The Glowing Edge

Tag: jersey

  • How to Pack Your Coach Bag for Amateur Boxing Events

    How to Pack Your Coach Bag for Amateur Boxing Events

    Since I’m usually officiating, I’m not the one who packs the gym bag to take our competitive boxing team to their events, but sometimes I pitch in to help the other coaches remember everything we need.

    And finally I wrote it all down, since that’s infinitely preferable to madly scrambling around at the last minute, trying to remember what all our boxing team will need once they get to the competitive arena.

    Btw, I searched the internet and didn’t find ANYTHING to help you pack your competition bag, so if you happen so see something, please link it in the comments. Just the fact that I couldn’t find anything made me wonder if I was missing something…

    Of course, this will be the ONLY post on the subject to include toilet paper, sparkly elves, chainsaws, and Nicki Minaj. Read on. (more…)

  • The Perfect Jersey Number

    The Best Jersey Number Ever from Lisa Creech Bledsoe on Vimeo.

    This is a short little story about the First that I hadn’t thought of in years, but it’s a great one because it’s just so like him to think of something like this!

    Facebook friends, just click on the link above (or the “view original post” link) to see the video.

  • Ancient; Yea, Crumbling Into Dust


    Tonight the Maker got his new basketball team jersey. He bounced out of the gym and into the car and announced: “My number is 12! One-two!” And he proudly showed off his shiny new shirt, it’s slippery netted surface glinting in the moonlight.

    On the ride home, he expounded on the great good fortune of having received such a perfect number on his jersey. “It’s my age plus my age,” he explained.

    We sighed, reveling in perfection. Then a new thought struck him. “Can I be twelve now, instead of six?” he asked.

    It seemed like a reasonable request, but I prodded for the possible drawbacks. “Sure,” I replied amicably, “but what do you want, now that you’re twelve?”

    He was ready for me. “Six more birthday cakes!” he cried.

    You gotta watch six year olds. They’re tricky.

    As we pulled into the garage, the Maker murmured wistfully, “I wish I had a birthday every single day. I’d have a lot of cakes by now. A thousand! A hundred million!”

    But then he explored the possible drawbacks. “But that’s so many birthdays I’d be dead,” he reasoned, then added solemnly, “or as old as you.”