Player Season: The Pickup Artist Who Hacked Nike Read Online Free
Author: Brad Stephenson
Tags: Humor, nonfiction, Biography & Autobiography, Retail, Baseball
hand, walked up to me without a single trace of exhaustion.
"What the fuck man?" I asked him, with the scarce breath I had available.
"I told you to chase me!" He said, smiling as the scouts salivated.
His finish time was 6.19 seconds and mine was 7.23 seconds.†He beat me by a full second, which is basically unheard of when it comes to 60-yard dash times.
Although I was slow, I made up for it on defense with a strong throwing arm and all it takes is one game or even one performance for someone to see potential in your abilities.
I accepted an athletic scholarship to East Carolina University. At the time, I didn't envision having dead birds placed in my shoe and firecrackers thrown at my head during freshman year.
East Carolina
My senior year ended with two notable events.
I broke up with my high school girlfriend who, possibly in retaliation, went on to become a professional softball player. She was the skinny and swift type of softball player, not the...umm...other kind.
Secondly, I was suspended from school for going to a strip club while our baseball team was in Cocoa Beach, FL.
Nonetheless, I was on my way to East Carolina University; a place well known for wild parties and curvaceous country girls.
When I got there, I realized I would have very little time to enjoy those amenities and this became abundantly clear during our first workout session...
Draped in purple shorts and a grey t-shirt, I stepped in knowing how rigorous their workouts were rumored to be, and the rumors were spot on. After lifting weights for an hour, the strength coach delivered devastating news.
"OK guys, meet me outside for a five mile run!"
Running was my archenemy (for the time being).
I stayed in the back of the pack, careening through the pasture, ultimately finishing in 57 minutes (a little over 11 minutes per mile).
When I stumbled back to my dorm room, my teammate was doing schoolwork on his laptop. His workout wasn't until later in the day.
"How was it?" he asked, as I limped towards my bed.
Before I could answer him, a waterfall of fluids came rushing out of my mouth and splattered in the center of our carpeted floor. I gave him a quick look, gasped, wiped the excess drool from my mouth and collapsed onto the mattress – I think his question was answered.
These workouts persisted, week after week, only having Sunday to rest and recharge. College was supposed to be the most enjoyable time of my life, filled with drunken nights and promiscuous girls, but it was beginning to feel like I joined the military.
As a free spirit it was hard not to cut loose, and I finally cracked – at a time I definitely shouldn't have.
An acquaintance from down the hall unexpectedly entered my room on a Sunday afternoon. He was a pledging frat boy dressed in a collared t-shirt, beige Dockers, penny loafers and an arched brim hat with a fishing hook attached; typical fraternity attire. After canvassing the room, apparently to make sure we were alone, he removed a bag from his left pocket.
"One of my frat brothers gave me an eighth of shrooms for free. Do you want them?" he asked, with a devilish smile.
The contents of the bag didn't resemble my expectation of 'magic mushrooms'. They were grinded down with no visible caps; still, this was my opportunity to get a much-needed mental release.
"I'll try it out, how do you take them?" I questioned.
"Well, it's shake, so you can just put it on a piece of pizza," he advised.
I ordered a slice of pizza from the cafeteria and then returned to my room, but he was gone. Unfortunately, I forgot to ask him how much I was supposed to use so I foolishly poured the entire bag on top, as if it were Parmesan cheese, and began mowing it down. I probably would have been fine – if I wasn't required to attend study hall with my team in 20 minutes.
On the ride over, I couldn't feel any side effects but the very second I entered the computer lab – the mushrooms hit me like a ton of bricks.
In an
"What the fuck man?" I asked him, with the scarce breath I had available.
"I told you to chase me!" He said, smiling as the scouts salivated.
His finish time was 6.19 seconds and mine was 7.23 seconds.†He beat me by a full second, which is basically unheard of when it comes to 60-yard dash times.
Although I was slow, I made up for it on defense with a strong throwing arm and all it takes is one game or even one performance for someone to see potential in your abilities.
I accepted an athletic scholarship to East Carolina University. At the time, I didn't envision having dead birds placed in my shoe and firecrackers thrown at my head during freshman year.
East Carolina
My senior year ended with two notable events.
I broke up with my high school girlfriend who, possibly in retaliation, went on to become a professional softball player. She was the skinny and swift type of softball player, not the...umm...other kind.
Secondly, I was suspended from school for going to a strip club while our baseball team was in Cocoa Beach, FL.
Nonetheless, I was on my way to East Carolina University; a place well known for wild parties and curvaceous country girls.
When I got there, I realized I would have very little time to enjoy those amenities and this became abundantly clear during our first workout session...
Draped in purple shorts and a grey t-shirt, I stepped in knowing how rigorous their workouts were rumored to be, and the rumors were spot on. After lifting weights for an hour, the strength coach delivered devastating news.
"OK guys, meet me outside for a five mile run!"
Running was my archenemy (for the time being).
I stayed in the back of the pack, careening through the pasture, ultimately finishing in 57 minutes (a little over 11 minutes per mile).
When I stumbled back to my dorm room, my teammate was doing schoolwork on his laptop. His workout wasn't until later in the day.
"How was it?" he asked, as I limped towards my bed.
Before I could answer him, a waterfall of fluids came rushing out of my mouth and splattered in the center of our carpeted floor. I gave him a quick look, gasped, wiped the excess drool from my mouth and collapsed onto the mattress – I think his question was answered.
These workouts persisted, week after week, only having Sunday to rest and recharge. College was supposed to be the most enjoyable time of my life, filled with drunken nights and promiscuous girls, but it was beginning to feel like I joined the military.
As a free spirit it was hard not to cut loose, and I finally cracked – at a time I definitely shouldn't have.
An acquaintance from down the hall unexpectedly entered my room on a Sunday afternoon. He was a pledging frat boy dressed in a collared t-shirt, beige Dockers, penny loafers and an arched brim hat with a fishing hook attached; typical fraternity attire. After canvassing the room, apparently to make sure we were alone, he removed a bag from his left pocket.
"One of my frat brothers gave me an eighth of shrooms for free. Do you want them?" he asked, with a devilish smile.
The contents of the bag didn't resemble my expectation of 'magic mushrooms'. They were grinded down with no visible caps; still, this was my opportunity to get a much-needed mental release.
"I'll try it out, how do you take them?" I questioned.
"Well, it's shake, so you can just put it on a piece of pizza," he advised.
I ordered a slice of pizza from the cafeteria and then returned to my room, but he was gone. Unfortunately, I forgot to ask him how much I was supposed to use so I foolishly poured the entire bag on top, as if it were Parmesan cheese, and began mowing it down. I probably would have been fine – if I wasn't required to attend study hall with my team in 20 minutes.
On the ride over, I couldn't feel any side effects but the very second I entered the computer lab – the mushrooms hit me like a ton of bricks.
In an
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