Moment 072: Football- The Pop Warner years...

It's that time of year again. My cup runneth over.

Football!

Every year my passion for it grows exponentially and I don't really understand it. It went from a gentle expectation that came with my favorite time of the year (Fall) to a full bodied lust that began to burn furiously sometime around June.

Anyone who has ever known me from before the past couple of years might only describe my interest in the sport as slight if at all, for I didn't carry myself as a football lover. Of course anyone associated with me even somewhat closely over the past 5-6 years would be able state with certainty that I am a football nut.

When I think back on it- you know, my introduction to football and how everything fell into place- it does make sense.

My step father was the football lover in the house. I don't know how he got me watching but I remember plenty of Sunday afternoons rooting for the Cowboys. Now, I wasn't a freak then. I was a kid. So if there was something going on outside for me to do- biking, running- whatever. I'd do it but I would never be so far as to not know what the score was.

And the Cowboys were a great team to root for. Dorsett, Newhouse- all the Cowboys were like shining knights of blue and silver. Stars blazing a trail across a stripped field of green. I remember watching Staubach have what seemed like the entire Redskins defense huddle over him menacingly- only to emerge from the cluster of red jerseys almost effortlessly. It was always amazing how many times he got out of a jam and made a great play.
On top of that, they had the hottest cheerleaders ever and since. Rows of beauties in every color and shape, all smiles and kicks and excitement.

Thinking on it now, those Cowboys probably made me feel like a real Texan, too. Not like someone who had been carted in from the hot sands of Arizona under the cover of darkness.

Pop not only had us watch football- he even talked us into playing for the Base pop warner league.
I would dread those weekly practices as they were sweat and tears, yo. We met up two or three times a week and it was intense.
Today- I would pay to go through some of those routines but back then- ugh. The hardest part really was doing all the exercises at the beginning. The running. The jumping jacks. The push-ups. The tires. The whistle stops...Yeah, the fucking whistle stops.
After that we would run through plays and that was pretty awesome but the cool shit was Saturday.

Game day.

Mom would pack a bunch of food and drinks and stuff into a cooler and Pop (who was coaching my brother's team) would have charts and whistles and pads and shit.
Then we would get out there in our uniforms (My team was the JETS- which is kinda appropriate-, Joe's were the Steelers) and just rip shit up like we were being paid. We were highly competitive back then. I never saw a parent hit a coach or a ref or anything like that kind of nonsense but the parents of the neighborhood that I raise my kids in now would frown on the sheer ferociousness burning in the eyes of my fellow team mates back then.

Sometimes that competitive edge got us into trouble.

Once- while we were on the bus to that weekend's match, we came across a kid from the opposing team who was walking, so the driver decided to stop and give the guy a ride.
This skrawny little thing slowly made his way to the back and a few of us decided to get the bus fired up to let this kid know he was being driven to the ass-kicking of his life.

"We're gonna whoop! Up! Side-the-head! We're gonna whoop'em upside the head!" we began to chant and it wasn't long before the whole bus was rocking with the righteous thunder of the Kelly AFB Jets.
Young girls dressed in green and white uniforms of cheer, gnashed their teeth and stomped their feet just as viciously as any boy on the team- Their Pom-Poms pumping rhythmically to the chant.

Our tender little visitor sat quietly amidst the choreographed chaos. He had a panicked look on his face- like some poor bastard sitting on a stake during some sacrificial dance.

When the bus stopped. He practically leaped off and ran to his team. We smiled as he as did so...until we saw what he was running to.

On the other end of the field were the biggest bunch of beasts packaged as preteens I had ever seen up until that time. Massive children that resembled gorillas much more than anything human and all of them dressed as our freshly released captor who was now pointing frantically in our direction.
We were done for.

What followed was the most embarassing display of a "football game" ever known to the sport. A one-sided event very similar to a Harlem Globetrotters game except muddier and intensely more violent.

Football was my first and only organized sport and I would have to say that My year with the Jets was probably my favorite- even though I would go on to play for a few years after that.

Micheal Jackson's "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" and The Gap Band's "You Dropped A Bomb On Me" are miracles of science as they are instant portals to the past. When I hear those songs I find myself sitting on that bus on the way to a game or standing on the sideline in my number "72" jersey waiting to get back into the game.

My position was defensive tackle but sometimes I would play offense too. I would get other positions later due to my tallness but never was I able to run the ball. My dream was to get into that end zone! I knew I was fast enough I just never got the ball.

