Breakin' For Soccer

It was 1985.

I was in the Fifth grade.

My life revolved around a tragic mixture of Michael Jackson, St. Louis Steamers Soccer and Breakdancing.

So, when an opportunity arrived to combine Breakdancing, a Michael Jackson impersonator and St. Louis Steamers Soccer presented itself in the venue of the Bernard School Winter Dance, naturally I moonwalked to the ticket counter, pronto.

The contest was a breakdancing contest and the prize was two tickets to the Steamers game.

Now, I had been gracing the flattened boxes of former fridges and washer & dryers for some time on the playground at recess. We had a "crew" that competed against another "crew" for the title of Best Breakers. Festooned in our finest sleeveless 80's shirts and parachute pants, we'd "break" for prestige, we'd "break" for pride. So revered were my abilities that a number of students found it necessary to autograph my 1985 yearbook with comments like "the best dancer" and from a City Transfer Student "good for a white dude". You get the picture. You go up against me, and you better bring your A-Level dance sucka.

Since the contest involved a competition of an individual nature, the "crews" decided to suspend all playground "dance-offs", so we could all work on our routines.

The night of the dance was one of great anticipation.

I fretted over spiking my hair just right, and must have tied my Rising Sun Bandana ten times around my knee before getting it right. Slipping into my red Merry Go Round Parachute Pants and stepping into my Red and Black Air Jordans, I was one to reckon with. Lastly, I draped my gold chain around my neck and then I told my mom I was ready for a ride to the dance.

The scene was intense. Crews were trolling about, trying to gague the competition for the night.

The Michael Jackson impersonator finished his number and the contest was ON.

This was single elimination...WINNER TAKE ALL.

TWO TICKETS TO THE STEAMERS.

The beats were pulsating as sweat dripped down my breakin' body.

The catepillar.

The wave.

The knee-spin.

I was making history.

Soon the contest was whittled down to three dancers, with yours truly among those still hittin' it.

The two suckas dancing against me were posers.

I'd beaten them before and besides, I had a "secret move" I was planning to unveil to cinch the prize.

Victory was in my sights.

Then it happened.

Greedily, I attempted a wave to knee-spin to back-spin combination.

Somewhere between the wave and the knee-spin I lost my balance and CRASHED to the floor, landing on my arm.

I tried to dance, but couldn't.

Then the overwhelming "I'm going to hurl" sensation came over me.

Sweat.

Watery mouth.

OH SHIT!

I ran to the bathroom.

LOCKED.

The principal spots me and quickly offers the use of his private bathroom.

He calls my mom as I hurl in his toilet.

A trip to the emergency room nets a sling and a month-long stint on the break dancing disabled list.

As if a broken arm wasn't bad enough, it was later ruled that I forfieted the contest, thereby losing my lunch, my pride and my fucking Steamers tickets.