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The 27 at 27
11/07/05
by the 27

And on the 25th day (of October, 1978) God created The 27.

Use of subtraction will confirm that, last week, cosmic alignment was such that the age of The 27's existence exactly coincided with the most important data that can ever me assigned to a young man – his high school football number. The 27 turned 27. Such an occasion prompted a quick reflection back on the course of my life. It is a less than glamorous tour:

To the womb: I almost didn't make it – at birth, the umbilical cord thrice wrapped around my neck nearly choked me. Old Indian women now sing of the occurrence as an auspicious sign, a signal of fortitude, resilience and a steely constitution. I have viewed the same as an unfortunate incident, the deprivation of oxygenated blood to my limbs in that critical post-natal period likely costing me any real shot at a professional athletic career. Really, it's both a miracle and a tribute to my raw athleticism that I am now walking at all. But that is the subject of another column, perhaps my next, likely to be submitted in 2008: "Overcoming All Odds: How The 27 Changed the Public's Perception of Unathletic Indian Men."

The ages of 1 – 7 can be neatly summarized with the following four bullet points:

• Tight red shorts, with white stripes down the side, ending slightly below my crotch.
• A brief flirtation with ballet.
• An inability to properly use scissors in Art class, which leads to (1) profuse crying; and (2) an unprecedented slap from my Kindergarten teacher, who I'm now convinced played the Wicked Witch of the West.

Bitch.

• I inexplicably pass out on Halloween, as my mother draws fake blood on my brother's mouth to compliment his Dracula costume. This will prove to be more than a one time occurrence.

I view the ages of 7 – 17, in many ways, as defining:

• My first erection at 8, while watching All My Children with my mother. Susan Lucci's sumptuous portrayal of Erica Kane steals my innocence. The little fella' suddenly standing at full alert initially startles me, yet I quickly view it as good fortune – having never heard, discussed, or seen (thank God) anything similar, I naturally believe that I have been bestowed with a special gift. I feet like a jacked Tobey Maguire in Spiderman first viewing his new physique. Honestly, not even really knowing what one was, I view myself as a sex machine. The years 8 – Present have subsequently disproved that theory.

Sweet Temptress

• I am 12 and a pulsating pod of pubescent juices. In sixth grade before my first dance, my father teaches me to shave, while most of my friends have yet to develop pubic hair. At 13, I am 5'7'', 140 lbs, the starting center on Middle School basketball team. These dimensions, coupled with the aforementioned shaving, lead me to believe that I will soon be a 7 ft. beast in the paint. I am now 5'10'' 160 lbs.
• I, and two of my friends, form the exclusive club, The Latin Brothers. This is essentially a club consisting of myself (Celer) and two of my friends (Maximus and Antonious) sitting in Latin class and calling ourselves The Latin Brothers while creating songs about how we are The Latin Brothers. My time commitment to The Latin Brothers precludes me from having a girlfriend.
• A series of disgustingly huge pimples.
• I am too scared to kiss my first girlfriend because I fear my mother will appear just at that moment. I am dumped over the summer via letter from her summer camp, where she met some surfer from California named Neal. Apparently, Neal was not afraid of kissing.
• I pass out in the middle of Health class because Coach Schaeffer is discussing the proper use of tourniquets.
• I fall madly in love at 15 and do not recover until high school graduation. The unfortunate victim is a dear friend to this day, but who, I now realize, was the target of my unhealthy obsession, in large part, because I simply loved her ass. Love sonnets are written, flowers placed in lockers, and tears shed, all for that exquisite bottom.
• My first beer. An Icehouse, which after drinking half of it, I am extraordinarily drunk, and I end up lying in a pool of my own vomit. I have since tried to convince my friends that Icehouse contains twice the amount of alcohol as other domestic beers, and thus, I really got drunk off of an entire bottle of beer. They do not seriously entertain the argument.
• At 16, my first hook-up, a steamy affair on my friend's couch. Neither the girl nor I especially like one another, nor do we have anything in common, nor will we ever talk much again, but that night, on that couch, we journey down lust's past together, hand in hand, easing each other through the awkwardness along the way. That is, until it ends two minutes after it begins, when I try to feel her up.
• I tackle now-NFL fullback Heath Evans several times, in a 17-13 loss to West Palm Beach King's Academy in the Elite Eight of the Class 2A state playoffs. This is my last high school football game. Whenever Heath Evans is on TV (Auburn Tigers, Seattle Seahawks, Miami Dolphins. New England Patriots), I remind everyone in the room that I have tackled him several times.

The 27's Personal Tackling Dummy

College/Law School:

At this point, my experiences are likely very similar to yours. So, only a few highlights:

• My college roommate, completely naked and extremely not sober, bathes himself in our kitchen, with dish washing detergent, a bucket of water, and cereal.
• I discover fantasy sports and do not study for a final exam again.
• I consume 10,453.7 Dominoes cheese sticks and 11,432 slices of Papa Johns thin crust with extra cheese and bacon, all consumption occurring after 3 AM.
• I start to hate Kobie Bryant.
• My car is towed 76 times and I pay out close to $2,000 in parking tickets.
• I rush for 452 yards in one game of Madden with Christian Okoye.
• My Bucs win the Super Bowl.
• I throw up a lot.
• I pass out on an airplane from reading a particularly graphic passage.
• I am kicked out of a bar for peeing in the kitchen (the bathroom line was too long).

Post-Law School :

• Admitted to practice law.
• I purchase a kitten.

That, friends, – give or take a few torn ligaments, some egg and cheese sandwiches, and a ridiculous night in San Juan – is the sum of my life. To steal from Dr. Evil, the details of my life have been quite inconsequential. Tiger Woods was the AP Male Athlete of the Year; at 23. By 24, Michael Jackson was the unquestioned King of Pop. At 3, Mozart could play the harpsichord. I don't even know what a harpsichord is.

A harpsichord.

But I'm not complaining. I'm healthy, have a great family, a job that pays me a disproportionate amount of money for the work that I do, and I am always surrounded by friends who will gladly take that money in poker through the wee hours of the morning.

Plus, things could be worse.

I could be Ryan from Ft. Myers.

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