Any Given Saturday
I played
football with my brother and his friends from age four thru age fourteen. My brother, Don and I were unbeatable on the
same team. Don was quite often Ken “The
Snake” Stabler or Fred Belitnikoff of the Oakland Raiders. I was either Larry Czsonka or Mercury Morris
of the Miami Dolphins. I usually wanted
to be Mercury or Larry. But had to play defender (bodyguard to Don), because he
was usually, “The Snake”.
Don was two
years my senior, so he was kind of the boss of me. The way Don wanted to play the game, was just
the way you did it. Me, I didn’t
care. I just wanted to play.
Saturdays
before we’d head out the door Don would be carrying the football. Mom would look at us and say, “Young lady,
now you know your Dad doesn’t approve of girls playing football.” I would respond nodding my head, “Yes
Mom.” She continued, “So be careful
and...” She gave me that look, “And
don’t let anything happen.” I knew what
she meant, ‘you are your brother’s keeper.’ It was said to me on more than a few
occasions.
To have a
game, we’d get kids from the block, the next town over, around the block and
once in a while we’d recruit some of Don’s new friends from our Regional High
School to play. Don and I always
secretly said to each other, “Anyone who plays with gear on, has got to be a
wimp.” The other unwritten rule Don and
I had was, ‘running through the middle was tougher than running around’. That was considered the easy way, the wimpy
way to play the game. Only a pure Sissy would do such a thing. To really play football, you had to know how
to grind the body.
We usually
had between three to six kids on each team when we’d play. So, there was only enough blocking for the
quarter-back. You had to take the hits. Get up
faster than anyone could imagine. If you
didn’t, you were a “WIMP!”
Only one
blitze was allowed per every four downs.
You had only four downs to get across the field and score a
touchdown. The field was about fifty
yards long. The other three downs we counted
to ten ‘Mississippi’. Then, you’d charge the blockers to get the guy with the
ball.
We once had
this kid who got upset because I stretched out his shirt to tackle him. What a WIMP!
Hey, man you’re weren’t supposed to wear your Sunday best here. This was real football. We were nearly pros. The kid never played football with us again. He was a real whiner. I felt like yelling, “Hey, you want some
cheese with that?” We rarely razzed our
competitors. We played fair. There was no trash talking. We focused solely on the task at hand. That’s the only way to win. I remember being so involved, I never thought
of anything else when I was playing football.
I had to survive, tackle, and protect.
I had no time to think.
So, this one
Saturday in March, cloudy, high forty degree temps, and slightly muddy field we
met a bunch of kids from around the block. They had their friends who played on
the Haworth Rec Team together. Now these kids were built for football. They ‘WORE THE GEAR’ and played regularly
during the season. I was out to prove
that gear wearing was what made wusses.
There were a
couple of bullies on the other team from my class. I knew they wouldn’t play fair. I warned Don.
He knew. We made play after
play. After our second touchdown, they
had scored none. They decided to have
their fattest kid, Robert oppose me. Me
being Larry and Mercury (tough) knowing the kid was a follower of crowds and
convinced he was a wimp. I was up for the challenge.
I weighed
about sixty-seven to seventy pounds. Robert weighed more than double that. He played on the Haworth Rec Team. I knew what that meant. His ‘raw flesh’
had never hit the dirt too much. His
bare head never got crushed beneath a leg or a pile up of bodies. Mine had, and I survived. He was protected all those seasons from
getting kicked in the ears, jaw, mouth and head by a knee or a foot. Not I.
I took the kicks to the face and head.
Did they hurt? You bet. But you see I was girl. Boys were not allowed to cry. ‘But girls playing football were NEVER
allowed to cry!’ For after that, you
would not be given the ball. Hec, you
might not even be invited back to play.
That was an unwritten rule. I
just knew it in my soul.
So, here we
were face to face. Robert and I. My
brother, Don makes the call for the hike.
He gets the ball. Not too much of
a to-do between Robert and I. The pass
is incomplete. Robert felt if he
flattened my brother then he’d become more popular. I was the occlusion. Again, my brother made the call for the hike.
This time as I awaited the tenth Mississippi.
Robert lunged short of the completed tenth count. He grabbed and nailed me in my chest. My breath was taken away. I was just developing, and I was sore to
begin with. I wanted to die. I could barely make a sound. I slowly got up in pain. Hurt that someone would play so dirty.
I mentioned
briefly to Don that a foul had occurred, but told him it was okay. I knew the guys on the other team would make
fun of me if I spoke, because I was a girl. As well, not a popular girl at
all. I devised my own plan that would
work for the team and would reduce the bullying that this kid thought he could
do.
We lined up,
third down. Don made the call again to
hike the ball. I knew that Robert was
going to go for my chest. He smirked. I
stayed focused and determined. I
wouldn’t allow an unfair person to prevail.
Not in my presence, it just won’t happen. I knew where Robert would place his
hands. This time I pretended to wear a
shield that no matter how much pain I felt.
It could not penetrate my determination to flatten Robert. It just wouldn’t.
I knew what
I had to do. Put my head down and my
right hand up and left arm across my chest and barrel right into Robert, head
in the stomach, hand in his face. Pain
would ensue, I’d make him cry.
Then, it
happened. I shocked him. As he laid on the ground crying, tears
rolling down his face, “It’s not fair.
She fouled me.” He cried. I remember it was probably one of the few
times in my life I felt no feelings of remorse or compassion for another
human. I would be tested in the future
again and wonder why I was able to be so callous. The answer, I don’t question true
justice. I just dish it out. It comes from my soul.
We won the
game. Robert stayed out the rest of the
game and sulked for an hour. He was
bewildered. He never said a cruel word to
me again.—Jody-Lynn Reicher
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