I was perhaps the worst high school football player in the history of the sport. I had to constantly hold up my pants because they didn’t make them small enough to fit my 26-inch waist, and I could never remember plays. To be honest, I didn’t really know what position I played. But it was through the football team that I met my birth father, Wayne Martin. In 1989, my junior year, the starting left guard on the offensive line approached my locker before practice and asked me if I wanted to meet my dad. I didn’t know it until later that night, but his sister was married to Wayne Martin, who had opened up a discount furniture outlet on New Hampshire Street. I played even worse than usual at practice that day and probably spent more than half of it doing wind sprints.
Just added to The List and the Story: Against the Eighties