy back then.
    The running backs coach was very confused by my decision. He actually said, “Are you kidding me?”
    â€œNo, sir. I’m tired,” I said. (I think I sounded like a robot.)
    â€œReally? You’re not messing around?”
    â€œNo,” I said.
    â€œSuit yourself,” he said, giving me that punch your face look.
    You know what? Of course people want to punch my face. What football recruit accepts a visit invitation, then refuses to visit the football facilities?
    Me.
    Fourth, the next day, Sunday, the head coach came over to the hotel and took me on a walk around campus (which I’d already seen with the