a long short story - my football saga

i upgraded my office/word to office 2007. while cleaning up old folders, i came across my folder of 'stories'... back pre hunter/reagan, i actually had time to knock out short stories... for you old timers on my old spam list... this is old news... but to 'new' folks (in last 6 yrs), this is brand spankin' new.

one update: since i knocked this story out 7 years ago, i've actually had a discectomy on my C6-C7 vertebraes, due to the aforementioned (um, postforementioned?) neck injury in the game against the owatonna indians... ahem... huskies. besides that, i think it stands the test of time. think i'll google joel staats, tho, see if i can find an email address for him, see what his impressions of highschool football are from 1987.

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…sixty nine, me

jeff mccomas
january, 2001

i’ve had john randle (viking defensive lineman) on my fridge since january 10. crying like a baby in a full page full color fully caught mid-cry from the sports section. not a sob, either. but balling his big, blackened, sweaty eyes out. unabashedly. he just lost in the playoffs to the rams (who went on to the superbowl, leaving the vikings far behind). john, i’m not embarrassed to admit, is my hero. well ok that’s maybe a lil too hero-worshippy… call him my (one and only) sports guy. i don’t care anything about baseball (anymore), be it the twins, saints, whatever. basketball fades in and out (loved the imax movie about jordan, but that’s the last b-ball i’ve seen in months). i fill out a ncaa b-ball tourney grid every year, but i like the anal retentive march from 64 teams, to 32, 16, … to 1 in perfect brackets pry more than the actual games. hockey? not bad, but never really into it, except for rowdy college games and that movie ‘slapshot’. soccer? please! not worth the pixels to even flame it. nope, it’s only football that draws me in, that gets my blood going, and keeps me interested year after year, decade after decade. oh, sure.. i was in baseball, wrestling, basketball, track thru jr and sr. high, and was ok at them all. but it was football that i remember. that i dream about. and that i miss.

i wasn’t always like ‘this’, you know. ‘this’, defined as a soft, pudgy, pasty, middle-aged, calm/cool/collected/boring suburbanite enginerd, working in a dilbert-esque cubical-ville, w/ no apparent passion for anything… let alone a simple game like football. i’m sure current neighbors / coworkers / in-laws could never envision me at my ‘prime’ <15> active/athletic/toned/tanned – and nuts for and about all football all the time. could run all day, lift weights all night. eat like a horse, and never put on enough weight to satisfy me. football consumed me. i consumed it. every fall from 1979 thru ‘87.

so where’d this passion begin? and where did it end? ending first: it ended at a quarter-final 6:00 tues. game, on a co-ed flag football field in ames, iowa (iowa state). my glory days long gone. my once toned body quickly turning into beer flab. a very inauspicious ending. and now the beginning of my passion: watching the Vikes since age 0. fran tarkenton, wearing trusty ol’ #10 at quarterback, in viking purple, bobbin, weavin, scramblin, zigzaggin. every sunday (except for the very rare monday night appearance), either at 12:00 or 3:00 on abc, just like clockwork. chuck foreman, too, running it up the gut (“right up the middle again?!? why do they ALWAYS do that?!? I can’t believe how asinine that stubborn ol bud grant is!” i can almost hear my dad saying that, time and time again, when we failed to put er in the endzone, time and time again) but we had our glory years, too. super bowl in ’73, ’74, and ’76. i remember ‘76’s superbowl for sure (i was 6.5). ’74 and ‘73 get a lil hazy (i was 4½ / 3½), but my first two memories are: the old sandbox w/ the circus-type colorful canopy at the old house on 6th st, and watching the vikes. and not in that order.

like every other kid, i grew up playing nerf football during recesses, lunches, weeknites, and weekends (along w/ kickball). i had the requisite shiny vikes winter coat, w/ the big “W” in back that could zip into a hood if ever needed. those coats from jc penney were ubiquitous back then, and all those Ws (unzipped hoods) on kids backs didn’t look strange in the least (except now in old, grainy badly colored insta-matic pictures. i vaguely remember going to a few of steve’s high school football games at BA, but didn’t really get much of an impression (no offense, steve, but i guess you weren’t good enough to leave an impression. i know you’re crushed).

my first organized football came in 5th grade. peewee leagues. faribo was divided into neighborhoods, and each ‘hood had a team. my area (south side) was sponsored by the Jaycees (blue jerseys). other teams were the butter kernels (yellow), the dreaded faribo police (raider black and silver), and some nondescript others. i remember going in to the old, musty, smelly town armory to sign up, along w/ mom and jim caron. filled out a form from an unfriendly ex-east-german woman weightlifter, paid the $15, mom signed the post-card sized liability waiver (pry a 20 pg contract by now), and was then told to pick up a helmet and pads from a big, back room that was piled ceiling high w/ old, beatup, smelly mismatched pads and helmets. there were only a few vikings helmets left, and the rest were all white, w/ an occasional cowboys or steelers helmet thrown in here or there. try as i might, those viking helmets were either made for the elephant-head-boy, or tiny tim. i could spin them all the way around my head, or just perch em on my head, like a beenie. and i told mom that “this viking helmet would work out just fine”, (as i’m spinning it around and around my head while wearing it), w/ some bigger pads in it, or a towel, or tape, or ANYTHING, just to be able to wear the viking one. cooler (i.e. smarter, older) heads prevailed, tho, and i was steered (store?) towards a better fitting, tho boring as hell, white one. and some nondescript, beatup, but cool nonetheless (cuz they would be ‘my’) shoulder pads.

next stop: b & b sporting goods, per the directions on the one sheet of canary yellow paper w/ the football schedule / rules / etc. it said: ‘pick up 1 (one) mouth guard [no problem], and 1 (one) athletic supporter [uh, oh!]. jim was even more embarrassed, being w/ my mom, instead of his. but mom didn’t make a big deal out of it. she’d been thru it plenty of times before w/ all her sons. she just scooped up two “smalls” jock-straps off the shelf, while barely stopping or slowing down, and off to the register we went. thanks, mom! for not making a big deal out of it. whew. and that was it for supplies. we didn’t need no stinkin’ football pants. or fancy arm pads, or spikes, or jerseys. we just wore old jeans, even for games, and tennis shoes, and old, big t-shirts for practice. we only wore the prized ‘game jersey’ for the weekly saturday morning games, and for the awards banquets at the end of the season (or, awards ‘potlucks’, as it were. all the noodle hotdishes one could ever dream, and rainbow colored ‘salads’ as far as the eye could eat)

then, at home, for the first time of many many times in my life, i heated up the old mouthpiece in boiling water, after reading and rereading the directions for the 10th time, finally got enough mental planning in and courage up to actually do it, w/ all the supplies at the ready in a practiced order next to the stove. heat up the water to a boil, dip er in there, wait 30 seconds (and not one second longer or shorter!!!), quickly out of water, into a cup of cold water for 2 seconds (again, not one sec longer or shorter! those directions were ’very important’!), and then into the mouth, and bite down on it. for (again exactly) 10 seconds. then back into cold water. i was so proud to be doing that grown-up manly football stuff, that i kept that mouthpiece w/ the long plastic cord dangling out in front of it, in my mouth for like the whole first day, telling my family that the directions specifically said to really make sure the teeth impression is good, and so i needed to keep it in, while strutting around the house, looking like a moron but feeling like mean joe greene.

practice was at teepee tonka park, which was a quick and easy 2 mile bike ride away. shoulder pads on, and the helmet woven on the front dirt bike handle bars, and away i went, twice a week. to learn the fundamentals. learned how to run sprints. learned how to line up. to catch. to pass. to block. 3-point stance. to drink water. to stretch out. to do jumping jacks. pushups in unison. but most importantly: how to ‘look’ like a football player. a highlite was the last practice before our first game, when the ‘game jerseys’ *finally* showed up. man, fun day, that day. our team was giddiness defined, waiting for that huge cardboard box of jerseys to get doled out. we all found out what position we would play, who would start, and therefore what number we’d get, all in one quick step. even the coaches were juiced and giddy, playing around and laughing more than usual.



