An old friend I’ve known for 50 years, but haven’t seen in decades, reached out on Facebook the other day to comment on a topic I was talking about. When I saw his name pop up, it immediately brought back a story I’ve told many times over the years.
Terry and I went to the same elementary, middle, and high schools. In 10th grade, we both joined the high school football team and played the same position, Flanker (wide receiver).
For 3 years, I was right behind him on the depth chart. He got about 75% of the snaps. I got about 25%. And rightly so. He was a way better receiver than me. After senior year, he earned a Scholarship to play College Football. I was incredibly happy for him. Well deserved.
Now, the other side of the story. We were not that great of a team. We punted. A lot. And I was the punter. On 4th downs I would trot out from the sidelines to the punt team huddle. Terry would NOT go back to the sidelines and rest. He would join the punt team huddle…as my Long Snapper! One of the all-time thankless jobs in football history. If you do your job right, you’re ignored. If you do your job wrong, the world knows your name. Plus, you get the bonus of having a few defensive linemen pound you off the line of scrimmage for your effort. Now he may have loved that job. He may have hated it. I don’t know for sure. I never heard him complain once. And like all things on the football field, he was very good at it.
It’s one of my favorite “taking one for the team” stories. I don’t know the moral of the story, if there even is one. A hundred people can interpret it a hundred ways.
Enjoy what you do, whatever you do? Be willing to go into the trenches if the situation calls for it? We’d do anything for the Scarlet and Black of the South Bend LaSalle Lions?
I just know it makes me smile every time I think about it.
Happy 2024 to one and all!
Postscript: Ok, now I have to tell my all time favorite high school football story. I graduated high school in 1984. My sophomore year, I didn’t play in any games but I did get to dress for a few games. The first game of the season I’m on the sidelines minding my own business. All of the sudden, a part of the crowd starts chanting 83! 83! 83! What? I was #83. They were chanting for me! How could this be? I didn’t play. Maybe by standing still for a solid hour right in front of them, they finally took a liking to me. So I turn to acknowledge the crowd, and I realize it’s only the Juniors who are chanting 83. The Juniors. The class of ’83. Only they were chanting “83”.
I was crestfallen. I’m still applying salve to that wound 41 years later.