Sometimes I wonder if I’ll end up like those stereotypical white-haired guys you see in barbershops, sputtering on about what they did in high school. In this stereotypical barbershop, on this stereotypical boulevard, in the middle of this stereotypical, high-school-football-obsessed city, I’m cutting this young man’s hair. He’s probably 17 or 18. He’s a goodlookin’ kid. Probably got a girlfriend or two. You can tell he’s muscular by the way his shirt fits him. He’s got the air of a star football player around him.
Anyway, I’m asking this kid about the football team. What’s its strengths? Weaknesses? You guys gonna make state this year? Of course, I’m really just starting this conversation so I can tell these young (unwilling) ears what I did when I was his age. Back in the day when I did this, when I did that. This one game I did that, that one game I did this. One season I even blah blah blah…. And, obviously, it ends in a warning that this stereotypical, all-his-life-ahead-of-him kid doesn’t want to hear. He’s probably rolling his eyes at me. I let it all slip away after that senior season, I say, oblivious to the kid. Don’t do what I did, son.
Of course, I’m not that old (yet), and I’m not that bad about my (rather average) accomplishments on the high school football field. Unlike my hypothetical older self above, high school football was only a part of my persona “back in the day.” It was a significant part, but a part (i.e. not the whole) nonetheless; there were many other things I looked forward to in high school. I was president of the National Honor Society, and I was one of those kids who actually looked forward to writing an assignment for English class. Yeah, I was that guy.
But, the other day at work, I was talking to one of my coworkers who also played high school football. We swapped war stories for like an hour (quite a long time for one topic at my job). He told me how he knocked the hell out of this guy one time: I was playing defense, and they ran the ball outside, like outside the left tackle, to my side, and I closed that gap and hit this guy so hard he toppled over, hitting his side; of course the jerk jumped right back up, but, you know, everyone went crazy in the stands when I did it. And I reciprocated by telling him one of my contact stories: I was pass blocking – as a tight end – and this safety comes screaming off the edge, and I gotta pick him up, so I headbutt him, helmet to helmet, man, and I stone him, he just stopped in his tracks; it was tight, man. Then came the stories about our struggles on the field. His turn: one time I was going up against this big ol’ dude, I was offense he was defense, and I’d been talking trash to him right before the first snap, and that first play man I was not prepared for how strong this guy was; I battled with that guy all game, man I got so beat up. My turn: I was playing defense man, and I’m not the fastest guy, but I’m not like slow slow, but man one game I could not catch this one guy; he was just too quick for me; damn, it pissed me off dude.
I couldn’t help but feel like Uncle Rico from Napoleon Dynamite while I talked about my highlights (which I’m sure most of them cannot be verified by video) and tip-toed around my low-lights (which I’m positive are enshrined forever on video). Just like Rico, I talked as if my achievements in high school could have led to some magic on the next level. I wasn’t as delusional as the character though; I told my coworker I probably could have played some D-III or NAIA ball somewhere. I mean, I wasn’t bad. I was second-team all-district defensive end in a district that sent all four teams to the playoffs that year (my senior year). I actually did make some key blocks a few games that lead to some important touchdowns, made some nice tackles that stopped a few drives, had a fumble recovery that led to a game-winning touchdown one time. Did I have the talent to make a splash somewhere? Most likely “No.”
Anyway, I guess what I’m attempting to say is that high school football doesn’t define me…I hope. I loved playing high school ball. I loved being a football player. I loved wearing my jersey with blue jeans with the rest of the guys on Fridays. I loved reminiscing about those long ago days with my coworker. Maybe I could end up like that obnoxious father who pushes his son to play football too hard, not realizing he really just wants to do show choir. I’d be yelling from the stands “Hey get your (expletive) head in the game!” while he’d just be shaking his head, looking forward to those four zeros on the scoreboard. Man, that would suck.
Whenever I think of my high school football days, I think of what my dad has told me about his playing days. He was a good player by all accounts, but got burnt out on it so quit the team. But he still loves watching the NFL, and sometimes, when that Sunday sun is high, and the Packers are spanking a team, he gets that old itch to hit somebody, and that invariably brings us to this: a joking mention of missed opportunities accompanied by “I could have been somebody!” with a laugh. I always think this is funny, mostly because I know the irony is steak-knife-needed thick. My father isn’t defined by his high school football days. But they are in some small way responsible for the man he is today.
I like to think about my football days that way. I learned so much from them, my coach, my teammates, my opponents, the games, the season. I learned to respect and work with people I really didn’t like. I learned my limitations, but I learned that I could push them as well. And I learned that I could use those lessons on much more than the football field.
Okay, this is starting to get a little too sappy. You probably weren’t expecting this when you first started reading, or maybe you were…. You might not have expected to read this far down, I sure didn’t plan on writing this much. The main thing I suppose I want to get across to those of you who have read to this point, is that, just because sometimes I miss those “glory” days of being one of 22 young men going at it on a Friday night, doesn’t mean I’m going to turn out like that obnoxious father or that ridiculous stereotype. There will be days where I fall into that pit again and start lecturing some young kid (probably my son, ’cause he’ll be the only one to actually put up with my football stories) about my experiences, but they will only be temporary. And, you know what? I’ll enjoy that pitfall extensively. I’ll eat that stuff up, and won’t care if those new high school football stars are rolling their eyes.
If you enjoyed this piece, you might also like: The Dichotomy of a Football Fan.
Tags: football, high school
Behind Blue Skies 
My Wonder Years?