i was picked to be the starting halfback. and starting linebacker. along w/ being on the 4 special teams (kick returner, punt returner, kick team, punt team). i had good hands w/ all the recess football and older brothers in my past. also, it pry didn’t hurt that i never missed a practice, was really into learning the game, always paid attention, and pry brown-nosed, too, a little. altho there were many bigger 6th graders on the team, i was proud to be starting on all 6 ‘lineups/teams’ as a youngin’. so, from this auspicious start in peewee, i was committed to the idea, and it was my explicit goal, to be on every starting team, playing every play, on every football team i was ever on. to make a long story short (pg 3 already!), i basically was able to start on all teams every year until i got to varsity, when i gave up offense to focus on defense and special teams.

the one game i remember best from peewees (actually, about the only game) is the last game in 6th grade. second year w/ the jaycees, and we were good. our team had ‘jelled’. i loved being running back, and linebacker. always where the action was. the “Police” were undefeated, and so were we, and we were to meet on the last game of the season. but our saturday game was rained out. so, instead of ending the season so unfinished, we had a special ‘night game’ at teepee tonka to close out the season, and to determine the city championship. mom and dad came (usually, just dad and i went to the saturday morning games, w/ mom cleaning, shopping, going to the bank, and doing her other ‘motherly duties’, while dad did his (cheering for me, and then bringing me to a fastfood breakfast/lunch). even my dear old godmother, mary ada poirier, came along for this special ‘event’. on the tuesday of the game, we all wore our game jerseys to school (jim and i in blue jaycees w/ a few others, and mike degan, troy karen and a few others in the dreaded black police jerseys). the teacher had a tough, long day trying to keep our attention and energy devoted on long addition and incursive writing.

the police were so tough that they had never been scored on all season. i ended that. i scored two touchdowns. but so did they. at the end of the game (running time, w/ lil or no stops, so it’s about a drive or maybe two quick ones per quarter), and we were tied. usually, that would be the end of it. but this was ‘it’ for the season, and everyone wanted a clear winner. that is, everyone except the police. they voted, as a team in their huddle at their sidelines, to end it w/ a draw. they wanted to still be considered ‘undefeated’, and viewed a tie as a good compromise. but we voted (being more scrappy and more of an underdog team) to keep playing, until someone scored to win it all. thankfully, ron tuin, the director of the peewee league, had the final say, and would break the tie. he sided w/ us, and said ‘dang it, let’s just play until we get a winner’. awright! we were gonna see this thru. my kinda man!

unfortunately, on their first drive, they kept rolling forward, w/ no passes, just mike degan and troy karen alternating running dives and off tackles. finally, on about the 2 yard line, on 3rd down, we thought we could stop them two more times. it was an off tackle run. troy had the ball, and i was the linebacker, chasing him down. he went wide. so did i. he leaped up, lunging at the goal line w/ ball tucked away snug. i lunged, too. we crashed in midair, our oversized shoulder pads and helmets cracking and snapping. he landed in the endzone, but just barely. game over. 14-21 (no one-point conversion kicks – they were automatic at this level). the police went crazy. piling on each other, the sideline parents got into the celebration, too. it was exuberant chaos, like they’d just won the super bowl.

but i was crushed. end of game. end of season. end of grade-school peewee league. i just started walking to the car, knot in my throat. not even looking for mom/dad/mary ada, just looking down. just wanted to get out of there. quickly. and then my coach (WAAAAY too long ago to remember his name, but he was always a decent, fun, but serious guy) caught up to me, jogging. he was beaming. (how could he be happy?!?) his face was sweating, and intense. and red. he was incredibly pumped up. he said, and i remember this scene perfectly accurate, at least as far as i know, “MacAdoo, i don’t care what the score was tonight. tonight, you played like a WINNER!”, and jogged away.

“Thanks, coach”. i said, raising my head a little, and couldn’t help but having a sheepish smile break through my gloom. that was one of the best, fastest mood changes i had ever experienced, including thru to today. that guy was the perfect peewee coach. i would love to track him down somewhere, and thank him. the next day, at recess, and lunch, etc. all of us relived that game over and over through the whole fall and winter (especially the winning police players).

7th grade brought more, better, standardized equipment, and more players to compete against. the team was HUGE, numbers-wise and size-wise. tuin, madson, and doubles were coaches thru jr. high. i was starting linebacker/def. end, but number 3 or 4 running back in the depth charts. being #1 or #4 running back tho, was really just a symbolic thing. every play, a running back would bring in the play, replacing another running back, and there was a 4 person rotation, so i got as many chances to run w/ the ball as the #1 and #2 running backs, except in critical plays on critical drives (degan was #1, and quinnell #2, i think). i jammed my thumbs periodically (i could never get used to running, holding the ball, and tucking in my thumbs at the same time. i ran ‘thumbs out’ constantly. my thumbs were always taped up, and my thumb knuckles were always ‘sprained’ and swollen during the season). we played other towns for the first time, and had an A team and a B team. i was A team, and enjoyed the travel to owatonna, and northfield, etc.

8th grade brought some changes. only 2 (or maybe 3) running backs were needed, as the sophistication increased. i was issued two jerseys, #15 (for running back), and #65 (for guard). i would switch them mid-quarter, or mid-drive, depending on if i was needed as running back, or on the line. i felt special cuz i was the only player to be changing jerseys mid-game. i really enjoyed the competition, and the traditions that were only starting to get better and more professional. like wearing game jerseys to school on game days. cheerleaders. cheesy signs on the lockers put there by the cheerleaders. getting out of last hour early for away games. waiting in full uniform in the locker room, all lined up against the walls in perfect order and silent, as the coach goes over the game plan one final time. (PK – paul – was scolded before one of the games because while everyone had long white socks on, he had the audacity to try to wear long GRAY socks. just like communism, tho, the nail that sticks out gets pounded back down, and he was forced to borrow a white pair from someone, or he would have been benched. all of this prep, etc., was just an inkling of the special treatment and traditions/rituals of the ‘big time’ (at least for me) of high school football that awaited us.

one time during practice, shawn howie was feeling cocky, and was looking for trouble. back then, we all seemed to have way more energy than we knew what to do w/, and we would occasionally vent it in ill-advised ways. for some reason, he started razzing ME on the sidelines during a practice, even tho we never really knew each other, or shared any common friends (or more importantly… girlfriends). i wasn’t interested, and ignored him. that is, ignored him until he spit on me. then, he finally ‘got’ to me so that i couldn’t ignore him anymore, and we both quickly agreed to run to the back of some little bleachers there to settle it. w/ shoulder pads and all, we started to fight. i made quick work of him, though, repeatedly punching only at his head/face (w/ all those pads, what choice did i have?). his nose started bleeding profusely, all over himself, and he started balling like a baby, and gave up quickly. my only injuries were to my knuckles… he never got a punch in on me. luckily, the coach soon called out our line to play next, and we all ran out there. the first play, shawn pretended to get hurt, and the coaches tended to his nose, thinking it had just happened out on the field.

