Football - Part 1

Last night my father sent me a one sentence email informing me that my high school alma mater had just lost its quarterfinal match against an annual powerhouse. Most people, when faced with this news, would either be indifferent or saddened. My response was the exact opposite – joy. In the five years since I graduated, my school’s football team has made it to the championship game three times, and lost each one. In those five years my attitude towards my former team has not waned. To understand my continuing resentment, and to provide a new topic for discussion, I thought it best to lay out my history with the sport with whatever stories I can remember. As always, I invite any comments, questions, or more importantly, additional stories.

Growing up I played pick-up tackle football nearly every day at lunch and after school. As a skinny kid with speed, athleticism and great hands, I was easily among the best receivers in my grade school class. The thing I remember most vividly from these early years was that I, along with the best quarterback in our grade, refused to play unless we could be on the same time. With this “magnet” deal, we could almost guarantee victory. This dominance continued until junior high when my interest in football superseded that of baseball, and I began pressuring my parents to allow me to play competitively.

In 7^th grade my parents stalled long enough to deny me the opportunity to play in either the regular or traveling leagues. The following year my frequent protests finally convinced them to let me play. Being a year older, and a few pounds heavier, I was ineligible to play in the regular league. As such, my first competitive football game would be as a Falcon.