FOOTBALL

FOOTBALL

I read about World War II over and over; Kernie asks, “did the ending change?” It does not — and I can’t wait to read yet another version. I recently was introduced to the book, The Varsity by Lee Brown. It had all the elements I like: there is Portuguese spoken (I could translate the simple phrases used!). There were coaches and students in conflict. There were girls way ahead of their boyfriends in personal growth, and then the boys go off to war, lying about their ages and under the threat of dishonorable discharge should their deception be discovered. One does the European theatre, one dies in the European theatre, and one gets to be a Marine up to and including the invasion of Saipan. The title refers to their (the two surviving boys) participation upon coming home on the Point Loma High School football team as they attempt to complete High School and move on with their lives. They teach students at Point Loma who were spared the wartime experience—meaning combat— to come together, actually care about what they are doing, and function as a unit in this 1945 football season. The dramatic playoff game starts without the veterans who have other problems to deal with, but one assumes the teamwork they were able to teach, carried through—-but we don’t hear the final score. The football angle in this book got me thinking about teamwork and my experience with it.

I took a creative writing class my first quarter of college and was troubled to realize I did not have a lot of life material to draw on for good stories. One that I did tell was my experience in my Senior year dealing with a football coach who did not like me. This impression still affected me a year later and while I made the story amusing, it hurt.

I got over it.

I was not a jock, which is to say, I was not athletic, and I did not have much experience in sports or comraderie with those that did. I don’t know what motivated me to try out for football my junior year. I think it surprised a few people, my parents included. I was 5’10” and maybe 140 pounds. I could run and catch footballs but had no clue what I was doing on a formal team. In fairness to the coaches I had, my credibility was strained when I laughed while running to complete a pass in practice. Despite this weird habit, (I really was excited that they were going to throw the ball to me) I was first-string in JV and got some experience that year. My JV peers were mostly younger and as clueless as I was. I learned for the first time, that not all adults were worthy of deference and not all adults are good people. My JV coaches were a mix and on reflection, their ability to teach and motivate in my case, left a lot to be desired. Having said that, I did learn from the experience.

One thing I learned was that despite admonitions to “run through people” my frame and top heavy balance made that something of a suicide mission. Receiving my first kick off, I ran up the sideline “through” two stocky guys who planted me in the ground in front of our sideline and collapsed my diaphragm. I had to be helped off the field sucking wind. I learned not to do that again.

Coach Green was the varsity coach. The JV scrimmaged with varsity which had players from my class who were talented and who hung out together. As we scrimmaged, coach Green’s eyes and instructions to those I was opposed to in the field told me I was lightly regarded. One player, Bob Plumb was my weight but a few inches shorter. He defended against me as I attempted to run pass routes. He pounded my head on the line of scrimmage as I tried to run my routes and I was helpless to get to my spot in time. I had no moves this guy could not cover. He showed me no mercy.

Coach Green really liked Bob Plumb.

Ray Perez was my connection to the players from my class on varsity. He was their friend and I felt a kinship with him in that he, like me, seemed to suddenly take an interest in trying new things (sports, class elections) as he approached the senior year. He was roughly my build and on the JV, we teamed up.

Senior year: I made varsity. Coach Green was building a team from a small almost private school (Coronado High School) within a conference that drew on thousands of students in larger schools. Coach Green was from Texas. He had a crewcut, a short stocky frame with bowed legs. His voice, when excited was high pitched and he put on the Texas accent to great effect. He was methodical—the spring of my Junior year, I was in 6th hour PE which was a conditioning class for football players. I remained skinny and apart on a blacktop with gym equipment and a team pumping iron.

My recollection is that we barely had enough players to fill separate offensive and defensive teams. The better athletes played both ways.

We began work two weeks before the school year started. I learned quickly I had no upper body strength compared to most the returning players. Chris Pappas, our running back could lie prone on the ground in front of me as I stood, grab my ankle and challenge me to raise my leg. I could not. While I had been fast in elementary school, I was perhaps only a little above average on the team for the 100 yard dash. I was not “quick” and any drill that required dodging people trying to tackle me was humiliating; I was always knocked down. I was 6 foot and 145 by now. I was made tight end.

My motivation at this point, early in the season was to develop skill and learn more about football and “soldier on” despite my lack of confidence, talent, or vision for the game. I did not socialize much with the jocks though some park play — touch football at Pomona Park, did happen. Park football was one thing, full contact on a team another. The concepts, the flow, the formations was all like learning grammar in a foreign language when I had yet to figure out the grammar in my own language. My endurance was not great, my strength was not great, and I did not get much feedback or teaching, one-on-one.

The coach had a special relationship with a couple players. One was Ken Huff who would later turn pro and play with the Redskins. Ken was a defensive tackle. The other was George Murphy who was the Senior Class President and our quarterback. He was a smart and talented and gave me a sense that he knew what he was doing. He was handsome, graceful, and had all the qualities of a natural born leader——- and knew it. It was like playing with a Kennedy brother! These two and coach Green were fundamental to my highs and lows playing football my senior year.