9th grade brought more of the same. however, to make it interesting, we had two goons on the team (ray m. and allen h. (only last initials to protect the guilty, but the ’88 farmbo football folks would remember these thugs, no doubt), who were more interested in smokin weed, ditchin school, and waiting to drop out than to play football. but they were huge, and the coach made them linemen, on the B squad team. their greatest joy in life was this: during practice, when the first team was running plays into them, they would put up their elbows into a point, at eye level, and then point/direct those elbows into the oncoming running backs helmets as we went thru the line. not trying to tackle, just trying to hurt us. i ran into one of their elbows full speed, and it wedged right between the top of my facemask and bottom, catching me right in the nose. ouch. lots o blood and cursing. the coaches didn’t know what was going on, or didn’t care. ever since that day, i’ve had little, gurgling noises in my upper nose, whenever i squeeze it. it healed pretty straight, tho, and except for the gurgling bubbles (which b LOVES to pinch and poke, much to my dismay), it didn’t ever set me back. this was probably a zen-kind-of-justice thing for that shawn howie affair.

i was still running back, and did okay at it. i remember during the 4th quarter of a game w/ the very large (in #s and size. damn, they were lined up 2 deep on every inch of their sidelines) rosemount irish. the game was tight, and we were all very angry and stewing over some very questionable calls that were made by the homer refs that were decidedly keeping rosemount close, scorewise. this drive would pry be our last chance. we had to take the lead and win. i remember coach dean monke calling a timeout, and coming out to the huddle. he was on fire. he told us in language that would make a sailor blush, what we were going to do to them on this last drive. punch it right up the middle, time and time again, w/ no passing, all on ‘hut one’, nothing fancy, so that the rosemount refs couldn’t / wouldn’t win the game for ‘em.

we just pounded it out on them, a few yards at a time. 21 trap play (up the gut to the ‘1’ hole by the ‘2’ back). 94 dive play (up the gut). another trap play (40). off-tackle run (46 power). 95 dive again. i was running an off tackle to the right side (27 power right, was the play name, i think). the linebacker wrapped up my arms as he tackled me, so that i couldn’t break my fall. he threw me down hard on the hard, unwatered, non-varsity ground, on my right side. i heard a loud ‘pop’. my right arm was numb immediately. luckily, it was my turn to rotate to the sidelines, to wait out one play, then bring in the next play. i told coach monke that i could barely feel my right arm, and that my right shoulder was hurting. but i didn’t want him to bench me. it was just kind of an ‘fyi’ to him.

the timing couldn’t have been worse. we were on about the 10 yard line, w/ only a few minutes to go (and unlike the pros, we had no clock management ability or skill, and we could do with 4 minutes what the pros could do w/ 22 seconds left in a game). the coach, and me, wanted nothing more than to beat these cheating *astards. he quickly surveyed the scene, and made a snap decision. he told me “mac…get back in there, hold the ball w/ your left arm, and run a 41 trap”, as he pushed me back out there, just as the whistle sounded to end the previous play. so i went out there, adrenaline numbing the pain on my right side, and ran the ball in my left arm for a few yards, but no TD (damn!). the next play came in, and it was another dive play for me, of course right up the gut. i made it a few more yards, but still no touchdown. luckily, i then rotated out, degan came in and ended up scoring a touchdown to win the game as time ran out. whew!

when i got back to town, and after the shower, i had dad drive me to the emergency room. this pain kept getting worse and worse, unlike a pulled muscle or other minor injuries that always accompany football, when the pain slowly subsides over time. i figured something was out of sorts. turns out, i had a broken collar bone. that put me in a upper torso-hugging, shoulder strappy thingy for awhile. the worst thing, however, is that i missed the two last games of the season.

i loved the intensity monke had during that season. and it showed me that even if the game is unimportant, and there’s not thousands of fans screaming, and there’s no media coverage, the game is still what’s important, and intensity and attitude can change things, and win games.

jr high was over, and i was now getting ready to enter the big leagues; high school ball. i remembered watching dennis play at bruce smith memorial field when i was in 5/6 grades. those guys looked like pros to me, all wearing the big coats/capes and bigger than life, matching, multi-colored uniforms and helmets. and the ambiance of bruce smith fields was ‘big-time’, too. bands, cheerleaders, thousands of fans, announcers, cops, the whole deal. i remember giving the team high fives as they left their locker room, to take the field. and before dennis even played there, dad and me would many time go to the games, just the two of us (before i got older, and would ‘cruise’ the surrounding track for excitement w/ classmates, w/ one eye on the game). but i loved those early memories so much better. many times we’d sit in the visitor bleachers, to avoid the huge crowds on our home team side. sometimes, it would be so damnably cold on those aluminum bleachers, with the winds raging thru them (and us), waiting for the game to be decided. but i never wanted to leave, no matter how cold my arse was from the bleachers, or how insane the wind-chill. some players on the sidelines would actually be ‘smoking’. steam rolling off them, off their heads, out from under their shoulder pads. bigger than life. i dreamed of one day being them.

and now, like 9 short yrs later, i was supposed to be on the same par as those gods from my memories. training became serious for me. 10th graders practice, right along w/ the 11th and 12th graders for the first few weeks, before breaking off for the rest of the season, independent of them. the 1st two weeks of practices were going to be two-a-days, and their reputation was brutal. took on mythical proportions. running all day long. from 8-12, then 2-6. mon-fri. and this strange ‘county fair’ thing during practice that we only heard about, but details always were sketchy from the upperclassman. we didn’t quite know what to expect, except it would be more brutal than anything we had ever been involved with. in preparation for this, i started serious training. lifting. eating. running. sprinting. lifting. stretching. i was always just average sized, and i knew the positions i wanted required over-sized folk. i had good speed, and quick reflexes, and an intensity for the game which put me ahead of others in jr high and before, but didn’t figure i could keep a starting spot w/out some size and strength.

sometimes, i would run w/ dean quinnell and/or allen miller. i remember once, after a run down to ‘dinks dam’, we were so hot, we waded into the straight river right at the dam breakage point. the current was fast, but we were agile and dumb, and successfully navigated over the underwater twisted rebar and chunks of cement to the other side and back safely. but mostly, training was a personal, very private thing for me, and that’s where i really pushed myself to get/stay in shape. i wanted to be in great shape BEFORE the two a days started. nowadays, i walk around in the nature center w/ my family during holiday trips home. i’m amazed that i used to be able to run up those same insanely big hills (formerly the ‘state school’ grounds) that i now get winded just walking/waddling up.

my training grounds was the old abandoned daytime playground of the “state school”. everyone in faribo knew what the ‘state school’ was, and it’s torrid history... from the net:
The Minnesota state legislature authorized the board of directors of the Minnesota Institute for the Deaf, Dumb and Blind to open in 1879 an experimental department for "idiotic and feeble-minded children" (Laws 1879 c31). In 1881, the legislature directed that the School for Idiots and Imbeciles was no longer an experimental program and was to be connected with the Minnesota Institute for the Deaf, Dumb and Blind (Laws 1881 c145). In 1887, the school was made a department of the institute and the name was changed to the Minnesota Institute for Defectives (Laws 1887 c205). The name School for the Feeble-Minded was adopted in 1887, changed to the School for Feeble-Minded and Colony for Epileptics, and again changed in 1949, to the Minnesota School and Colony (Laws 1949 c142). It became the Faribault State School and Hospital in 1955 (Laws 1955 c662); in 1967, the Faribault State Hospital (Laws 1967 c6); and in 1985, the Faribault Regional Center (Executive Order No. 85- 17). The institution closed on July 1, 1998.

i used to run wind sprints there, in the abandoned flat prairie, surrounded by the river valley of the straight river and tall bluffs and state school buildings (ghosts). i used to envision there was someone (anyone!) walking on the trail down to the river, watching me as i sweated, sprinted, did grass drills in my ‘new season spikes’ to break them in, to avoid blisters during hell week. kept my motivation going to think about this phantom person watching this dedicated athlete toiling only for himself in supposed anonymity. whatever it takes to get in shape, i guess. mind tricks (self imposed) worked for me.

good thing i did train hard, too. they WERE brutal practices. and intimidating. the 3 senior captains controlled the beginning of every practice, stretching, light drills, light jogging, etc. but then the coaches took over, and things turned ugly. w/ no shoulder pads or other pads on, but just a helmet, everyone looked comically small and infantile, w/ our big head-helmets and scrawny bodies where fully padded/pumped up midsections should have been. the primary purpose of every morning practice was conditioning. turns out the ‘county fair’ were different stations that each coach ran. we went around them in groups of 8-10. one station would be crab walks up a hill. another one was grass drills (chopping the feet, and then jumping on the ground fully laid out when he waved us down). another one was running sideways back and forth. not rocket science, but damn hard. every few minutes, the head coach (rich oliphant, or oly), would blow his whistle. that meant to stop the drill, line up single file, and jog to the next station, where it all began again. one station of the 8 (mercifully) was always a water break, or just a stretching station or leg lift station. this county fair would go on for an interminably long time, involving many rounds around the course. then, some wind sprints. then, some stretching. then a LIL bit of offense/defense. then snake runs around the top of the whole back sr high area. then blah blah blah (on and on w/ painful, long, hard as hell conditioning).