28 JulSometimes I wonder if I’ll end up like those stereotypical white-haired guys you see in barbershops, sputtering on about what they did in high school. In this stereotypical barbershop, on this stereotypical boulevard, in the middle of this stereotypical, high-school-football-obsessed city, I’m cutting this young man’s hair. He’s probably 17 or 18. He’s a goodlookin’ kid. Probably got a girlfriend or two. You can tell he’s muscular by the way his shirt fits him. He’s got the air of a star football player around him.
Anyway, I’m asking this kid about the football team. What’s its strengths? Weaknesses? You guys gonna make state this year? Of course, I’m really just starting this conversation so I can tell these young (unwilling) ears what I did when I was his age. Back in the day when I did this, when I did that. This one game I did that, that one game I did this. One season I even blah blah blah…. And, obviously, it ends in a warning that this stereotypical, all-his-life-ahead-of-him kid doesn’t want to hear. He’s probably rolling his eyes at me. I let it all slip away after that senior season, I say, oblivious to the kid. Don’t do what I did, son.
Of course, I’m not that old (yet), and I’m not that bad about my (rather average) accomplishments on the high school football field. Unlike my hypothetical older self above, high school football was only a part of my persona “back in the day.” It was a significant part, but a part (i.e. not the whole) nonetheless; there were many other things I looked forward to in high school. I was president of the National Honor Society, and I was one of those kids who actually looked forward to writing an assignment for English class. Yeah, I was that guy.
But, the other day at work, I was talking to one of my coworkers who also played high school football. We swapped war stories for like an hour (quite a long time for one topic at my job). He told me how he knocked the hell out of this guy one time: I was playing defense, and they ran the ball outside, like outside the left tackle, to my side, and I closed that gap and hit this guy so hard he toppled over, hitting his side; of course the jerk jumped right back up, but, you know, everyone went crazy in the stands when I did it. And I reciprocated by telling him one of my contact stories: I was pass blocking – as a tight end – and this safety comes screaming off the edge, and I gotta pick him up, so I headbutt him, helmet to helmet, man, and I stone him, he just stopped in his tracks; it was tight, man. Then came the stories about our struggles on the field. His turn: one time I was going up against this big ol’ dude, I was offense he was defense, and I’d been talking trash to him right before the first snap, and that first play man I was not prepared for how strong this guy was; I battled with that guy all game, man I got so beat up. My turn: I was playing defense man, and I’m not the fastest guy, but I’m not like slow slow, but man one game I could not catch this one guy; he was just too quick for me; damn, it pissed me off dude.
I couldn’t help but feel like Uncle Rico from Napoleon Dynamite while I talked about my highlights (which I’m sure most of them cannot be verified by video) and tip-toed around my low-lights (which I’m positive are enshrined forever on video). Just like Rico, I talked as if my achievements in high school could have led to some magic on the next level. I wasn’t as delusional as the character though; I told my coworker I probably could have played some D-III or NAIA ball somewhere. I mean, I wasn’t bad. I was second-team all-district defensive end in a district that sent all four teams to the playoffs that year (my senior year). I actually did make some key blocks a few games that lead to some important touchdowns, made some nice tackles that stopped a few drives, had a fumble recovery that led to a game-winning touchdown one time. Did I have the talent to make a splash somewhere? Most likely “No.”
Anyway, I guess what I’m attempting to say is that high school football doesn’t define me…I hope. I loved playing high school ball. I loved being a football player. I loved wearing my jersey with blue jeans with the rest of the guys on Fridays. I loved reminiscing about those long ago days with my coworker. Maybe I could end up like that obnoxious father who pushes his son to play football too hard, not realizing he really just wants to do show choir. I’d be yelling from the stands “Hey get your (expletive) head in the game!” while he’d just be shaking his head, looking forward to those four zeros on the scoreboard. Man, that would suck.
Whenever I think of my high school football days, I think of what my dad has told me about his playing days. He was a good player by all accounts, but got burnt out on it so quit the team. But he still loves watching the NFL, and sometimes, when that Sunday sun is high, and the Packers are spanking a team, he gets that old itch to hit somebody, and that invariably brings us to this: a joking mention of missed opportunities accompanied by “I could have been somebody!” with a laugh. I always think this is funny, mostly because I know the irony is steak-knife-needed thick. My father isn’t defined by his high school football days. But they are in some small way responsible for the man he is today.
I like to think about my football days that way. I learned so much from them, my coach, my teammates, my opponents, the games, the season. I learned to respect and work with people I really didn’t like. I learned my limitations, but I learned that I could push them as well. And I learned that I could use those lessons on much more than the football field.
Okay, this is starting to get a little too sappy. You probably weren’t expecting this when you first started reading, or maybe you were…. You might not have expected to read this far down, I sure didn’t plan on writing this much. The main thing I suppose I want to get across to those of you who have read to this point, is that, just because sometimes I miss those “glory” days of being one of 22 young men going at it on a Friday night, doesn’t mean I’m going to turn out like that obnoxious father or that ridiculous stereotype. There will be days where I fall into that pit again and start lecturing some young kid (probably my son, ’cause he’ll be the only one to actually put up with my football stories) about my experiences, but they will only be temporary. And, you know what? I’ll enjoy that pitfall extensively. I’ll eat that stuff up, and won’t care if those new high school football stars are rolling their eyes.
If you enjoyed this piece, you might also like: The Dichotomy of a Football Fan.
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Tags: football, high school