Tuesday, November 24, 2009

For The Love Of The Game

In my early 20's I played semi-pro football in Canada. At least they told me it was semi-pro but even Will Farrell's character in the movie by the same name was paid more than we were. Needless to say it was one of the greatest times of my life. You probably think that you're going to hear that my team had a great season record, or that maybe I was similar to that Rudy Cat in the 'Rudy' movie, or that the story ends with a last minute touchdown win for the good guys. Sorry to disappoint. Our record was as dismal as it was abysmal. In fact, it was both. Truth be told one should not even go into our stats let alone our 0 and 12 record. I can honestly count the number of season first downs we got in my first year, on one hand and have two fingers left over.

Football is absolutely, with the exception of rugby, perhaps, the toughest team sport to be a loser in. Doubles badminton? Ha! You can't get to the shuttlecock quick enough so you go home. Soccer? Ha! Maybe you're pooped a little bit. But in football you take a beating, a worse beating than the other team and your coach can't stand you; you're pissed at certain teammates for not holding up their ends and as a single lad; no gridiron groupies for you! But, once again, all though they weren't glory days they definitely verge on 'the good old days'.

A rainy, muddy Sunday afternoon. My favorite conditions. We played a team from the east side of town, on their turf. They were known to be tough and dirty play was not beneath them. But most importantly they were the one team in the league that we had a shot of beating. We were down by a substantial amount at the half. But, if anything, we were a 2nd half team. We had a great defense...o.k. a really good defense. I'm proud to say I was a defense back. I played Corner and then Safety, the latter half of the season. (This came as result of being lead tackler for the team at the Corner position; the Corner covers the receivers who go out for passes). Free Safety ah, I loved it. I was told that I was to seek and destroy and that I could roam anywhere I wanted because although I wasn't pro football material, I did seem to know what was coming before it happened.

Their star running back came around the left side on a sweep. Our Corner got blown out by their Receiver...sissy. That left me and beyond that he was looking at a touchdown. Pardon me, another touchdown. It was my favorite angle. I would bait the runner. Let him think that he could get outside me and sprint down the sideline to victory. Then like a panther I'd accelerate and drive the both of us out of bounds. I particularly liked this when you popped him into his own bench because I'd make my body as big as possible and take as many 'bystanders' down with me. Occasionally you took a few cleats and swear words from the other team but it was always worth it.

He shot for the sideline. The trap would work. Our eyes locked. In that moment it's almost as if a telepathic conversation happens. He sported a nasty confident grin. A grin that told me that he knew what I was doing but he was going for it anyway. I got pissed. The audacity! Didn't he know that I was lead tackler on a shitty team? I started bootin' it. We were 15 feet apart, neither man giving an inch. I knew I was going full tilt and he must have been as well. He didn't even fake that he might cut back inside. We both knew where this was going. We're now 3 feet from each other and the sideline. For a moment I saw brief panic in his eyes. I recognized it because I had the same look. Except mine said, "Are you nuts? break off dummy or pull up!" At this point its a race to get lower than the other guy. In football either tackler or ball handler can do the damage. We both dropped our helmets. KABOOM! A perfect head-on collision. I blinked on impact and then quickly opened my eyes. I see his helmet fly off his head. It seemed to hover like a spinning saucer 3 feet above his head. We took out a few of his teammates. I remember seeing stars for the first time in my life. They looked cool. I could have stayed there awhile and watched the show. I wanted to because my head was killing me. My teammates come over and pulled me up fast. Too fast, I wanted to puke. I saw my combatant. His team was patting him on the back as he trotted back to the field. Clearly, he recovered better than I did. One of my buddies congratulates me with a slap to the helmet. My left knee buckled but I held. Ego forbid me from taking the injury time out that I wanted. We huddled up. That's when I saw the same birds that used to float around the heads of Yosemite Sam and Sylvester of the Bugs Bunny cartoon when their bells got rung! If it weren't for the pain I'd have enjoyed conversing with them for a spell, but I had a game to play. It wasn't until we approached the line of scrimmage that the birds took flight. I still wanted to puke, however.

In the end we lost that game. As we shook hands with our opponents at least 3 of their players complemented me on the hit. Every body present that day thought I got the better of that Cat seeing as his helmet flew, almost back to their water cooler as it turned out. I never copped to the severity of the hit for me...until this blog entry. Technically I should write a paragraph on the upside of playing the game. But, nah, just ask somebody who's played; they'll tell it like it is. This story's moral is: if a guy's eyes tell you that he's unafraid to bang heads with you, believe em'. And when the collision is all said and done never let them see ya sweat...and definitely don't let them see the birds you're conversing with.

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