That could have been me one afternoon in 1967...
I have always loved football, and wanted in the worst way to play it. But alas, when I got to high school, I discovered that I just wasn't the type.
I went out for the Frosh-Soph team my freshmen year, and lasted one practice. I simply wasn't in good enough shape to even give it a decent try that first year. But between my sophomore and junior years, I did a lot of running and calisthenics. I went out for the varsity my junior year.
I tried so hard that Coach Stedman didn't have the heart to cut me. Or rather, I had come out after all the cuts had already been made, and he decided to humor me rather than give me the bad news all by myself. He carried me, as he put it, as "Luther South's one-man taxi squad." What that actually meant was that I got to practice and to stand on the sidelines with the team during games. I got a "Certificate of Participation," and was technically a member of the team; some of my friends who really were members of the team speculated that if we had won the league championship (which we very nearly did), I would- incredibly- have actually gotten a letter.
But I never suited up for a game. I never actually wore a uniform. Nevertheless, one Saturday afternoon, as I stood there on the sidelines, I had my chance to be a hero.
It was a very windy day. We had the ball deep in the other team's territory. It was fourth down and long. Coach Stedman decided to attempt that rarity in high school football, the field goal.
The kick was blocked. Since field goals are so rare in high school, every player on both teams reacted as if it had been simply a missed extra point. They all assumed that the ball was dead.
But I knew better. Unlike the guys on the field- on both teams- I'd followed football closely enough for long enough to realize that on an attempted field goal (or actually, even on an attempted extra point) a blocked kick that never crossed the line of scrimmage remained a live ball. Anybody on either team could have picked the ball up and run with it- and likely scored a touchdown, because it would have taken everybody on the other team by surprise. They would never have realized what had happened before it was too late.
But alas, I was on the sidelines. I considered yelling or gesturing or something to the guys on the field. The trouble was, of course, that if somebody on the other team had understood what I was saying....
So I decided not to take the chance. After shouting a couple of times, and failing to get the attention of any of our players, I just shut up. Nobody seemed to notice that the referee never blew his whistle. The officials just stood around, waiting. Finally, after a long enough pause that one would have thought that somebody on the field would have noticed, the officials looked at each other, shrugged- and finally blew the play dead.
As I recall, we won the game anyway. But I have always remembered the moment when I could have scored a touchdown- if only I had been on the field. Or been responsible for a teammate scoring one, if I hadn't been so afraid of being to blame for the other team scoring one.
That incident comes to mind tonight because I just read on the Internet that something similar happened in a high school game in Michigan this past weekend. But this time, somebody on the sideline who knew the rule (A coach? An injured player? John Glenn High School's "one man taxi squad?") did holler and gesture and carry on- and caught the attention of one of the players on the field, who picked up the ball and- while the other team was celebrating- ran into the end zone, scoring the winning touchdown.
Watching the video reminded me of my one chance to have been a gridiron hero, even standing on the sidelines. And now, looking back on that play from a distance of twenty two years, I wish I'd taken the gamble and tried a little harder to get the attention of one of the guys on the field wearing red that afternoon.
I went out for the Frosh-Soph team my freshmen year, and lasted one practice. I simply wasn't in good enough shape to even give it a decent try that first year. But between my sophomore and junior years, I did a lot of running and calisthenics. I went out for the varsity my junior year.
I tried so hard that Coach Stedman didn't have the heart to cut me. Or rather, I had come out after all the cuts had already been made, and he decided to humor me rather than give me the bad news all by myself. He carried me, as he put it, as "Luther South's one-man taxi squad." What that actually meant was that I got to practice and to stand on the sidelines with the team during games. I got a "Certificate of Participation," and was technically a member of the team; some of my friends who really were members of the team speculated that if we had won the league championship (which we very nearly did), I would- incredibly- have actually gotten a letter.
But I never suited up for a game. I never actually wore a uniform. Nevertheless, one Saturday afternoon, as I stood there on the sidelines, I had my chance to be a hero.
It was a very windy day. We had the ball deep in the other team's territory. It was fourth down and long. Coach Stedman decided to attempt that rarity in high school football, the field goal.
The kick was blocked. Since field goals are so rare in high school, every player on both teams reacted as if it had been simply a missed extra point. They all assumed that the ball was dead.
But I knew better. Unlike the guys on the field- on both teams- I'd followed football closely enough for long enough to realize that on an attempted field goal (or actually, even on an attempted extra point) a blocked kick that never crossed the line of scrimmage remained a live ball. Anybody on either team could have picked the ball up and run with it- and likely scored a touchdown, because it would have taken everybody on the other team by surprise. They would never have realized what had happened before it was too late.
But alas, I was on the sidelines. I considered yelling or gesturing or something to the guys on the field. The trouble was, of course, that if somebody on the other team had understood what I was saying....
So I decided not to take the chance. After shouting a couple of times, and failing to get the attention of any of our players, I just shut up. Nobody seemed to notice that the referee never blew his whistle. The officials just stood around, waiting. Finally, after a long enough pause that one would have thought that somebody on the field would have noticed, the officials looked at each other, shrugged- and finally blew the play dead.
As I recall, we won the game anyway. But I have always remembered the moment when I could have scored a touchdown- if only I had been on the field. Or been responsible for a teammate scoring one, if I hadn't been so afraid of being to blame for the other team scoring one.
That incident comes to mind tonight because I just read on the Internet that something similar happened in a high school game in Michigan this past weekend. But this time, somebody on the sideline who knew the rule (A coach? An injured player? John Glenn High School's "one man taxi squad?") did holler and gesture and carry on- and caught the attention of one of the players on the field, who picked up the ball and- while the other team was celebrating- ran into the end zone, scoring the winning touchdown.
Watching the video reminded me of my one chance to have been a gridiron hero, even standing on the sidelines. And now, looking back on that play from a distance of twenty two years, I wish I'd taken the gamble and tried a little harder to get the attention of one of the guys on the field wearing red that afternoon.
Comments