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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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