The Real Thing

Victory can be addicting. It's like an insatiable hunger, only to be quenched when we rise from battle with sweat-drenched uniforms and bloody knuckles, the smell of the crisp autumn air mixed with dewy grass clippings, knowing you left every ounce of your being out there on the field. It's a rather masochistic outlook, but that's what coach has been preparing us for since the beginning of summer. We fought and suffered for moments like this, the thrill of victory.

Our journey started back in July; two yellow school buses dropped the troops off at Camp Paradise, 46 men strong. Here we were, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, carrying our fifty-pound bags of equipment and a few spare changes of clothing, stepping out into the campgrounds completely surrounded by tall evergreen trees. You could hear the rushing waters of the creek at the west end of the grounds. I remember the heavy summer air tasted like sweat and insect repellent; the kind of smell you hate and love at the same time.

Camp this year was a little different; to date, it was the most important year of our lives. We were coming off a very successful 6^th grade season, a perfect 10-0. Our closest game of the year was against our arch nemesis, the Lenape Bucks. It was a close match, 21-14. They were the only team to score against us last year. My friend, Jack, and I were the team captains, both of us linebackers. As per coach, we were the quarterbacks of the defense, and defense wins championships. We weren't afforded the glory of scoring touchdowns, or having our names written in the newspapers, but we were the cornerstones of an impenetrable defense. In our opponents' point of view, we were what stood in front of them and their glory.

It’s not that previous seasons weren't important, but this one meant more. This year, our 7^th grade year, was the first time we were eligible to play outside of the state and move into the national playoffs, which culminate in the national championship in Disney World; every kids’ dream.

From the moment we stepped off of those buses at Camp Paradise, we were instantly thrown into the thick of things. Coach had a game plan to prepare his troops for battle, none of which we were physically prepared for, but as coach used to say, “If football was easy, everyone would be playing it.” Coach was a retired US Marine captain of 23 plus years. He kept a “high and tight” and stern, gruff look about him. He was an enormously intimidating person, standing about 6 feet 6 inches. He kept himself in tip-top shape, undoubtedly from years and years of training in the marines. He yelled a lot; it was almost as though he enjoyed the bursting of tiny capillaries in his larynx as he strained his vocal cords each practice.

Coach’s game plan this year was unconventional to say the least. When we stepped off of those buses, we were greeted by our entire coaching staff scattered throughout the grounds, and after our initial welcome speech from coach, we heard the whistles blowing and practice began. We didn't even get to unpack our equipment. For two straight weeks, we pulled, pushed, ran, tackled, fell, got back up, threw up, rinsed, and repeated. Two weeks of straight hell, in the mid-summer heat. He had us buddy carrying a teammate up and down the hills, only to switch partners and do it again. We were chopping wood, running 100-yard sprints at midnight, and doing push-ups on our knuckles. I still have scars on them from the razor sharp pebbles and cracked earth. Although I did not witness this, someone said that one of the offensive linemen threw up on the field during warm-ups, and coach made him eat it. Coach always taught us to hold our emotions deep inside our souls; to show to no weakness; to out-crazy the crazy people.

Camp is one of those memories that often brings recurrent nightmares, but is also one of the fondest memories of childhood. It’s hard to explain, but when we struggled and suffered together, a brotherhood unlike any other was established, and for that, I cherished the experience. In retrospect, coach’s goal for camp was not necessarily to make us better football players, but to strengthen the bond of our team and to forge athletes who were tougher than nails, unbreakable. I’d like to think we met his objective.

We started the season on the last week of August, and we did not disappoint. Before each game, I remember feeling like my belly was on fire. It was a caustic mixture of nerves, adrenaline, fear, and bloodlust. Our team was ready for battle, and to battle we went. Before we embarked for kickoff, coach would give us our motivational speech. He'd initiate every speech with your standard rhetoric, mostly quoting great coaches of past times. I could never forget how he ended each speech; "This ain't practice, boys. This is the REAL THING!" We'd finish our team huddle with a solemn Hail Mary, which was swiftly followed by a cacophony of hoots and hollers, a pure adrenaline rush.

Our first two games of the season were a cakewalk, rising victorious by a combined margin of 71-0. As the captain of the team's defensive unit, it was not only our mission to win, but to win by shut out. We would not sacrifice our defensive lines to the scores of the other team. That was our outlook. My goal was shutout; the objective was victory; our mission was Disney World.

Coach was always a huge proponent of coaching smart athletes. The biggest compliment he ever received was when teachers did not even know when one of the students played football. He had a strict rule that if you could not maintain at least a B average, you were not eligible to play; so naturally, most of us were decent students. I always found school pretty easy and managed to maintain an A average. Because of this, I was allowed certain privileges, such as helping Principle Nancy with her office organization. Two days a week, Jack and I would miss first period so that we could help sort envelopes in Principle Nancy's office. We typically took advantage of this time to goof off and play paper football on her tiny desk in the side office, since she rarely ever came into her side office.

