PatsPropaganda

During a recent visit to my Mom’s house on Cape Cod I came across the only photographic proof that yours truly, the Patriots uber-blogger himself, once fought the good fight on the gridiron.

In high school I transferred to a prep school in Vermont for a second junior year to improve my prospects of playing college hockey. I had played freshman football at my public school, but had given it up when I discovered that I didn’t possess the same talent on the football field that I did on the ice. Most of that had to do with my lack of speed and strength, and it had disappointed me to not be any good at a sport I loved.

As is the case with most prep schools you’re required to do a sport or activity every season and I didn’t want to get myself hurt before the hockey season so for my fall activity I signed up for outdoor education. I figured we’re in Vermont, might as well enjoy the fall foliage while not suffering an injury, right?

In the first week of school, while we were learning to use a compass and make our own hiking sticks, I couldn’t help but notice the football team practicing on the field nearby. There were barely enough guys to even form a full team, and a lot of those guys had less than zero athletic ability.

What made them even more pathetic in my eyes, as a guy who’s big on “look”, was that they had old uniforms and plain white helmets without any decals. That may be cool for Penn State but for a high school team it just made it feel even more “Bad News Bears-ish”.

By the middle of the first week of school I felt the school dean (aka the assistant football coach) sizing me up in the hallways. I knew what was coming when he called me into his office ten days before the first football game of the season. In a school of 240 students it had to be all hands on deck for every athletic guy if they were going to win any games.

There was no doubt that I always loved football, probably moreso from the stands or on TV than having my face beaten in on the field, but I enjoyed being “wooed” by the coach. After seeing the guys they already had playing I had little doubt that I was better than half of them.

I told the coach that I had played linebacker and fullback as a freshman, thinking maybe I could come in and be the team’s savior, while winning some popularity points at my new school.  It didn’t take much convincing from him and by that afternoon I was gleefully picking out my helmet and shoulder pads, though the choices were limited and bland I was pretty happy with the look I put together given the circumstances.

I was immediately thrown right into the fire. While I had dreams of being that tackling machine middle linebacker, or getting to actually carry the ball as a fullback my role on the team was clear. Tackle. Both ways. At 195 pounds.

Yes, there were quite a few guys bigger than me on the team, but they were more of the nonathletic chubby variety. I guess the coaching staff figured it was better to have an undersized, moderately athletic type in there rather than a fat kid who would trip over his own feet.

I’m still not sure if I had any clue at all what I was doing. I remember the coaches screaming the rules at me, things like “gap, down, backer” and having no idea what it meant. The rest of the team had been practicing for three weeks, I was just trying to grasp the playbook.

I know light years more about football now as a blogger than I did then when I was actually playing. Sometimes that bugs me, maybe I could’ve been a lot better if I understood concepts like “leverage”, but ultimately I hated not being in one of the sexy positions and that probably had a great deal to do with why I didn’t care enough to really focus and improve. The shitty helmet/uniforms didn’t help matters either.

The coaches had something to do with it as well. The head coach was in his first year and had the unenviable task of replacing someone who had been a school legend. Still, the new coach was stuck between the mentality of a coach and a player. You could tell he still longed for his own glory days on the gridiron, forcing cheers and traditions from his playing days on us in an attempt to recapture it. It’s true that he didn’t have much to work with, but other coaches have won with less.

Ten days later in the first game of the season, with about seven practices and one scrimmage that I barely played in under my belt, I played every single snap. Offense. Defense. Special Teams. I did not come off the field. And I was horrible. Partly because my center of gravity resides in my head, but also because I was nowhere near the physical condition required to play an entire football game.

If I was slow at the start of the game, you should’ve seen me in the fourth quarter. I was barely moving. We got killed in the game, and on the bus ride back I wondered what I had gotten myself into.

The pictures that you’ll find below are from a game against a couple weeks later.

In the first you’ll find me getting, in scouting terms, “completely dominated”. That’s me in the middle getting easily blocked by number 68. My teammate to the left was Fish. He was the only guy who was any good (clearly he’s actually getting off his block) and as you can see, the only one of us who had a good facemask look.

Meanwhile I look like I am having minimal fun. And I was.

All I remember about this game was that it was hot as hell, and I pretty much wanted to just throw the towel in at halftime after getting my butt handed to me on every single play. Thank Hoodie the other team put their second team in and things got a lot easier. I think I even made a play or two. Maybe not.

Knowing what I know now about football it’s abundantly apparent that I’m breaking every rule a defensive player can break in the picture above. I am getting completely out-leveraged, standing straight up with no leg bend, and the offensive lineman has his hands on my chest. He can do whatever he wants with me.

Below you’ll see me in a four point stance, almost looking like I might actually be a respectable interior pass rusher. But believe me, I definitely wasn’t. I don’t even remember making a tackle for loss all season, much less a sack. I don’t think I even remember making an actual tackle, though I had to be in on a least a couple. I think. See that monster number 68 still in there? He was probably about to effortlessly plow over me. Again.

Our team won just a single game that season. It got so bad that I missed a game for, as I told my coach, a potentially cancerous mole from the back of my neck that had to be removed. He seemed less than excited when I told him it came back benign. I was just happy I missed the massacre at the hands of the best team in our league.

Another fun game was when our starting QB got suspended for dipping, forcing us to install a QB-less single wing the morning of the game. Yeah, we lost that game.

The one game we did win was only because the other team was just more pathetic than we were. I didn’t even feel good about it afterwards while the captains were ready to throw a parade. I got into an argument with one of them in the post-game huddle and a couple players came up to me afterwards and said they agreed with me. Being happy about a win that basically came by default was stupid.

However I do have a positive recollection of my final game that was against our rival. We were down by a lot early but staged a comeback that fell just short. We lost a couple defenders to injury so I ended up playing some linebacker and using what little quickness I had in space rather that having to battle in the trenches. What can I say, I’m a finesse guy. More than anything I think I was just happy I didn’t get hurt for hockey where I went on to have a great season.

The following fall I didn’t return to football, instead I worked in the training room and shot the team’s game tape for them. The bummer part was that a new coach and some really talented post-grads/transfers came in and the team went 7-2.

They also got new Michigan-style helmets in black and orange, and new uniforms that looked really bad ass. That might’ve been the most disappointing part to me. Maybe it was a sign I was meant to write about football, but it was pretty clear that football for me was best enjoyed as a spectator.