finally, thankfully, it would end. a quick mid-afternoon break to shower, eat, sleep, lay around comatose at someone’s house to watch some videos and rest (on this new cool technology, called Video Cassette Recorders… ooooohhh high tech!). then, back at it, back to school. climbing into heavy with cold sweat, stinky, knee braces, helmets, etc. to do it all over again. thankfully, it was more learning, less sweating for the afternoon practices. and NO county fair. oh, still plenty of wind sprints, but easy compared to mornings.

on monday morning of week two, tetzloff (tall, lanky w/ a drawl, an excellent defensive coach, whom everybody liked) proudly announced that because we had worked SOO hard the first week on getting into shape, and after consulting w/ all of the other coaches, the county fair was being discontinued!! all of us, but especially the 10th graders, whooped it up big time. what a guy! what a team! what a country! after the celebration died down enough to hear, he then calmly announced that it would be replaced. replaced by the ‘state fair’. D’OH! trickery! treachery! in retrospect, i guess it was ONLY the 10th graders who cheered at the first announcement, because the old, grizzled 11/12 folks had heard this either once or twice before, and knew better. so they were in on the joke. same speech, same reaction. same roller coaster emotions as every other year, from pure elation to total doom in 30 seconds from all the 10th graders. like a good natured punch right to the solar plexus. and then twist the knife some more.

eventually, we put on pads, and the 10th graders broke off into our own team, w/ our own coaching staff. went to one-a-day practices (thankfully), and continued to learn the systems. about 3 weeks into it, positions were being filled, and the order of things was shaking out. the coaches singled me out one day before practice, and put a question to me; on offense, would i rather start at offensive guard, or sit on the sidelines as a running back? degan and quinnell had (rightfully) impressed them more than me w/ running the ball. they were bigger, and more of a natural fit as running backs. i was already a starting defensive end, and would be on special teams, so this was a tough question to answer. i was tempted to sit on the sidelines, waiting to relieve the ‘starting’ running backs (degan and quinnell), but ended up giving that up so i could play more plays as starting guard, albeit in a less-glamorous, ‘blue-collar’ role as a blocking guard. so, except for the occasional fumble or interception, i never touched the ball again, but played most of every game, per my 5th grade secret quest to always start.

as 10th graders, we never received any press, any pep rallies, or any attention. there weren’t any playoffs for B squads in the state, either. our games were thursday late afternoons, and only parents, girlfriends and a few diehard classmates would show up to them, along w/ the B squad cheerleaders (who HAD to show up). but that was okay w/ all of us (not that we could do anything about it anyway), because the glory years were only a season away, up in varsity. the biggest highlite of the season for me was the ‘mud-bowl’ in northfield. they just laid sod down on their field, and it was a rainy, rainy week prior to us playing, and was raining sheets when we got there. by the end of the game, every starter was no longer green and white (our colors) or blue/white (them), but were all light brown, head-to-toe. the sod had became unstuck, and was all rolled up all over the place. what a blast it was, to have no regard for cleanliness, and just be sluggin it out in the trenches. mud/rain/grass flying, trying to take the game serious, but not doing a real good job of it. like little kids in a big, wet, sandbox, wearing ‘grown-up’ macho uniforms, having the best time of the year. i don’t even remember if we won the game – it didn’t matter. climbing on the bus afterward (we had to drive the 15 miles back to farmbo to shower), the entire insides were turned into mud, just by having us in there, taking off the layers and layers of brown pads and unbelievably heavy clothing. i would’ve hated to be that bus driver that night, who had to clean it up after we got off it.

my 11th grade football season would be my first, real testing ground. i was still average sized (damn my genes), but had an unbelievably strong desire to keep playing, and would not be content to wait on the sidelines w/ all the other 11th graders, until i got my chance to ‘Start’ and play, handed to me as a senior, as the heir apparent. i wasn’t going to suffer thru the ol county fair / state fair two-a-days in the grueling august sun to just sit on the sidelines during varsity games. and i was willing to do whatever was necessary to not let that happen. that meant cranking up the training (regular runs not just starting at the end of july / early august, but starting training in earnest in june). the training paid off, and i was about the fastest on the team during wind sprints, and held my own during longer runs, too. but this wasn’t the cross-country team, and i knew i needed to do more than just run fast and hard.

i knew if i had any hope of playing, i would have to ‘de-throne’ the reining senior kings, who assumed they would all be starting at the positions they had always had before. all of the offensive and defensive positions seemed like they were locked up by seniors and in place long before the season even started. i thought long and hard about where i should try, and then i made my decision/move. i was determined to become the starting noseguard, as a puny, 165 pound, over-achieving 11th grade junior. i had never even played that position before, was woefully undersized, and was pry too young to be considered a serious contender to play, let alone start, in a class AA varsity football game. (now, they've renumbered (lettered?) every high school team to like AAAAAA, AAA, down to A, but in MY day, AA was biggest, class A next, then B, class C, and 9-man. faribo pry should have been in class A, but our pride didn’t allow us to be in anything but the biggest, toughest class, AA, competing w/ the toughest, biggest metro schools in the state).

an annual proving ground and weeding out method was the infamous and world-renowned (at least around the farmbo football crowd) ‘hamburger drill’. i loved that hamburger drill, as it cooked down a silly sport into what was the purest, most basic instinct, nay tenement of football (or fighting, too, i guess): one-on-one, hand-to-hand, only one survives/wins, combat. take no prisoners. and no excuses.

in full pads, after the conditioning workouts, when the wussy ‘skilled position’ soft folks were off playing catch and patty-cake w/ each other, breaking for water every 3 minutes, we lineman had our brutal, one-on-one drills, or other, equally brutal lineman conditioning drills. before the hamburger drills, many times we’d do the ‘Burma Road’ workout. meat bags [soft, cylindrical hitting dummies] lined up about every 10 yards, on alternating sides of a line 5 yards across. you had to run into one, hit it, spin around, run to the next diagonal bag, hit that one, spin, run, hit, etc etc. what’s more, the coaches would be holding the bags, and would smash you with them just as you went to smash into each bag. by the end, you would be knocked dizzy, and all the spinning, running, heat, and hitting took quite a toll on ya. especially killer was to look over at the quarterbacks, running backs, and ends lazily, happily tossing the ball around and jogging thru easy pass routes. no justice.

anyway, for hamburger drills, four of those long, tall bags were lined up on the ground flat, two on one side, two on the other, making a little canal or passageway out of them. two lines formed at either end of the bags, w/ the first guy in each line the only two folks involved in the drill. one guy offense, the other guy defense. the coach stood in back of the offensive guy, w/ the defensive guy right across from the offensive guy. coach tetz would tell the offensive guy the count (in secret), and then line up the 2 guys, call out the count (on either ready-set-hut 1, or hut-2, or maybe hut-3 or hut-4, or even 5 if he was feeling extra playful, but 95% of time on hut1 or 2), and see who would win. could the offensive guy hold off the marauding defensive guy trying to get to the coach, or would the defensive guy make it to coach? there were no draws, and almost always a clear winner. if we tumbled over the bags too soon, the same two might immediately queue it back up and redo it.

this was my moment. earn a starting spot, or ride the bench for a year. all my training, lifting, eating, sweating the last 24 months was boiling down to this practice drill. i almost always got into the defensive line. and as i got close to the front of the line, i would maneuver to go against whatever tough/big guy was almost due up on the offensive line. i had no fear. i enjoyed going against the best we had, like jim schuldt (the big sr captain linebacker), and bubba (i can’t even remember bubba’s real name… betsinger, i think), and wein (john werner, a house, at about 6’4”, like 260 lb, who went on to play at univ of iowa). ready, set, hut1, and bam! explode into the guy from my 4 point stance (as opposed to the normal 3 point stance). keep fighting in, beating him back, getting under his pads, working my feet the whole time. throwing him down, twisting him around, elbow punching my way through him, over him, around him. and never give up till the whistle blew, or there was nothing left standing between me and the coach. again and again. my knuckles, forearms, and fingernails were getting dinged up and ripped up pretty good w/ all the activity. i didn’t feel any of it, tho, till the shower. and the mornings.

