A Little Bird Told Me To...Part One

This will be a multiple part blog, and I write this today because "A little bird told me to." If a sad ending and a love story motivate you, then, it might be worth a review.

So, in 1973 I had been in the same school system for some 10 years. I'd grown up with the kids I was not supposed to hang out around and that I could never really quite understand. From Pee Wee, to Junior football and on to my freshman year, which in this state is done at the Junior High School level, I was with the same guys day in and day out. Yet, to hang out with them socially, simply was not allowed. My upbringing was very devoutly Christian and to that end, my father a dictator about such things.

Suddenly in one summer, as many kids do, I shot up some 4-5 inches. I came back at 6'2 and had gained 15 pounds through the weight training program. At that age, I towered over most of that generation, now, 38 years ago. The huge kids we see today are born of much different nutrition and who knows what else to be even larger.

By the time I had moved on to my sophomore and junior seasons, I'd gained the 15 pounds and 2 inches needed to be the biggest guy on the field at most times. Our team which had gelled so well through all those years of continuity, went a combined 28-1, and was threatening to make a move on a state title in that year. As we pushed to the playoffs, we met a cross town rival who was a tough game, every time we played. We played on our home field that year and the game was a very close one. They were ranked above us, and expected to win it all outright, and we had different ideas.

In the end, a great victory, at 28-24! But, in the last few moments of the game their tough quarterback took the game on his shoulder and quite nearly spoiled our season. In one fateful moment I was shadowing him from my outside linebacker position, when I had the angle to put the biggest hit I had likely ever laid down on anyone in my lifetime. The angle was right and the timing perfect, and I did my job. In a clean hit, which broke his arm and clavicle. I did not realize the severity of his injury, and before I knew it, a firestorm started.

There was press, bad press! The hit was called dirty and my entire team drug through the mud as result of a bad angle their camera's had of it all. Ours showed over and over again, a really big hit, and a bad landing for him. I was still sickened by the whole thing. The next week we would loose in a quarter final round and I played horribly.

As the year went on, my father had the notion that we should move to be closer to the base he served at, and, in his infinite wisdom, he put our house up for sale. The next day, yes...the next day, that house sold!

Before I had turned around, and in a move typical of his sensitivity and concern for any kind of teamwork, (he hated sports) he had us moved smack dab in the middle of that very cross town rivals school district in the middle of my Junior year. If you're wondering at this point if I was enrolled at the very school, you'd be correct! Now, being tough is one thing, but being hated and being tough at the age of 17, is quite another.

The firestorm re-lit, and the school board of that district met to determine how to handle things. They couldn't deny me the right to be there. Yet, they went so far as to suggest a brand new school that had gone 0-10 in it's freshman campaign. Now, this wouldn't have been so bad, had I not been scouted the previous season for a full ride into a number of prestigious College's. Despite my fathers lack of concern for this particular hope, I had aspirations of playing in the NFL. So, I opted for...my last season played for the team that might not even start me.

More to come