When the air gets crisp outside and the trees of New England cut off the life support for their leaves, this 30-something year-old man’s mind turns to football. Not the uniform-wearing, big-bucks variety that is high school, college, and pro football, although those are an acceptable way to spend your weekend days. The football that I remember is the pick-up football I played with my friends when we were kids. No uniforms, no pads, no money; just time to kill and a patch of open grass.
There weren’t always a bunch of people around to play when I was growing up. I always listened with jealousy when my brothers would talk about the 40 kids who lived on the block when they were kids, but when I was growing up there was a more limited supply. Many of our games were 1 on 1 with another one of us playing quarterback for both teams. These games were usually two-hand touch, but if we were feeling frisky we would play tackle. Trying to tackle another guy in the open field on every single play does sharpen up your tackling skills…and sometimes it does a bit more than that.
I distinctly remember one of those games that three of us played in my backyard. I was playing automatic quarterback and threw a short pass to my friend Jim. Jim caught the ball and began to run when my other friend Cory – in this case representing the entire defense – grabbed him. Jim continued to run two steps with Cory hanging off of him and then Jim apparently decided that he didn’t want Cory around any more. Jim swung around violently and Cory literally went flying through the air headfirst…right into my picnic table.
Pulling a Greatest American Hero into a picnic table with no helmet or pads (or cape for that matter) is never a good idea, but Cory lucked out with only bloody gums and an ugly scar on his shoulder that is probably still there. He was a bit concerned about the bloody gums at first because he was wearing braces – Direct quote: “My parents are going to kill me!”- but it was only a small cut and his gracious parents allowed his continued survival.
QUICK RAMBLING STORY ALERT: Cory’s bloody gums remind me of the story my parents tell about my brother Mike. Less than a month after getting his braces removed, Mike came home from a high school soccer game and greeted my mother with a wide smile. It was then that she noticed that one of his now fairly expensive front teeth had been broken almost in half. Rumor has it that she cried for three days. Later, when Mike was asked by my father why he hadn’t been wearing a mouth guard, he replied, “None of the other kids wear them…but I’m wearing one NOW!” School of hard knocks, indeed.
Anyway, let’s bring the focus back to pickup football. Sometimes when we really needed a player, we would invite Dan, a gutsy but smaller kid who was a grade or two behind us, to play. Dan would usually say no, but once in a while he would ignore his better judgment and join the game. One time, Dan jumped for a pass and got hit hard in the legs, flipping him literally head over heels in the air, helicopter-style, before he landed on his back in the dirt. Had Dan landed on his head, there is no question that he would have been paralyzed. For some reason, after that play, he never seemed willing to go against his better judgment and play with us again.
There were times, however, that we played football on a larger scale. 10 on 10 tackle football after school on the playground. This was basically violent chaos – with a football. One quarterback would be throwing to 9 receivers running random patterns, and Godspeed to the guy unlucky enough to actually catch the ball. The amazing thing about these games was that, despite the wanton violence, I can’t remember any serious injuries. Sure, there would be the occasional sprained ankle or bloody nose, but through some minor miracle, nothing requiring hospitalization.
There had to have been some minor concussions, but back then we didn’t know that they were concussions; we called it “getting your bell rung.”
I imagine that if kids tried a pickup game like that today, they would be crowded off of the school’s field by the pack of lawyers waiting to sue the school when little Eddie gets his bell rung.
The pickup football games of my youth certainly weren’t the safest or the smartest thing I’ve ever participated in. The opportunity to get hurt was always there - for both the players and for the picnic tables – but we had fun. There were no uniforms, there were no painted lines on the field, and there were no coaches. There was just football.