of course, i didn’t have anything personal against any of those guys (except for joel olson, of course, who, between the two of us, had serially monogamously dated the same girl, tammy, for something like 3 years running, on and off between us two), except that they were standing in my starting position at noseguard. and i’m sure they thought they deserved to start, because they rode the bench last year, just like i was supposed to do. didn’t i know my place?

no, i didn’t win every time, but won more than anybody ever expected me to (even me). it just kind of mushroomed from a few, good, early victories, and kept building. the coaches, and everyone else, realized that i was trying to go against the biggest/best EVERY time, and that pry won me some brownie points (or at least stupidity points, for sure). but beyond that, these ‘starting’ seniors weren’t taking it as serious as i was - an upstart, small, cocky junior who had never even played an interior defensive lineman position before. ever. i was always an end or outside linebacker in 10th grade and before. i’m sure they were thinking, and some were even asking out loud, what the hell i thought i was doing. what’s my deal? chill out. what was i so angry about? it was only ‘practice’, and hell, we hadn’t even played our first game yet.

the coaches took note. by the next day of hamburger drill, they made a point to put one coach right at the line, between us, to see who hit who first, and another coach in the traditional position in back of the offensive guy. craig, (oly’s kid, asst coach), would yell out who got the jump first. it was always me. tetz even accused me of overhearing the count every time somehow, because i would be off the ground and on the offensive guys side hitting him before he was even out of his stance. especially slow were the biggest guys. you can’t train or condition for fast reflexes… i think you either just had them or you didn’t. and i had them, luckily. tetz even asked me “hey, you cheating, mac?” he had all the players move away from him, thinking someone was telling me the hut-number via code, because i was getting off the line so fast time after time, making the seniors look like lumbering dinosaurs.

the coaches kept telling me after practices, on the way back into the school, or wherever, in a surprised, enthusiastic tone, “helleva practice today, mac. good hittin out there”, all of them would say, in the same, almost unbelieving, surprised tone. by the end of week 3, i kept getting the same positive comments from them all, but missing was the surprise in their voices that i had heard at the beginning of week 2.

then, we had further testing ahead, in the form of live scrimmages against ourselves, and also with other teams from other towns. i knew this would be critical, to transfer and replicate my success i had w/ the practice hamburger drills into actual tackles in actual game situations. thankfully, it transferred well to the scrimmages, and i was able to bring the same intensity to these ‘throwaway scrimmages’ that i had brought to the ‘throwaway practice drills’, in what i’m sure seemed like a waste of energy to some (most?) observers.

however, when the starters were finally announced for the all important first game, i was named starting noseguard. some of the classy seniors (in fact, almost all of em) congratulated me, and told me that i deserved it. even the ones i beat out said that i deserved it, knowing full well that that meant THEY would be the ones riding the bench as seniors, waiting for ME (a lowly junior) to get injured. as a starter, i had the opportunity to pick my number. i picked 69, of course, in honor of not taking this game too seriously. of course, i had to keep proving myself, week in and week out. fortunately, my tackles kept piling up, game after game, securing my noseguard position throughout the season.

the season was unbelievable, but instead of rambling on about all of the junior games, i’ll write about the one that really stands out in my memory: the last game of the season, in the playoffs, against rochester jm (john marshall). i had started every game at noseguard, and played every defensive play, either at noseguard when in a 5-2 defense, or else slid over to right guard when we played in a very rare 6-5 defensive configuration. all this prep and experience was needed against this very tough JM team. this playoff game against JM was a see-saw battle, the score going back and forth the whole time. the winner went on to section finals, the loser went home, as losers. there was about 5 minutes left, and we were down by 7. and, they were rolling at midfield. we were getting desperate to get the ball back, or it was game over, season over.

i was pretty good at telling what plays other teams were going to run, especially by the fourth quarters, based on their configuration, the gap distances between the lineman, what down it was, yardage till 1st down, where their eyes were looking, where in the field they were, body language, etc. etc. of course, in high school, it wasn’t too hard to guess, because teams only had about 40 plays total, 1/3 of em passing plays. then, just lil variations on them to throw off the defense, or to TRY to.

anyway, i could tell the next play was pry going to be a pass over the middle. so, instead of rushing in for the pass rush like i should have, i dropped back away from the line, and stayed low. when the quarterback tried to pass it to the tight end that was running right across the middle about 10 yards deep, i just had to stand up, grab the thing, and take off upfield for the interception. i ran it back about 15-20 yards before being tackled, but i had given the mighty (tired) falcons a chance. i remember running off the field after that play, totally gassed, and getting the helmet slaps and high fives from the entire bench. the momentum had shifted towards the falcons, and it was because i had stopped doing the position i should have been doing, and instead followed my instincts.

degan, halverson, and hillesheim (the running backs) took over and jammed it in for a score, as time ran out. then, in OT, JM scored first from the 10 yard line, and kicked the extra pt for a 7 point lead. then, per mn high school rules, we had 4 plays from their 10 to either get 7 to tie, or 8 for the win. halverson slipped while still in the backfield on 4th down, or he had a hole and could have tied it up. damn, he had wheels – a state class sprinter (hesitate to call him world class). but too much adrenaline, and a slightly slippery turf with bad short spikes caused him to slide out when trying to turn the corner too fast to score the tying touchdown. even tho nobody had touched him, but per mn rules, he is down whenever his knee touches. so, that’s how my jr season ended. that interception was the biggest play i had ever contributed to the falcons, and my emotions were very high. to lose like that, after working so hard all game (all season) crushed me. totally put me in the most dire, negative, angry, dejected, deep depression i could imagine.

and altho this lil high school game in the sticks was obviously in no way comparable to ‘important-ness’ or scope of last season’s vikings loss in the playoffs, i certainly knew exactly how john randle felt as that pioneer press guy snapped his picture, and except for my lack of muscles, height, or skin color, i’m sure i looked exactly like him as i left JM’s field that day.

but, being only 17, the funk lasted but a few hours, tops. and of course, the season ending party helped dull the pain of losing, too, and brought things back into proper perspective. so, fast forward a few months, before school let out for the year. we always voted for captains towards the end of the school year, for the coming year. and it was such a big deal (wonder if they still do this at ol’ fshs? pry can’t, unless they would also announce the forensics captains, the water polo captains, the chess team etc the same way, in today’s it’s-gotta-be-fair-even-if-it’s-not-really-fair PC environment we live in), they would actually announce the captains to the whole school via intercom. and nobody except the coaches knew before it was announced. it was degan (starting running back – logical), gordy elstad (huge offensive lineman – logical choice again), and me (puny defensive lineman – are you sure about that last one?). i was unbelievably ecstatic, but just kind of shrugged my shoulders, and never said much about it. no use talkin about it, for everyone already knew it, and nothing much had to be said, or was said.

being the captain put even more pressure on me over the summer to prove i deserved not only a starting spot on the defensive line, but deserved to be captain of the whole damn team. i ended my junior season still weighing only 165 (i egged on craig oliphant to put me down in the programs at exactly 4 pounds higher, up to 169, just for the beautiful symmetry of it, which he did… good guy that he was). by weigh in time sr year, tho, i STILL only weighed 175, tops. granted, i only had about 5% fat content, and would sink like a fishing sinker in the pool whenever we had to do that ‘dead mans float’ (since renamed ‘survival float’… soooo PC) in Phy Ed class, indicating it was all ‘good pounds’, but i still longed to be bigger, taller, heavier. now, in retrospect, as a pudgy 210 lb guy, who floats like a bobber, i wonder how i ever could have been so small, skinny, and so in shape. i ate 5 raw eggs every morning, to just add calories (cholesterol levels and salmonella threats be damned! those were great calories!). it was always a highlite for all of the kids in my mom’s daycare (seemed like about 25 kids always around the breakfast table w/ us), when i would wake up, and go thru the daily ritual of breaking the eggs, stirring them into “orange juice” as they called it due to the uniform yellow color, and then downing them all in one big slimy gulp, slamming the glass down for emphasis afterward.

