Editorial
Front Page - Friday, March 26, 2010
Are We There Yet?
Don’t blink
Jay Edwards
“I must be crazy to be in a looney bin like this.”
R.P. McMurphy (1975)
1975. Hard to believe it was almost 35-years ago that we walked out of the building at 6300 Lee Avenue (now Father Tribou Street) and said goodbye to each other, as well as the bad cafeteria food, two-a-days, locker combinations, snuck cigarettes, frequent haircuts, purple and gold, purple passion, back-seat passion, open houses, Overlook Park, Friday nights, proms, first loves, first base, Monty Python, Keats, Zappa and so much more.
Was it really that long ago? Now Kathy and I have a 25-year old son and a 21-year old daughter. Time is relentless.
It was at Catholic High where, as my friend Fred Springstead (CHS class of ’66) puts it, I proudly wore the purple and gold.
Not that I was any good at football, but I was on the team, which counts for something, I guess.
I played tight end, and even caught a couple of balls for touchdowns on our sophomore team, which was a huge charge to the old ego. So what if I did steal one of those balls away from a teammate. It wasn’t on purpose. It was because my playing time had been so seldom that when on those rare occasions that I did get in a game, anything might happen – because, well – I didn’t really know the plays.
So I ran the wrong route and arrived right in front of the intended receiver about the same time the ball did. But I did catch it, and after spinning around a few times, I managed to even run the right way. I was finally tackled, but was tall enough to stretch out over the goal line for my first touchdown! Before I finally gave the ball back to the ref, I had already envisioned the ticker-tape parade that I would soon be riding in.
My teammates seemed happy, except maybe the guy the pass was really meant for. But he had other days, unlike most of us who had come to know so well the pains of bench warming. We had to make our own opportunities. Sure this touchdown had been a mistake that came from not knowing the play, but it could have been fate. And we did win the game.
My next and last TD came a few weeks later at the end of a game we were losing 42-0 to North Little Rock. I did make a great catch over their fourth string safety though.
So after those small successes, the coach finally had enough confidence in me to grab me by the shoulder pad in the next game. He told me to run a post. “Right coach,” I said with confidence, trying to remember what a post was. He said to tell our QB, Johnny Dallas (what a great name for a quarterback), to throw it to me. I still remember the shocked look on Dallas’ face after I relayed the instructions from the sideline.
We came out of the huddle and I got down into my stance. The cornerback was right on the line staring at me as I got down in my stance. Then suddenly some linebacker yelled out, “Watch 87!”
“Oh crap, that’s me,” I remembered to myself.
“Give me a break man,” I thought. “I hardly ever get in and now you’re telling everyone to watch me. My mom is in the stands for gosh sake. You don’t want to deprive her of a proud moment do you?”
I wanted to yell back, “No, don’t watch me. I’m not the one!!!” But I thought that might attract even more attention, so I just remained quiet and tried to become invisible.
But then nerves got the best of me and all of the pre-play excitement caused me to bolt from my stance, a bit premature and before the rest of my team. Now off sides, I hesitated, wanting desperately to take it back. Too late, as the rest of our offense was now moving and so I began running again as they charged off the line. From the corner of my eye I could see the dreaded yellow flag drifting in front of the referee. Curses. This would all be for naught.
I continued with my route, and the cornerback let me go as the safety picked me up. But when I made my cut toward the goal post, my feet in their too-clean, snow-white Pumas, became tangled, and down I went, only to look up just in time to see the safety catch Dallas’ pass and then smile down at me as he ran the other way.
That’s how my future as an all-pro tight end for the Dallas Cowboys ended before it ever got going.
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