I Could Always Fall Back On My Jockey Career...

Every generation, an athlete defies conventional wisdom in a given sport and rises above his peers to greatness, transcending the game in such a way that they gain relevance in the global consciousness.

In basketball, there was Michael Jordan.

In golf, Tiger Woods.

In baseball baseball Babe Ruth, football Jim Brown, hockey Wayne Gretzky, and so on and so on.

Now, in a sport as to yet unappreciated, an athlete has risen to such heights that he has quite possibly changed the fabric of America as we know it.

That athlete is me.

That sport is hide-and-go-seek.

The Scene: Martindale, Texas. My cousin, Doyle, and I have been lured to his neighbor's house under the pretense of a dinner party. Doyle is asked to bring his five-year-old granddaughter, Storie, with him.

The Setup: Under the guise of a traditional dinner party, I have let my guard down. At a table with four adults, I begin proper conversation as I enjoy a delightful meal. Little do I know that Storie and the neighbor's four-year-old, Lauren, have plotted a surprise version of their favorite game.

You guessed it. Hide-and-go-seek.

As the "adults" continue dinner conversation, I find myself in the middle of a high-stakes battle for survival. Lauren and Storie play to win, and they'll win at any cost; no rule is too sacred.

"Count to fifty" quickly turns into "count to five," "close your eyes" is taken as "follow me around so you know exactly where I'll be hiding," and "I'm too tired and old to lift both of you up to touch the ceiling for the six hundredth time in a row" becomes "sure I will, and don't forget to kick me in the face again on the way up."

Standing at six feet, five inches tall, I am at a clear disadvantage. This is a game where being compact is intimidating, where children and little people reign supreme, where Shaquille O'Neal cowers at the sight of Verne Troyer. This is a game I was not born to play, and with ten seconds to go in the fourth quarter, I need a hail mary, and Doug Flutie is nowhere in sight.

So I point Lauren and Storie in the other direction to count to "fifty" and make a mad dash...past the living room, through the kitchen, around the dining table, and out the screen door to hide behind the porch. Ten minutes later, the girls still hadn't found me, making me the default winner of the contest.

I had done it. I had overcome adversity to reign victorious. Against all odds, I had conquered my demons, and two little girls, to do the impossible. Sure, outside the house was "out of bounds" based on the unspoken rules, but unspoken rules were meant to be broken. Especially when the only people you have to convince of your innocence have yet to finish kindergarten.

The point is I had won, and in doing so, I had inspired a nation. Frankly, it's a shame Al Michaels wasn't there to do commentary, because this could have been his second "miracle on ice."

I may never be able to replicate the magic. I may not be the smallest, or the most flexible, or the quietest breather. I may never even play hide-and-go-seek again. But on that day, I was a champion.

And to those who are inspired by my tale of courage and resolve, athletic endurance and wisdom, to my adoring fans and countless hide-and-go-seek groupies, I have four simple, yet breath-taking words of wisdom for you.

Olly. Olly. Oxen. Free.