Ann Martin - Jessi's Gold Medal

Becca ran down the driveway to greet her, and Claudia called out, "The posters are here!"

Charlotte, the anti-athlete, had become the official sign maker for the Mini-Olympics. She had been inspired when Mary Anne took her suggestion about working the concession stand at the SMS Sports Festival.

Mary Anne and I followed Becca, and we helped Char fasten a sign to a lamppost:

THE OFFICIAL SITE

OF THE

FIRST ANNUAL

BSC MINI-OLYMPICS!

10:00 A.M. TO 4:00 P.M.

At precisely 9:45, the Hobarts and the Pikes arrived (in three separate cars), and the pandemonium began.

It started when both sets of parents reached into the Hobarts' trunk to pull out four bulky

canvas bags. "Where do we put the weights?" Mrs. Hobart asked.

"I guess by the garage," Mary Anne said.

"I want to practice!" said Nicky Pike, jumping up and down behind them.

"No, I want to!" said Johnny Hobart.

"I call first!" said James Hobart.

"Wait a minute, guys —" Mary Anne started to say.

"I said it first!" Nicky shouted.

"But you didn't call it!" James retorted.

"No, me!" Johnny insisted, on the verge of tears.

"Daaaad!" screamed Nicky.

"Mommmm!" screamed James.

It was fifteen minutes before starting time, and we had our first fight. It was going to be a long day.

Next to arrive were the Rodowskys. Jackie Rodowsky, who's seven, is known in the BSC as "the Walking Disaster" — and he proved his reputation right away.

In the middle of the yard, Alan and Kristy had set up a kiddie pool for "sailboat" races. Contestants (two at a time) would put a toy boat in the water at a "starting line," then blow through long plastic straws to provide the wind.

Just beyond the pool was a big maple tree with a Velcro bull's-eye for an archery contest.

Unfortunately, that was the event that caught Jackie's eye first.

"Hey, I want to be Robin Hood!" he shouted. He ran toward the target. He tripped, and . . .

Splaasssh! Guess where Jackie landed? Water splashed everywhere. Jackie cried out in surprise as he fell in facefirst.

Mrs. Rodowsky rushed to him. Kristy rushed to him. Jackie sat up, looking confused. A sailboat was sticking to his collar. He smiled and shrugged.

One good thing — Jackie had to go home and change, so we didn't have to worry about him for awhile.

In the next few minutes, Kristy's family arrived, then the Hsus, the Prezziosos, the Kor-mans, the Newtons, the Braddocks . . . and then I stopped counting.

At ten o'clock, Kristy blew a whistle. When everyone was quiet, she made an announcement, reading from an index card she had prepared:

"Um, we're about to begin the first annual BSC Mini-Olympics. Parent and BSC volunteers will be at each contest station throughout the day. The contest will run continuously, as long as we have enough contestants. Kids, if you see an event you want to enter, and no one is there to run it, just let one of the BSC

members know. If you have to leave early, you may come back for prize announcements at four o'clock. Best of luck, everybody!"

The kids started squealing and running around. There was a shoving match at the starting line of the sprints, but Watson took care of that in his quiet way.

In a far corner, the Wiffle ball derby began. Lucky for us, Logan Bruno had arrived, and he said he'd be in charge of it all day.

At least, I thought we were lucky to have him — until he started coaching the kids. Now, Logan was on the SMS baseball team, so he really knows what he's doing. Before long, Wiffle balls began flying all over the place. Marilyn Arnold got bonked on the head while she was in a potato-sack race. Matt Braddock hit a home run that landed on Linny Papa-dakis's chest as he was bench-pressing a barbell. He gasped in surprise, his elbows buckled, and the barbell came down on his chest. Luckily Mr. Pike was spotting him and pulled the barbell up.

"He loses!" David Michael shouted with glee. "I win!"

"No fair!" Linny bellowed.

Mary Anne had a long talk with Logan, and there were many more short pop flies the rest of the afternoon.

But considering the chaos, everything went

surprisingly well. Supplies lasted, parents cooperated, and there was a feeling of excitement in the air — along with the Wiffle balls, soap bubbles, and surgical-glove balloons.

The kids had a blast. Most of them entered two or three contests, and some of them (like Linny) entered the same one over and over, trying to set a record each time.

Then there was Andrew Brewer. A few weeks earlier he had vowed not to be in the Mini-Olympics. But he was running around and laughing, lining up for practically every single event. He entered the archery contest, and never once hit the target. He entered a sprint and came in second to last. He entered a potato-sack race and fell flat on his face. He tried the sailboat race but couldn't blow hard enough, and gave himself a headache.

At one point I saw him snuggled in his mom's arms, sucking his thumb. My heart went out to him for trying so hard.

Kristy supervised, going from event to event. And wherever she went, her butler tagged along behind. Alan picked up stray Velcro arrows. Alan tied shoelaces. Alan cleaned up spilled food. Alan refilled the lemonade and got more cookies.

Then Jamie Newton had a little problem after a potato-sack race. It seems he had wolfed down about a hundred Oreo cookies

just beforehand, and with all that jumping up and down — well, I don't need to go into graphic detail. I'll just let you guess who had cleanup duty.

All in all, Saturday was probably not on Alan Gray's list of top ten favorite days.

The hours passed by in a blur. My favorite part was seeing my sister's excitement. Becca didn't participate in anything, but she loved watching! All day long she ran around, wide-eyed, as if the Summer Olympics had come to town.

And that was the whole idea, wasn't it?

When four o'clock rolled around, a lot of kids were still left. By that time, the parents were moving awfully slowly. Kristy made Alan go inside and fix coffee. But judging from the looks on some of the parents' faces when they took a sip, he must not have done it right.

The last contest of the day was a "crosscountry" race. That meant two laps around the property, including the front and back yards. Suzi Barrett, Johnny Hobart, and Jenny Prez-zioso had entered. Watson was standing by the finish line, looking like he couldn't wait to sit down.

Suddenly Andrew came dashing across the lawn. "Wait, Daddy!" he shouted. "I want to be in it!"

Watson smiled palely. He was probably

thinking what I was thinking — Andrew would be better off quitting before he got too upset. Still, the other kids were about his age (four), so maybe he'd have a good chance.

Andrew lined up next to the others.

"Okay, ready . . . ?" Watson announced. "Set . . . gol"

The kids dug in. Johnny got off to a fast start, but Jenny and Andrew were right behind him. Suzi was last, shouting, "Wait! Wait!"

Her brother, Buddy, slapped his forehead in big-brother disgust. "They can't zvaitl It's a racel" he yelled from the sidelines.

The runners disappeared behind the house, then appeared a moment later around the other side. This time, Andrew and Jenny were in the lead, neck and neck.

"Come on, Andrew!" Kristy shouted. (I wanted to shout, too, but it wouldn't have been right. I'm not his sister.)

They made the turn for the second lap. Andrew was pulling in the lead. His face was red, and he was huffing and puffing.

By the last lap, Andrew was in third place. He hadn't paced himself, and he was gasping for breath. And that was how he crossed the finish line, only a couple of steps ahead of Suzi.

Lucky for him, Watson was waiting there with open arms, ready to pick up his sobbing son who had tried and tried till the end.