Our first league game was against Chula Vista who had been league champs the year before. Coach Green had focussed his best players on defense which was why I was a tight end on offense at 145 pounds. Many of our best players played both offense and defense. The defense worked. We were in the second half and the score was 6-0, Chula Vista leading. Coach Green called the plays with players coming in and out after most plays. We were down in the red zone and my recollection is that Green had not sent in a play. George called a play that had me as the prime receiver. I was nervous, but my pattern was to delay, run five yards and turn around. I caught the ball and easily crossed the goal line. I made my one and only touchdown that season against the champs and I felt like a million dollars. I got nothing from coach Green. In my mind, I would later sense that Green would hassle George about the play despite its success. I was not reliable and it was lucky the play worked, We ran that play a few more times that season and each time, coach would pull me and substitute one of the solid defensive players for it.

The Monday after that magical night, we looked at the 8 mm film of the game. The coach ran and reversed and ran a play that found me doing a terrible job downfield blocking for our halfback, (Chris Pappas). Any sense of accomplishment in that game evaporated with the rerun after rerun of my error. I was told after practice I would practice that block ten times. I was pissed but OK to do it because I wanted to make sure I would never get caught on film like that again. A man’s search for meaning can be derived from suffering, right?

Being a 145 pound lineman in this league was not easy. Over the ensuing games, I slowly developed some skills. I would feign the start of a pull laterally and then cross block the tackle. I would literally sacrifice my body quickly getting on his inside if the play was up the middle and let my trunk block his legs. I got faster. Many of the opposing tackles I learned were not especially adept in their job. We played Sweetwater High School and there were a couple tackles put before me as the game progressed and I felt good that the opposing coach substituted them as I enjoyed some success with my assignments.

A tackle I would have more difficulty with was Ken Huff. We scrimmaged, offense vs defense and Ken lined up just inside my position. The coach called an end around and my feint pull and then cross block kept him out of the play not once, not twice, but three times. Coach Green was apoplectic. Coach Green, as noted, was from Texas, but he was nonetheless a thoughtful man and I don’t believe he said what I remember him saying, but what I heard was something like, “Jesus Ken, how can you let that little twerp keep you out of the play three times in a row? What am I supposed to think if you can’t break this play up when he is the only guy standing in your way? Jesus H Christ. ……”. His face was red. Ken looked down. I remember him holding the right forearm cast with his left hand as he listened.

“Play it again!.”

As I said, I was not a jock. I had no special connection with most my teammates and while I knew that there was a lot I did not know about football on this team, I knew this was not good. I had a few seconds to consider what I would do one-on-one with Ken and knew the feint was not going to work. I tried door number one: I just powered my head into his jersey numbers. I never reached them; he swung the forearm cast and hit me on the side of the helmet and went for the halfback. I have no idea how that went because I had had my bell rung and had to sit out several plays as I tried to get my head back on, eyes straight, and the taste of bile out of my mouth.

We had a respectable season. Our last game was against Castle Rock which was awesome that year and we expected to get creamed. The coaching staff gave us some latitude. We spray painted our shoes a fluorescent green. We were overwhelmed the first half but his focus on defense came through in the second half. If football games were like the electoral college, we would have tied them, one half to one half though the score was much more lopsided than that.

The Varsity got me thinking about this experience and that in fact, despite not being a favorite of the coach (as I was with some of my academic teachers) I did get a taste of what it was like to be on a team that jelled over a season and find a role that actually worked for me and the team itself. Though not publicly recognized and without anything shiny (like another touchdown) to show for my effort, I found confidence that for my size and experience, by the end of the season, I could hold my own in my position. Mind you, we did not go to the playoffs…….The coach’s seeming lack of interest actually motivated me in one sense—-I was not used to being unappreciated and I worked harder for that.

Coach Green did step up. Despite our total lack of mutual “recognition” or esteem as people, he was the only one of two High School teachers who checked in with me, much to my discomfort, a month after my father had died. He was paying attention after all.

I learned a couple other things that season. Howie Long from the year before me showed that despite a small stature, attitude and conditioning could make you a force to be reckoned with even against players much larger. I was no Howie Long, but I could block for a running back by the end of that season. I could catch a ball and had fun proving that. When gathering in the summer after graduating, my friend Bruce and I demonstrated against some of my former teammates that they could not defend our pass patterns; Bruce and I were a team that perfected a form of mental telepathy adjusting to the defense. We had played football at the park together for six years and were a self-taught team. Three on three football was not going to be part of my college experience, but it was all I needed as a follow-up to my varsity experience in football.

We could stop there, but there is more to teamwork than sports. And, after all, despite my self-satisfaction with the conclusion of my football career, I had no illusions about my ability or motivation in sports. While my football teammates were not close friends or confidants, we did link up after college started and the social alignments from High School were clearly changed. I enjoyed contacts with my former teammates that were richer than I had any reason to expect the next few years when coming home. More to the point, when I began a career, I had a sense of different kinds of teams and to have less need for close personal relationships to exist within a team doing a function to keep it working well not to mention, enjoyable. I enjoyed success but as important, was enjoying the journey— I was quoted regarding this effort of teaming at work once: “It’s supposed to be fun.”. This was true juggling call schedules, working in the emergency room, delivery room, an isolated clinic, and hospital teams. The play calling changed depending on the team up and the individual skill-set of the members. Learning this was important and in the end, helped me be someone who contributed to make the whole more than a sum of the parts.

The ultimate lesson? The place I retired from did not fall apart when I left!