(If I had any social-media “game” whatsoever, I would have posted this on Halloween, but I don’t, so I didn’t.)
While observing my son’s first season of cross-country running and recalling my own first cross-country season, I’ve realized that one specific memory of Fall 1985 towers above all others.
At Rutland (VT) Junior High School, racing for the Rutland Red Raiders, we wore red uniforms. One rival team also raced in red: A.D. Lawton Middle School, from Essex (in the Burlington area to the north of us). In contrast to our small squad of 7 or 8 boys, A.D. Lawton had many more than that — maybe 25? By their numbers alone, they were plenty intimidating.
A second form of intimidation arose naturally from the first. When you have that many 12- to 14-year-old boys, some of them will display the physical effects of surging testosterone levels: increased height, bulging muscles, facial hair, etc. Even though long legs aren’t necessarily advantageous in cross-country, it’s hard to feel confident when lining up next to guys who are a head taller than you and might be shaving.
The third form of intimidation is what really sticks in my brain. Just before A.D. Lawton took their places on the starting line, they would do a pre-race chant of eght rapid syllables delivered in one breath:
“BEAT BEAT MUTILATE, CRUSH CRUSH KILL!”
In retrospect, such extreme belligerence seems hilarious. This was not tackle football, for God’s sake, and some of the chanting athletes were still under five feet tall and unconvincing as ruthless hunters. In the fall of 1985, though, the chant was genuinely startling, at least to me.
As I looked over at this frenzied mob, I could not imagine that my small posse and I could offer much resistance to an A.D. Lawton triumph. The race had not started but I was already beaten — perhaps even mutilated.
My Track Record 
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