My closest shot was a game where I was on the defensive line and once the ball was snapped- I shoved the kid in front of me to the ground (which was easy because he was smaller than I) and barreled down on the quarterback who was smaller than the guy I had just stepped over.

The QB, startled at how fast I got through the line, slipped and dropped the ball.

Now, I knew that once I picked that ball up they would call the play and we would pick up the game from that spot. The coaches told us several times that we weren't allowed to have run backs in this league,
BUT:
1. That rule never made any sense to me. and
2. This was my chance! I was gonna score, dammit.

I scooped the ball effortlessly with no one standing between me and the goal line. I was just a few leg pumps away from the dream that any kid wearing pads and a helmet has. I was gonna make a touchdown! Whether it counted or not.

A bolt of energy shot through me as the crowd collectively gasped- realizing the tables had turned.
I planted my first step deep into the earth and pushed. I propelled forward slightly, tucked the ball and shifted my weight all simultaneously. A young Dorsett in the making.
I went to dig at the ground again with my next step but it wasn't there. Something small lassoed my ankle and pulled my foot back and out from underneath me. Not prepared for the sudden change the top half of me came tumbling down like some old worn out Vegas Casino. Slow and hard.
I looked back and saw the kid who I plowed through to get into this joint, still clutching my foot with his eyes closed.

The ref took the ball away from me and planted it back where I picked it up- barely a yard away.

When I got back to the sideline the coach patted me on the back as he noticed my obvious disappointment- "Nice turnover, Kim- But even if you'd had run they'da brung it back."

Yeah- GREAT!

I think TD Remorse is popular with a lot of guys who played pop warner and didn't get in the end zone. I was talking to my friend Larry a couple of years ago and he had TD-R, too. Maybe they'll come out with a pill for that and hawk it to us during the news. I'd buy it.

I continued to play through for Kelly AFB for a few years up until I was a Freshman. Every year was pretty much the same for me. Pop (coach) and Joe (unstoppable tank) were the champions of their league one year.

Joe may not have been able to read worth a damn nor did he have the sense to comprehend many of the complexities of the plays but he could NOT be stopped. In this he was amazing. He could have been a great athlete if he hadn't been distracted by things he shouldn't have never ever been a part of.

Our final year playing for the base Joe and I were joined by our cousins, Marvin and Micheal.

Marvin was my age so he was on my team. Micheal was Joe's age. My mom and her sister, Jewel (Marvin and Micheal's mother) seemed to compete in everything- even this.

Anyway- we had some great times hanging out as we where growing up and playing football together was extra cool!

Marvin was the QB, green eyed, light skinned AND a ladies man- so I don't even have to tell you what his situation was like- Me? I was me. So, I managed to have fun telling different cheerleaders "secrets" they should know to get to Marvin.

I don't remember much from this year except there was this one game that we were losing horribly. I was a corner back and I remember running in after the quarterback in a direct line- which the coach had told me NOT to do! The coach always told me to make corners- BUT THE DUDE WAS RIGHT THERE!!! So I ran right at the guy and suddenly he spun and was running around me.
I turned to catch him but now I was falling behind and he was sprinting away from me like a gazelle. The worst part was that he was holding the ball down at his side just out of my reach- TEASING me with it.

After he was finally brought down, I was called to the sideline where I was admonished mercilessly. It was my fault, so I could say nothing.

The rest of the game went pretty much the same for the rest of the team. Until- early in the fourth quarter, there was an opponent running down field towards me. He was ducking and weaving all of our other players and it was looking like it was going to come down to only me!

I prepped myself, followed his waist and dove at his legs- I was told if you want to stop a runner- wrap up his legs where he can't use 'em.
I didn't know this but at the same time a team mate- Whose name was Scott, I think- Had hit the guy from above at the same time- from a different direction.

So we struck this poor kid with a one-two punch from two different directions simultaneously.

Not even thinking about it- Scott and I leaped up from the ground and high-fived each other for our success...over this kid's still unmoving body.

We giddily ran off the field- still not noticing the body- to the boos and disgust of the audience- That was when we looked back.

They were slow and careful about getting the kid off the field but he was alright.

It wasn't many games after that when I stopped playing for the Base in the middle of the season. School was different and required more attention. I had ROTC. And the practices were enough already.

But I still played street ball.


Many years later- I actually ran into Scott at some apartment party near UTSA. We didn't know each other for anything else- I never went to school with him or anything- but when we bumped into each other we instantly recalled the moment where we popped the kid from the other team. We had a shameful laugh- and a drink to the past and it kinda made me feel better about the whole thing- that I wasn't alone in the incident.

It's funny how things come 'round like that.