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nd tossed
downstream without a serving spoon。
I was basket boy number nine。 Which meant I had to stand there on the stage in the gym
while nearly half the guys got auctioned off。 Minimum bid;
ten bucks。 And if nobody bid; the secret was a teacher was assigned to bid on you。
Yes; my friend; the possibilities for mortification were infinite。
Some of the moms showed up and stood off to the side with their camcorders and zoom
lenses; fidgeting and waving and basically acting as
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dweeby as their sons looked。 I should know。 My mom took an hour off work to be one of
them。
Tim Pello was basket boy number five; and his mom actually bid on him。 No kidding。 She
jumped up and down; yelling; “Twenty! I'll give you
twenty!” Man; that'll brand you for life。 Lucky for Tim; Kelly Trott came up with twenty…two fifty
and saved his sorry self from everlasting torture as a
mama's boy — one of the few fates worse than basket boy。
Caleb Hughes was up next; and he fetched the Boosters all of eleven fifty。 Then came Chad
Ormonde; who I swear was ready to pee his pants
when Mrs。 McClure made him step forward。 She read his card; pinched his cheeks; and
raked in fifteen even。
At this point what stood between me and the auction block was Jon Trulock。 And I wasn't
exactly interested in what he had in his basket or what
his hobbies and favor
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