BY GARRET MATHEWS

 

Earlier this year I became interested in juggling. I hung around a couple of guys at work who can do it. I read library books on the subject. I bought a can of tennis balls with no intention of ever hitting them across a net.

 

It was slow going. I've lost track of the times I had to crawl under the furniture to retrieve a ball. There are black marks on the living room wall from the night I foolishly thought I was ready to graduate from tennis balls to baseballs. There is at least one gash in the ceiling fan where I leaped - well, jumped ­in a losing effort to make a heroic catch.

 

Then one night it came to me. I tossed three balls. I caught three balls. Edison had his big moment with the light bulb. I had mine at 9:15 on a Tuesday with a can of bright yellow Wilsons.

 

Since then I have learned several variations on the three-ball theme. I can cross my hands without losing the pattern. If you catch me on a good day, I can go behind my back and under the knee. By this time next month I think I'll be able to do three clubs.

 

These tricks are minor-league stuff. Seasoned veterans can juggle 11 rings or 10 balls or seven clubs. Several men and women have run marathons in under four hours while juggling three balls. Some perform blindfolded. Others mount a unicycle - a feat in itself - and do a smorgasbord of juggling feats.

 

But I've had fun with my little achievement. I joined the International Jugglers Association. I bought a "Catch This" t­shirt from a couple of jugglers in Florida. I ordered beanbags from a place that sells juggling supplies.

 

I practice almost every night. First, clubs. Then beanbags. Then things. It's the things that led to my first public performance. It was on Monday and was pretty lousy, but I'm going to tell you about it anyway.

 

Before I can do that, you need to know about this guy I met who's a wonderful juggler. Arn Ward can juggle torches and machetes. He can bounce six balls on the floor and keep the pattern going. He can juggle five rings and catch them on his neck.

 

Arn has come to the house several times in the role of a teacher. We get in the side yard and toss stuff. I'm sure we look silly.

 

During one of his visits last month, Arn told me he had been invited to perform at the mall during the Labor Day telethon for the Muscular Dystrophy Association. He asked if I wanted to go on stage with him. The gig was no big deal to Arn. He's juggled in front of audiences many times and even been paid for it.

 

For me, the concept was brand new. I have never played a guitar in front of people. Or sang. Or danced. Or told jokes. For one reason, I have absolutely no aptitude at the entertainment arts. And even if I did, I'd be too scared to walk on stage.

 

I've played ball, but that's different be­cause you're a member of a team. I've delivered some rambling remarks that could be interpreted as a speech, but that's different because it's not a performance.

 

Because I believe in confronting my demons - well, some of the time - I agreed

to make my first foray into the world of show business. I knew that my limited repertoire of three beanbag tricks would soon result in yawns, so I decided to go for the bizarre. The tossing of "things." A basketball, a football and a tennis ball. A cup, a spoon and an apple. A club, a hat and a shoe. And the grand finale: a five-pound weight, a basketball and a golf ball.