we ran some captain’s practices as we got close to starting the official practice, and that’s when we (captains) started taking over leadership for the team, which carried thru to the last snap of the last playoff game, in terms of special treatment, extra respect, and pride. i had a ball ‘running things’. scaring the youngin’ 10th graders w/ stories of woe and of long painful practices. and of course descriptions of the county fair, explained in vague, yet horrifyingly ominous tones. of running the stretching and light workouts before the coaches took over. of having everyone, during jumping jacks, chanting/yelling out T! 2-3-4, A-2-3-4 ! M 234 M 234 Y 234, for girlfriend tammy, who was w/in earshot of the early practices and would hear the team rhythmically spelling out her name every morning.

this time around, i was a little more low-keyed during hamburger drills than the previous year. oh, i still enjoyed it thoroughly, with the same hard hits, fast scrambling, and competition to never be beat. but this time out, i didn’t need to be out ‘for blood’. there were no serious contenders for my spot, and no direct challengers, and no other challenges to my 69 jersey, at least for this year (‘87-‘88). during an intra-town scrimmage w/ 3 other teams just before the starting game, i sprained my right ankle pretty bad, after jumping up and (ALMOST!) over a pile of folks, before landing on the other side of the pile, on an arm or leg and twisting the ‘ell outa it. that meant daily tape-ups of the swollen ankle for pretty much the remainder of the season. in fact, my right outside ankle bone bump is still perpetually larger than the comparable left one, and every now and then, i step on it funny, and it re-puffs up and stiffens up. but only very sporadically (last time was when i was bounding down the steps to leave, and my ever loving wife flipped out the hall way light too soon, in preparation of us leaving. i landed mid-stair, and tumbled down the remaining ones, holding my re-sprained ankle and yelling in pain. and STILL, my wife assumes no blame for it, and thinks it’s just my clumsiness that’s to blame).

i had developed a pretty good pre-game ritual by senior year, and rarely if ever (and only if absolutely necessary due to sat. game, or playoffs, or a homecoming parade that i was in, etc), deviated from it. for home games, after school, go choke down some bad hardees food, and force myself to drink lots of water. i was almost too nervous to eat, tho, but knew i needed to or i would be worthless the second half. then, head to the locker room, to start the painfully slow, laborious ritual of padding up. the same t-shirt cut off at the sleeves and belly for every game, same socks, same jock, same girdle, same everything. no hurry, just quiet reflection. the locker room was always (too) dim, and (too) deathly quiet. no rapid movements by anyone, and no horseplay or anything above a whisper. tape down every fingernail so that they’d only rip about 1/3 of the way at most. a fine line between taping up too much nail and losing its gripping ability, and not taping enough of it and risk losing the whole nail if it got caught and pulled back or ripped open in a facemask, a jersey, a shoulder pad crevasse, or an enemy mouth. the kidney pad vest next, taped to the shoulder pad straps. the elbow pads taped to the shoulder pads. the forearm pads taped to the elbow pads. the socks taped to the pants. the shoelaces taped together. the girdle strings taped together. the belt taped tight. basically, i was one big ball of tape under the jersey.

but the tape was a much needed preparation to go against centers and guards who outweighed me by as much as 100 lbs. and inside the line, from tackle to tackle, is no mans land in high school football. anything goes, and did go, from swearing, to spitting, pinching, punching, twisting, stomping, pushing, headbutting, kneeing, elbowing... god, i loved it. except for the really cheap shots. some were known for it (e.g. jim fritz), and others just known for playing hard. i was more the latter, i am proud to say, and only got one unsportsmanslike conduct penalty my whole tenure at noseguard. against the hated owatonna indians (since renamed the toothless huskies for PC sake), after a (if i may say so) SWEET tackle for a huge loss, i brought out the ol’ six-shooters, ala scott studwell, and was celebrating the play by ‘shooting’ the hapless indian as i backed away, shoulders and hands moving to the simulated alternating gunshots towards the kid i had just demolished in one of those sweet, clean hits that barely slows you down, but levels the unsuspecting ball carrier. the 15 penalty yards were worth it. tho at the time, i argued right in the face of the head umpire (burt bardall) pretty strenuously, until he asked if i wanted another fifteen yards tacked on… ‘nuff said, the six-shooters were hung back up on their holster belt, retired for the night… pard‘ner

anyway, i would finish up the pregame ritual by having tetz tape down my ankle. he always told me i had to shave my leg up to my calf, so that he could tape it up w/out it coming off. but no matter how high i shaved it up, he always managed to tape some hair in it, so that it would hurt like hell when it was time to tear it off. especially ‘cuz we used spray adhesive to really make the tape stick. youch. the smart ass. i shaved up to my KNEE once, and he STILL managed to tape some hair in the tape. funny guy, but a good guy, too. then, we’d gather in the quiet, dark gym up top for final review of plays / defenses / players to watch out for, etc. then, onto the deathly quiet bus, to bruce smith field’s locker room, where we’d sit around in total silence (see a pattern, here?).

i always used this quiet time just to coast, to percolate, and to not expend any extra energy. just getting psyched up for the event that will be happening very shortly. trying to stay calm. i’d tuck away in the (dry) shower room floor, away from everyone, stowed away in the very back, alone. just mentally going thru the game, hit by hit, play by play, drive by drive, visualizing everything good that i would be doing. then, finally, after ~20 minutes of this complete solitude, we’d line everyone up for the pre-game warmups. i’d get to the front of the group. we’d all slowly jog out, all in single file, all still quiet. jog by little kids in borrowed older brothers or neighbors falcon jerseys and green/yellow painted faces, identical to where i’d been 10 years before. the whole team gathered under the far goal post, in a big huddle. then, on the captains count, break away, in a full sprint, towards everyone’s pre-defined spot, as determined by the final walk-thru the day before in thurs. practice. except for us 3 captains, who nonchalantly would wander around, among the crisp rows of players, slowly making our way to the front (~ the 40 yard line), exchanging quiet reassurances and encouragement to fellow players/friends. everyone slowly clapping in unison, very slowly. but slowly, ever so slowly, increasing the pace of the clapping. these pre-game traditions had been borne years before any of us got there, and we felt obliged to keep them going, just like the classes before (and hopefully after) us had all done. everyone keyed into one captain, who, via arm gestures and grunts, would get everyone to stop clapping, start chanting, start jumping, stop counting, start rolling necks out, etc etc. precision defined. the long, quiet period started evaporating, getting replaced w/ more and more hyper, hectic energy. sweat started beading up on my forehead. people started making eye contact again w/ each other. voices were slowly starting to rise in energy and volume.

then, run thru some offensive plays, some light hitting drills, and then back into the locker room, single file, slowly, while the evening crowd continued to pile into the stands. at some point, the refs would ask for the captains, and out we’d go, to the 50 yard line, for the coin toss and side picking. altho nobody in the stands really ever watched this, or pry even knew it was happening, i enjoyed the thought that at least ONE person who knew me was aware that i was out there, as captain, representing the falcons as the leader. besides that roll, the captain would be the go between the refs and the coaches during decision making on penalties, and the refs would also convey to the captains in between plays, warnings about cheap shots, equipment problems, swearing warnings, etc. that we needed to correct, or the yellow flags would soon be flying.

now, the tension that had been slowly building all afternoon was becoming uncorked. typically, one captain would say a few words (basically, along the lines of ‘let’s kick their asses out there’, altho not as eloquent, but certainly a lot longer, and w/ some serious emotion/adrenaline), a quick ‘our father’ was said (even tho it was a public school), and then out we’d go, streaming out of the locker room. the 3 captains would gather everyone in tight, and then i’d start ‘The Bird’. i thought we needed a chant, or something to yell, before every game. i settled on ‘the bird’. it was from that old 50’s spoof song. i would yell, solely, to the whole team, in as manly and as loud a voice as i could muster: “Everybody’s heard…” to which the whole team would yell back in a thunderous univoice, “…about the bird”. then me, “bird bird bird”, and then all, “Bird is the Word”. (bird=falcon, was the idea).

