I’m sitting here drinking a Coke, contemplating what precious few words I’m going to choose for my newest column, and I really wish that I was drinking a delicious, frothy Barq’s Root Beer.

I went all the way downstairs searching for a root beer to quench my thirst and was very disappointed to find out the pop machine didn’t offer any.

You know how it is when you get something in your head, something you really want, like something as simple as a root beer, and then reality hits you —BAM!— like a door slamming in your face, and all your dreams come crashing to the floor.

I bet you’re wondering why I was so thirsty and what the big difference between a Coke and a root beer is. In fact, I bet you’re dying to know why. Well, I’ll tell you.

A few of us from the sports section were outside playing catch with a football. Running patterns, defending each other, you know, all the football stuff. We’re getting ready to take on the wimps over on the opinion page in a football game at Clyde Williams Field at 4:00 on Friday.

Anyway, I was burning up the pavement in my Sketchers and I had worked up a thirst. I wanted a pop and on the way downstairs I began to drift back through my nineteen years of involvement in athletics.

~~~~doodla do~~~doodla do~~~doodla do~~~~(Wayne’s World, come on people, get with me).

I was back in high school, and I was playing in the girls’ powder puff league after volleyball practice for my last Homecoming. Seniors vs. the Juniors — the ultimate rivalry.

You know, give the girls a chance to play football against each other, but don’t let them tackle each other. Strictly flags all the way.

I had hopes of leading my team to the National Powder Puff Championships, winning the Heisman my final season, and getting a D-I scholarship.

That is a root beer.

Our coaches never showed up, and we only got to play two quarters. Not even a complete game.

That is a coke. Get it? Good.

~~~~doodla do~~~doodla do~~~doodla do~~~~

I was back in junior high, and I was officially the star of my first basketball game ever. I was high scorer with 12 points, and I had three steals.

Standing at 4’10”, I was a force on the hardwood. I knew it could only get better from here.

I was heading to the NBA in a couple of years or at least I would be touring overseas on some special squads. If all else failed, I could make the Harlem Globetrotters. No problem.

The next day at school I was talking about the game, telling everyone about my NBA aspirations. When my fellow teammates snickered at my goals, I thought they were just jealous.

The thought never crossed my mind that just because I was a girl, I couldn’t play in the same league as Larry Bird or Kareem Abdul Jabaar.

~~~~doodla do~~~doodla do~~~doodla do~~~~

I was in kindergarten, but I was a competitive little girl. I was reading the little kids section of the newspaper, you know with Fun Science Facts and tons of word searches, and I noticed a contest that I could enter. It was a wrestling tournament, and I could win a trophy. I was practically drooling on the page at the thought of a trophy in my room so I asked my dad if I could enter.

He signed me right up and even practiced with me. He taught me the single and the double-leg takedown and the referee’s position. He never once taught me there was a difference between me and the boys I was going to wrestle. My dad’s a root beer.

Some days are root beer days and others are Cokes, but you have to work hard to make the 55 cents to buy it, whether you’re a guy or a girl.

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April Samp is a sophomore in journalism from Eldora.