Chicken.

It’s the most ridiculous game ever invented.

A game based solely on the trust that the other person likes you, or themselves, enough not to slam into you. As a small child it’s humorous to play, but when you hit the middle school years and kids are just flat out mean, it’s not pleasant to play.

During the summers, I trained with a coach by the name of Joe Crawford. Crawford had started Sports City U, a training camp that primarily focused on shooting form.

One summer, during my awkward, early high school years, I went to camp to work on my skills. Most of the kids who attended the camps were the same kids who had been going for years, so we all knew each other’s names and faces. There was a posse of guys from Putnam City North who were the ‘dreamboats’ of the camps.

Now, I state here that I was there to better myself and that having a little eye candy wasn’t too, too much of a distraction for young Chloe, as I was a late bloomer and not really in any contention for attention.

However, that particular day at camp, Crawford decided that we were going to work on our ball handling. Okay, no problem. I could dribble pretty well for a post.

Then Crawford outlined that we were going to play chicken while dribbling. Okay, sounds like I’ll gain a few bruises, but then again, I used to play connect the dots with my bruises in high school.

Then Crawford said line up. I look over, and the entire line is the PC North guys and I immediately got nervous.

It was like a bad chick flick. The one in particular that I though was just the best-looking boy ever was directly across from me. He looked up and I’m sure I got bug-eyed and swallowed hard.

Unlike the movies, there was no inner monologue about how sparks would fly if he touched me. He didn’t smile at me or anything cheesy like that.

The whistle blew and we ran at a dead sprint at each other.

A chilling thought passed through my mind: Did I trust him enough not to plow into me?

I actually remember dodging him a little too early and making it a bit awkward that way. But by the third or fourth rotation, I calmed down enough to do the drill the proper way.

Surprisingly, the guy opposite me got flustered and started losing his ball. His friends, of course began teasing him, which made it worse for him. All the teasing made him blush and smile, which in turn made me even more awkward. These boys were really nice guys, just goofy high school boys in the early 2000’s.

But that was absolutely the last time I played the game of chicken.

During my freshman year of college, my team played at ORU over Christmas break. I was red-shirted, just sat on the bench in a dress and kept stats. Two of the three PC North guys were at the game. They actually recognized me, which was a shock since I never fixed my hair or wore makeup in high school, and had a full blown conversation with my mom.

For those of you wondering, no, nothing ever happened with the boys. We’re not even Facebook friends, never have been. While I wasn't given a choice whether or not to trust the guys, in the end I should have known they didn't want any more bruises.

Kids, if you’re at home and want to try the game of chicken, save yourself the trouble. You run into enough people during your life, no need to actually slam into someone at full speed.

Girls, you definitely don’t need to play chicken to get a guy’s attention.

Basically, only play chicken if you have to.

I will say the game helped my skills, I learned the timing for crossovers, between the legs and behind the backs. I also learned that I could probably trust most people to play the game with. But would I ever play again? Hands down, no.

Chloe Goff is a former college basketball player who enjoys a plethora of activities, most of which make her sound like a walking oxymoron. Her day job is the Sports Editor of the Grove Sun newspaper in Grove, Oklahoma.