that was the intention, at least. but it wouldn’t have mattered WHAT we yelled, as long as it was in unison, and loud. we could’ve yelled barney songs at that point, and it would have had the same effect (i can hear it now, in loud, husky yells, “I Love you! / you love me! / we’re a hap-pee! / fam-i-lee!) . ‘The Bird’ got the old high school adrenaline going, and showed unity. after the chant came another definite highlight for me. busting thru the white paper posters that the cheerleaders had made and were holding up at waist level for us to smash thru, and then into the center of the field. as captain, it was always us thru these paper messages first (we had a few cool privileges). the band would be playing our fight song on either side of us, the cheerleaders cheering and pom-poming, the entire stands would be on their feet, singing the fight song w/ the band and stomping, and we high school players thought we were playing in the super bowl every friday night. the stands held about 2000, but it felt like and sounded like 110,000 to me. better even then the game in some respects was this ritual that always led up to the game, starting w/ the school-wide 6th hour pep-rally and ending w/ this. we’d stop running and turn around at about the 50, and the rest of the team would keep coming, piling up on us and each other, into one thick, moving, pulsating huddle. then, the starting line-ups were announced over the PA. luckily, they switched off between announcing the offense one week, and then the defense the next, so that my name was called out at least half the time in the opening introductions. and i would run out to the very middle of the field, thru the player tunnel of low fives and pats on the arse as we streamed thru, and then turn around to face the home crowd, waiting for the rest of the starters to get announced. (i gave up a starting offensive guard position to focus on defense and special teams. there was nothing good for me at off. guard, just toiling away, getting me too tired for my true calling: defense… noseguard)

by the time kickoff would actually happen, i would be exhausted, and sweating. no matter how hard i tried to stay calm until kickoff, it never would happen. but i was tireless on the field, as most 17 yr olds in shape would be, and as the night grew dark, and the lights grew brighter, and the air cooler, i just kept getting more and more relaxed and in the zone. on the sidelines, just like i remembered seeing so many years before, steam would be rising off me, like a locomotive engine smoke stack, sweating and sweating. i always wore just one contact, so that i would have better chances of seeing the defensive calls that the coach was trying to send in (mud/sweat in the contact eye, but i could wipe my non-contact eye out, and together, i could half-way see. but by this time, playing noseguard for more than a year, i could read his mind pretty good, and if i couldn’t see him clearly, would just make up my own play to call. the ends loved it when i called an ‘eagle’, meaning they didn’t have to worry about containment, but could rush the passer directly. 52 bLue eagle (left blitz), or bRown eagle (right blitz). or, if i was feeling really gutsy, a ’52 fire, double eagle’, and hope like hell they ain’t gonna do a sweep, or reverse. or double reverse, or i would hear about it on the sidelines.

we had t-shirts made up, yellow w/ green print (falcon colors, natch), that had a picture of the metrodome, and the phrase, ‘we’re on our way’. the prep bowl was our goal. the state championship in class AA. and we started out perfect, had an excellent team, and won our first 5 games, going 5-0. that got us ranked as 6th in state in AA, the biggest class available. for an outstate team to be ranked so high showed that we finally were getting respect from the ‘Cities’ papers, who usually ignored ANY team not in the 7 county metro area. unfortunately, winona was also equally good, also 5-0, and ranked 8th in state. this led to a huge intra-season ‘play-off’ caliber game. we left school WAY early on friday, like 10:00, for the 3-4 hour trip to winona, stopping mid-way to eat. we traveled (for once), in style, in a huge charter bus. a real charter bus, too, not just an orange school bus w/ a “charter” magna-sign slapped to its front banner area over the “faribo schools” paint . this huge thing made us feel like pros, or at least like gophers. we got there early enough to be the first folks in the stadium, except for the winona cheerleaders, who beat us there, and were busy putting up signs around the stadium. i remember dissing them loudly, because their “1” in a “we’re # 1” banner had the 1 thing going the wrong direction, to the right instead of left. they were pretty snippy back to us, and told us what their boyfriends were going to be doing to us in a few short hours. some players also shuffled their feet to obliterate the winhawk logo that was on the 50 yard line (whatever a winhawk is).

the stands, by game time, were absolutely packed. tv stations were there (“real” tv stations, too. we could see the “kstp 5” “wcco” on the cameras, and we were told the big time paper’s sports writers, like royce and sid hartman, were also there. (the only other real media attention we had prior to this was in pre-season. the rochester tv news station went around to every team in the big nine, and interviewed the captains and coaches, and did a 5 minute deal on every team. i had some cocky quotes, i remember, about how we were small, but fast and were looking to take the big 9 title. i also had ‘corn rows’, or window blinds, cut into the side of my hair, so i looked the part of a cocky footballer. i loved that tape, but haven’t watched it in years… i wonder if that tape is still in one piece, or if it has tracking and static build up all over it. my 15 minutes of fame (or, my 3 minutes of fame on cable tv news, aired on ‘high school news extra’.

anyway, this game also has the distinction of containing the best hit i ever had in my whole life. i was so pumped up by the time kickoff finally rolled around (we kicked off to them), that i blew by my guy that was supposed to block me, and beelined it for the ball carrier. for some reason, nobody else touched me, the ball carrier was changing directions and was at a dead stop, not looking my way, and i had a full head of steam coming at him, speeding up for 30 yards. i went airborne a few yards before getting to him, and just plowed him down and back many yards, with no need to even wrap him up. he was down cold. immediately, i could hear the very loud crowd go silent. as i rolled off of him, i realized that my left side was numb, and my right side was all tingling. i staggered up, and luckily, didn’t have to do much of anything but wait for the rest of the defense to come in, and call a play. i’m not sure i could have walked off the field, let alone jog. i made it thru the first couple of plays, and slowly regained my wits and feeling in my limbs. when we finally made them punt, and i came off, i had players, coaches, even ‘civilians’ on the sidelines (chris hunt from like ’84 was there), come up and congratulate me on that opening kickoff hit. both lower snaps on my chin guard were broken off of my helmet from the impact, and some gel pads in my helmet had also become undone. the trusty velander (waaay undersized football manager who had the heart and desire of a champion athlete, but the body of a librarian) was right there to fix the helmet up, and i went back in when needed w/ not even a headache. adrenaline is a very good thing.

the absolute worst thing about that whole tackle was the videotape of it. i had been pining away all weekend, bursting to see “The Hit” on monday, during film day. when we started it up monday, all we saw of it was a blurry, beginning of VCR tape fuzz, and heard nothing, except for both announcers finally saying, “WHOOAAAA!! was THAT a hit. wow! i’ve never seen anything like that hit. i hope those two young men are okay. they’re not moving. ok, now one’s staggering up. now the other. halleluia, what a start!!” the guy doing the taping missed it by 0.5 seconds!!! i knew from that moment on that life was not fair. i was seriously out of sorts about the missing “The Hit”, by such a close margin.

i played directly against the infamous joel staats of winona. he was the captain, linebacker, and center. he was THE definition of a stud. huge, 6’4”, a tank. i’d come up into him w/ all i had, time and again, and he just would stop me cold, time and again, looking down at me, almost smiling/smirking. the rest of that line was huge, too, i think one of them even pushing 3 bills (310 lbs of college bound division I muscle/fat). for high school, insanely big line. they beat us 15-8, in a very closely fought, tough tough game.

a few games before that winona loss, we had our peak. against owatonna, on homecoming. they were always our big rival, and the game was a quintessentially excellent high school game. see-saw score all night, we hated each other to the core. the coaching staffs hated each other (at least from what we could tell). the student bodies hated each other. we had their play book. they had ours. there were no secrets. just hard playing football. i remember degan catching the winning catch in the endzone in overtime, and he just kept running, right over to the sidelines, where all the recent graduated seniors / college freshmen that we played w/ the previous year were back for. they piled on him. and then the rest of the offense piled on them. and then the sideline folks all came over and piled on THEM. and then the coaches next, piled on top of THEM. it was mayhem. a ridiculously high pile of bodies was there, like 10-12 feet deep/high, before folks started rolling off. degan, at the very bottom, was just about crushed to death. but it was worth it. we won the game in the best possible fashion. the homecoming dance afterward was just icing on the cake of that excellent, unforgettable day. i was on the homecoming court, but due to the little detail of the inconvenient football game, i wasn’t able to join any of the half time festivities, like crowning of the king and queen, and the riding of those lil golf carts around the field as they announced your name. too bad – that could’ve been cool, in an uncool cheesy sort of way.

