Sandwich of Ruin!

Gridiron Dreams

I almost scored a touchdown in varsity high school football once but, in the end, I didn't.

Although I was a pretty darned good wrestler in high school, football was a sport that I just couldn't wrap my head around. Each year, mostly due to the cultural expectations of my small home town, I found myself on the football practice field in mid-August.

Thing is, I wasn't built to be a football player, in any way. I wasn't a particularly fast runner, I wasn't a fan of getting tackled by young men three times my size and, generally speaking, I didn't understand the strategy behind football offense and defense at all.

You have to understand, I didn't stop physically growing until sometime late last month. My size in high school ranged from 125 lbs in 9th grade to 150 lbs my senior year. For a six foot tall individual, 150 lbs is, shall we say, kinda scrawny.

All that, compounded with a deep personal loathing for lifting weights, meant that I pretty much just disappreared under the weight of roughly 30 lbs of football equipment. Imagine Corey Haim in "Lucas," and you have a pretty good idea what I looked like in a football uniform, only not as cute.

In my coach's mind, therefore, I was an ideal candidate for wide receiver, a position that requires speed, some sort of size, and a willingness to get hit rather hard down the middle.

That's not to say I didn't have some skill. I definitely could catch a football. I had the hands of good receiver. It was the rest of my body that was the problem.

It didn't really matter, though, because during my junior year there was a dream team of receivers ahead of me, which basically meant I was guaranteed to warm the bench for most of the game, and only see action if we were either wayyyyyy ahead or wayyyyyy behind.

Or, if the guy in the starting position broke his arm during a play, which happened late in the season, thereby sealing my fate.

Of all the commands and orders given to me by my football coach, none are as well remembered as that late autumn evening when he yelled "Rhodes, get in there!"

And then, as if test me to my limits, the first play called upon my insertion into the game was a pass play designed to go directly to me. When the quarterback tells you to "say sharp, it's coming your way," you have a pretty clear understanding that you better not screw up.

The ball was hiked, and I ran my pattern as hard and as fast as I could. The defender, either outmatched by my superior skill or, more probably, surprised at just how much slower I was than my predecessor, left me largely wide open as I ran across the middle of the field.

I swiveled my head toward the quarterback at almost exactly the same time he released the ball and, defying all my own personal expectations, I actually caught the ball. I then proceeded, aided in large part by great blocking, to run down the sideline to the endzone.

To the endzone?!! Before I realized it, I had run nearly 30 yards and was only a scant few feet from scoring my first-ever high school varsity football touchdown.

Except there was an extremely large young man blocking my path.

Now, a good wide receiver would have lowered his shoulder and taken on the behemoth before him, allowing his momentum to carry him forward and into the endzone. Me? I decided to try and juke him.

For those unfamiliar with "juking," it means to try and outmaneuver someone, through dazzling and unexpected footwork. Although my footwork was no doubt unexpected, it was by no means dazzling.

I juked to the right, but the big man did not move. I juked to the left, but the big man did not move. I juked back to the right, and then again to the left, and yet the big man just did not move. All told, I probably initiated a series of five jukes, all to no effect.

The big man, realizing that I apparently did not intend any further forward movement so long as he was in front of me, seized the initiative and leaped forward, at about the same time three other young men of comparable size descended upon me. In a series of grunts and growls and, to be honest, some totally unnecessary pinches and sucker punches apparently unnoticed by the referees, I was dragged to the ground, just a scant few feet from the endzone.

We won that game handidly, and there were several great plays completed during the course of the evening. However, it was the great Rhodes juking play that everyone wanted to talk about afterwards in the showers.

And it's those types of memories that have taken over 11 years and counting to live down.

Posted by Ryan at October 11, 2004 12:32 PM