Fizzle Ed

I'm not saying that many Phys Ed teachers operate well below genius level — one of my many brothers in law was an elementary school gym teacher for several years — but I've had a few non Einsteins over the year.

One, in high school, was Coach Schlenker. He insisted on being called "coach," we insisted on calling him "Coach Canker" (though not to his face). Yes, we were a mature bunch.

"Line up in a semi-circle," he'd say. Then: "How come no one is behind me?"

"How can you add more zinc to your diet?" he asked once during health. I raised my hand: "Go out in the parking lot and lick someone's bumper." (I wasn't the class clown, but I had my moments. That one earned me a trip to the principal's office. What can I say? I was bored and blurted it out. I don't even know if there was any zinc in a car bumper.)

I had gym teachers who didn't know how many laps around the track equalled a mile, whether the markings on the track indicated metric or English measurements, how many people were on a soccer or volleyball team, and all sorts of other things that a gym teacher should probably know.

My favorite, though, came during my sophomore year in high school. The school hired two gym teachers on a temporary basis for the year, intending to keep one after seeing how the year went. Just before the end of the school year, the one who was younger (and, I thought, much cooler), was in a car accident and apparently left the scene on foot. When police searched his car they found a big bag of pot and some drug paraphernalia.

Sadly, the Board of Education decided to offer a contract to the other gym teacher. Not the decision I would have made.