most of my family was there for that one, and i had a pretty good game. a good game was defined by how many times my name was announced as the tackler, plus any fumbles i recovered or caused. one play, however, gave me a pretty bad scare. i was relieving the offensive guard for some reason, and i had to pull up, go around the corner, and block the linebacker, so that the halfback could spring free outside. i rushed around the corner of the line, but didn’t square up in time, and got smacked broadside by a full speed linebacker, who was moving out. my neck snapped sideways, and i went down, flat on my back. i couldn’t really move. the coaches and doctor came out, and started pinching my legs and hands (they had to really aim their pinches carefully to miss all that tape!). i just remember tears were streaming down from my eyes, following a trajectory like where my glasses went around my ears. all was hazy. luckily, after a minute or two, everything snapped back into focus, i got helped up, and to the sideline. i don’t care how cheesy it sounds, but it felt great hearing all those people cheering for me as i made it to the sidelines on my own power. (i’ve never seen attendance figures for the games, but i bet there were anywhere from 2,000-4,000 at a good weather game or a homecoming in farmbo back then). for the rest of the season, instead of the typical one donut, i wore a double ‘donut’ around my helmet and shoulder pads, to make sure that the slipped disk or bulged disk or whatever it was in my neck did not / could not slip all of the way out. i never got it looked at, for fear that it would mean immediate benching from the doctor. so i just thru on some extra thick neck pads (donuts), and got thru the season just fine.

we made it to the playoffs (good news), but had to play winona again (bad news) in the second round, after we had beaten rochester JM in the first round. it felt great beating JM in the same stadium (theirs), on the same saturday afternoon game, that we had lost to almost exactly one year earlier. i gave the rousing speech before that game, and i’m SURE that’s why we trounced em so bad (ya, ryt). their head coach was pretty classy, and at the end of the game, sought me out specifically to give me a half-hug and tell me we deserved to win, and that i had played a good hard game. he said he was surprised to see me back there again, and thought last year that i was a graduating senior. i took that as a great compliment. it’s one of those little, throwaway things that people sometimes do that stick out so well in the test of time, i find.

winona had improved much more than we had in the preceding weeks, and we weren’t much competition for them when we met them in the second round of the playoffs. towards the end of the game, when they had the game easily won, staats started mouthing off to us. typical stuff, “you guys aint’ *hit”, ‘you’re all lil wussies’, i’m wasting my time out here’, etc. after their final touchdown, he was really flaming us. we were lined up for the meaningless extra point, and fritz and i just looked at each other, nodded, and we knew. at the hike, we both ignored the ball, and just went after staats, fists flying, knees high, yelling, swearing. i let up after a few shots and got up, but fritzy just kept rolling around on him, trying to get a punch or two in. the refs finally broke it up, but didn’t throw any flags (they heard staats being a jerk, too, no doubt), and oly benched fritz for the last few minutes. staats ended up at the U of M the next year, and started as a freshman at linebacker for em. he deserved it, too. however, his knee blew out soph year and that was that for the quick fast ascent and descent of staats’ football career. winona ended up in the Game… the prep bowl championship, battling for the title of state champ in the biggest/baddest class in the state. they lost. too bad, too… it would have been much better to have lost twice to the eventual state champ than to the state runner up. had it not been for that genetically mutated winona front line that year, the outstate faribo falcons just might have had enough to make it the Game. but one never knows. and it was too frustrating to ponder much at the time.

as the season ended, and i put my attention toward college, i toyed w/ the idea of playing division III football. and had i gone to gustavous, or mankato, carleton, or st. olaf, etc., i pry would have played, and i’m sure could have had some playing time on special teams and backup defense, or something. i visited the good, private, small division III colleges in the state, talked to lots of coaches (phone and during visits). but most of them didn’t have a chem E program, and i knew by then that that’s what i wanted to be: a chemical engineer, not a football playing mass comm major. it was a very tough call, but there’s no way i would have made it in a div. i line position, so i gave up football forever. it was ironic, too, at isu, i took special note of the noseguard during the games i went to, and he happened to wear my #69. that would have been my competition, had i been stupid enough to try to ‘walk on’ to the div. I team. the starting noseguard was just like me, but bigger, tougher, taller, stronger, faster, etc etc etc : 330 lb, 6’6” beast, #69 wearing goon… keith simms, i think? (aside: gotta love the net… on a whim, just checked out nfl.com… turns out keith simms went pro after iowa state, and is in his 10th year as guard for the redskins… and he’s ONLY 6’3”, 318. like i said.. no chance for me after high school…check out the bizarro-jeff at: nfl.com/players/profile/2935.html )

any regrets, now that i’ve had 13 years to contemplate the last time i laced up, taped up, pumped up? ya, but not too many. that the hit at winona didn’t make it onto the tape. (in fact, irrespective of football, or ANYTHING else, that’s still one of my great regrets in LIFE). also, that i wasn’t squared up when i got run over by that linebacker. because now, about once every year or two, i sleep funny on it, or if i’m traveling and don’t have my ‘favorite pillows’, my neck will go stiff for about a week. i look like frankenstein, unable to look to the right except w/ my eyes. terribly painful, almost debilitating for a day or two a year. but i wouldn’t trade in my neck kink, my broken bones (collar bone, ankle? various fingers), my gurgling upper nose, or my oversized thumb knuckles for a football-free life any day of the week. i carry those old injuries thru life as a testament to my (at one time, at least, in the distant distant past) work ethic, my passion, my desire to excel, and my faith/confidence in myself.

i still have my first peewee jaycee jersey, tucked away in a box under my steps somewhere. i have a folder of my old playbooks, and newspaper clippings, and stats about tackles, runs, etc. compiled by the coaches somewhere under there, too. i gave away some of my jerseys to the ward boys a long time ago, my cousins (nick ward, and luke, abe, caleb), but still had plenty to spare (in fact, those old jerseys made up about my entire wardrobe freshman year in college). i saw nick ward play one time last season. that was kinda cool the generational passing of the torch continues. how many generations of kids moved thru from the young, eager, awe-inspired 2nd grader, to the ‘fully grown’, high schooler, who then is the idol, not the idol-ee, and then onto adulthood, seeing the same cycle just keep recycling.

the last time i was in the ol stomping grounds of faribo sr high school, for a b-ball game or something, i still saw my picture up there, along w/ degans, hanging on the all-state football ‘wall of fame’, securely between the all-state baseball and all-state basketball folks, gathering dust. i wonder how long they’ll keep those old, forgotten kids up on the their walls. (for all i know, we all disappeared into a box in the ADs office during the latest renovation a few years back, never to see light of day again). bunch of us ghosts up there…barely recognizable, what w/ the chiseled forearms, skinny tanned fresh faces, the old/bad haircuts, and the dopey, cocky, hopeful grins. “all-state football, 1987, jeff mccomas”

about this time of year (mid-august), when the air smells that certain way, due to the ragweed or dried cut grass, or whatever, my mind goes back to my football years. to hot practices, to cold games, to a very loud bruce smith field, to shaking hands w/ your peers on other teams after every game as losers or as winners, to waking up at 3:00 am screaming due to the rock hard calf that was pulled the previous night and the cramp that needs to be worked out of it. to everything football. and to unforgettably good times gone forever, except in my memories. and i miss it all so dearly. i wish i could tell that 17 yr old jeff mccomas from ’87 to just stop for a good long second, take it all in one final time, and enjoy it just a little bit more, because it’s all so fleeting. nothing will ever compare to those lost football seasons. and if only i knew that then what i know now… but so it goes… and so it went…