HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL: A RUDE AWAKENING
When my classmate and I were in grade school we went to all the home games, but only watched a few plays. We gathered behind the visitors grandstands and played a game we called “pass-tackle. This was an easy version of two hand touch. In this game the quarterback had ten seconds to pass the ball. He could not run himself. A kid who was not on either team because he was hurt or his Mom told him not to get his clothes dirty, would count to ten very loudly while every player on offense went out for a pass. The quarterback had to throw the ball within ten seconds or it was a lost down. When a player caught a pass he was down at that point, which eliminated the arguing over being touched. We used orange traffic cones we pilfered from the parking lot to set up a field. A team had four downs to go from goal line to goal line to get a touchdown. We had a great time playing these games and usually came home dirtier than the high school players.
When we arrived in junior high our teachers, Mr. Brooks and Mr. Turner, said we needed to start watching the high school games as we were only two years away from varsity football. At that point in time, freshmen played on the high school team, with some of the better kids practicing with the varsity. Or, to put it another way, they were to be fodder for the varsity. To be able to scrimmage, 22 players were needed and specific positions had to be filled. This quite often meant a 120 pound 14 year old freshman would go up against a 185 pound 18 year old senior. This was not the most ideal practice situation for either kid, but way more so for the freshman.
When we were 8th graders, we were in an unusual situation. Our class had about 25 kids who wanted to play football. Mossyrock was a B school, which meant we had less than 200 kids 9-12. That is 50 kids per class, with about 23 being boys. Typically, a football team would have 9 or 10 kids per class on the team for a squad of 34-40 players.
It just so happens that when we were 8th graders, the Mossyrock varsity was at a peak. The 1960 team won the AP Poll state championship and was undefeated. The juniors that year were almost as good as the seniors. For us 8th graders looking ahead, we saw a senior class of 15 really good, big, strong, fast and experienced seniors. However, the two classes ahead of us, had a total of fifteen together. That made a good squad of 30 and with us freshmen, that made over 45. Once the parents and administration saw this, a decision was made for which I will forever be grateful. The school decided to have a freshman team that would not practice with the varsity. Yes!
Some of my classmates were upset about this. A couple said, “We can hold our own in practice with those guys. It would be good for us.” I weighed about 135 at the time and could not bench press the bar. I was happy being way apart from those would be seniors who had spent the previous three years being beat on by the state champs.
Attending the games and actually paying attention was a wake-up call as well. As 8th grade prospective players, we could get inside the restraining rope and wander around among the players during the game, making sure to stay quiet and out of the way of the coaches.
One game, a guy named Gene, came running off the field yelling and screaming. Gene was six feet two and about 190 pounds, but he looked much larger in his huge shoulder pads and helmet. The assistant coach, Mr. Wood, yelled at Gene, “What’s wrong Gene? You’re yelling like a stuck pig.” Gene stuck out his right hand. His index and ring finger had dislocated and were a 90 degree angle from the others. At the same time, we 8th graders, with a close up look, whispered to each other. “Oh my God. Do you see that? They are broken all to Hell”, said Jim. John, his face white and ashen, whispered, “Shit. I’m not playing this stupid game.” I was too stunned to even say anything, but I had that feeling in my mouth that my chili dog was coming up.
Just as we were getting over the shock of seeing Gene’s fingers looking like something from a horror movie and figuring the ambulance would be coming to get him, Coach Wood told Gene to give him his hand and to look away. Gene did so. Nowadays, ESPN announcers will tell you not too look at some guy breaking his ankle when they replay it 55 times. We always do. That is what happened then. We could not help but look. Mr. Wood grabbed Gene’s fingers and with a quick tug and a very horrible sounding double pop, put Gene’s fingers back to being straight.
We 8th graders were even more amazed and abhorred. Coach Wood then said, “OK Gene, that’s going to hurt like Hell tomorrow. But get back in there now. We need you.” Gene, while wincing, forced a smile and said, “Thanks Coach. I’ll be great!” He ran back to the huddle.
From the 8th graders, after a long silent pause, came various one word responses to what they had just witnessed; “shit” ‘Dam,” “God,” “Jesus, and “F%$#K.
High school football was going to be interesting.