I remember it was a normal Tuesday after a big win. The hallways were littered with various rah-rah banners sparkling with glitter and highlighter. We'd get congratulations from every boy and every girl we came across in the halls. Coach always taught us that no matter win or lose, we are to compose ourselves with dignity and to remain steadfast. The only caveat was that we were taught to win, not to lose. Needless to say, we would pay little attention to the "school spirit", as each week we would look forward to what we considered was the sweetest victory, the next one.

On Mondays, we would typically watch game film and work on conditioning, and on Tuesdays we would don our pads and get into the contact aspect of the sport, much to my chagrin. Our morning started much like any typical Tuesday, except this Tuesday was different. It was the Tuesday of Lenape week. The buzz around school was contagious, and all we wished for was to fast-forward to practice that afternoon; if we could beat Lenape, then we'd have a clear path to the state championship. After that, it was on to Disney.

After the homeroom bell, rang Jack and I made our way to Principle Nancy's office to help sort her mail and stuff interoffice envelopes. In a way, Principle Nancy was much like coach, in that I think she enjoyed yelling until the small blood vessels in her eyes would break. We often joked about how she was a werewolf and would lock herself in her basement on nights with the full moon, to prevent her from eating students. She ran the school with military-like discipline, and ensured that we all fell into line. She was strict and mean, but consistent.

I remember we were greeted with the same melancholy "Hello, boys," from Principle Nancy on this particular Tuesday. She left for a meeting and Jack and I were ordered to sort out her mail. We worked for a few minutes, until jack folded up a piece of scrap paper and we started to play paper football. Back and forth we'd flick the paper, until finally someone would score 21 points. I don't remember what the score was, but I remember our game getting interrupted by a message from Principle Nancy over the loudspeaker, "Students and teachers, please make your way to your respective home rooms. Superintendent Washington is visiting."

We've practiced this at least once a month. I never understood why we practiced "shelter in place" but we had assemblies on the first Friday of every month, and we'd review our school's code words. Superintendent Washington was not our actual superintendent, or even a real person as far as I was concerned. However, when we heard that over the loudspeaker, we were supposed to go to homerooms and remain very quiet.

As far as we could see, nothing was happening, so Jack and I continued to play our game of paper football, which only provided as a distraction from our conversation about strategizing for our big game on the upcoming weekend. We were discussing blitzing schemes and audibles, but ultimately fantasizing about the thrill of our impending victory.

Through our jovial banter, we heard Principle Nancy in the secretary’s office, so we hurried back to work and suspended our game, so that we wouldn't be punished with detention. We remained pretty silent, as we heard our secretary and Principle Nancy talking about some sort of accident in the city. It sounded pretty serious. I remember when my parents and I were in a car accident. My mom was pregnant with my sister, and I was little, maybe 2 or 3. We were parked at a red light and some random guy crashed into the back of our station wagon. Apparently he was drunk driving, but thankfully, no one was seriously hurt. All I really remember from the accident was the initial contact. My head snapped forward and all I heard was sirens. Coach, whom during the off-season was referred to as Dad, was driving, and mom was in the passenger seat. I remember Dad running around the car to make sure I was OK, then jaunting down the street to call the police at a neighbors' house. Dad has always been an intense guy.

As we shuffled through the monotony of envelopes, we felt a gust of air shoot at us by Principle Nancy's opening of her office door. She looked strange, like all of the blood drained from her face. She was pale as a ghost, and I could see tiny sweat droplets starting to trickle down her forehead. She looked like dad did after that time I was cutting Granny's lawn and the kids behind her house were shooting arrows towards me. I don't think they were purposely shooting at me, but when dad showed up that afternoon, his face looked just like Principal Nancy's did this morning; a clear representation of body's fight or flight response. "Why aren't you boys back in homeroom!?!", she exclaimed. At that moment, I was speechless and did not know how to answer, but thankfully Jack was quick on his feet and responded with something along the lines like, "We're stuffing envelopes Principle Nancy! We knew our announcement was just practice. Mike and I were just talking about football practice and our game against Lenape this weekend!" "Practice is CANCELLED!” exclaimed principle Nancy.

Her words cut through me like a hot knife slicing through the Christmas Filet. I could hear Jack offering Principle Nancy objections, but I do not recall specifics of the exchange. I was numb and deflated. What could have happened to cancel football practice? Apparently there were a lot of people who got hurt in this accident, up in New York. I guessed it was not a car accident, but what in the world was happening?

I felt scared, but I did not show it. I could hear Jack starting to sob and Principal Nancy offer some sort of consoling and apologetic reassurances, but I don't recall specifics. I felt angry, I felt like crying, I felt like screaming, but I remained stone-faced, just like dad taught me. I kept on working, even though I started to feel the tears welling in my eyes. My heart was racing and I felt confused. I remember thinking that this accident must have been something really serious, bad enough to cancel practice, but I still didn't know. Principle Nancy again ordered us to our homerooms, and then informed us that we were going to be picked up by our parents. I remember the specific moment that I glanced up to the TV sitting on top of the side table; it was just after 9:00 AM. I saw a plane crash into one of the New York sky Skyscrapers. Our school was not in New York City, but we were not very far…

I felt a blood-chilling tear run down my cheek; it felt like an icicle scraping along my face. "This was not practice, this was the real thing."