Getting chosen first for a child’s game. You know the drill: standing in a group, waiting to be chosen for dodgeball or basketball, while one by one, the group shrinks as players are selected, until the slowest, chubbiest one remains. Getting chosen first meant you were likely the best athlete or most popular kid. As is the way with many playground social hierarchy schemes, self-esteem is closely tied to the order in which participants are selected. The closer you are to the end of the list, the worse you feel. And don’t you forget it.
I have a confession: I was never the best athlete or most popular kid in grade school. I was always chosen near the end of the exercise. Today though, my son got chosen first for a game of pickup hockey. That made me smile, and realize that the moral of the story, if there is one, is fuck you, Tommy Jenkins and your stupid fucking third-grade game of Red Rover. Fuck you.