Failure (1)

What a flat title.

But that’s how failure feels, right?

FLAT.

“You fell flat on your face” – the common expression.

I’ll share an easy failure first, so I can warm up to the topic. Perhaps it’s an outer layer.

We’ll peel back the onion over the coming weeks and months. The onion is scary. It smells so strong. It has so much power. Too much of it can ruin a dish. Ruin your tastebuds. Even ruin your stomach. But just the right amount can season a meal to perfection.

“Let me cook!” as the kids say.

Failure 1 goes back to high school. A lot of people know I played college football. But almost no one knows how my football career actually started.

QB Is Not For Me

Growing up, I was an athletic kid. Practiced hard, played hard, won a lot of trophies, even had a couple MVPs. The trophies were in soccer, basketball, and most of all, baseball.

In middle school, I switched from soccer to start playing football. Honestly, I don’t remember if I wanted to, or if my dad wanted me to. Our school district didn’t have football for young kids. You couldn’t start until 7th grade.

But here I was, playing football competitively for the first-time ever. Tried quarterback and frankly wasn’t good. I was smart. I was kind of fast. But I was not a big kid. Barely over 5 foot. Hadn’t touched 100lbs yet. One practice, I tried to scramble out of the pocket and got chased down and tackled by a kid who had already hit puberty. He had chin hair in 7th grade for goodness sake!

He hit me so hard that I ended up in the cornfield next to the field. I had dirt and small rocks embedded into my elbow. My knees hurt. My back hurt. Everything hurt.

Literally ate dirt that day.

After that tackle, I didn’t want to play QB anymore. No more scrambling and running for my life with a massive target on my back.

I preferred wide receiver, safety, or cornerback. The more I could avoid contact, the better.

Play football the rest of 7th grade, and play again in 8th grade, but it still wasn’t my thing.

Scout Team Defense

Now, I’m a freshman. I’ve started to grow a little bit, but still a scrawny kid. Probably 5’6″, 125lb soaking wet. Freckled, no muscles, no chin hair.

Coach is trying to put together the good ol’ scout team defense. I know I don’t want to be a benchwarmer forever. I also know there’s not a chance I’ll be on varsity as a freshman. But I need to start to make a name for myself.

I’m a willing, but timid participant.

An assistant coach is looking at a group of us scrawny freshman. He looks at me directly.

“Are you fast?”

“Yes, Coach. What do you need?”

“Well, we’re lining up against first team offense. They run the ball 95% of the time, and only have one wide receiver.”

“Do you want me to be a backup receiver?”

“No, no. That receiver doesn’t do anything anyway. I need defense. I need guys who can stop the run.”

He looks at the 4 other guys standing next to me and just shakes his head. They’re as small and scrawny as I am. All the big kids, who love to tackle are already on the field.

He looks at me again, “Do you play defense?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What position?”

“Corner or safety.”

“We have a safety. Ah hell, go be a corner. Don’t let that guy catch anything and don’t get caught picking dandelions.”

“Yes, sir.”

I strap up my helmet, put in my mouthpiece, and hustle out to the far side of the field. Out on an island, guarding the senior wide receiver, knowing that they’ll probably throw the ball to him one time the entire practice.

I think to myself “Good! I got this. I’m probably only a half step slower than him, and I’ll stop him from catching anything. Otherwise, I get to stand here and not have to hit anyone.”

Five plays go by, no action. The offensive coordinator hollers at the O-line that they aren’t doing their jobs. They’re missing assignments and the offense isn’t looking like it should.

I hear it, but I dismiss it. I’m on defense. It’s kind of fun to hear them get hollered at. I’m out on my island, guarding this scarecrow of a wide receiver. He doesn’t even block me. I just backpedal, then the whistle blows, repeat. Nothing.

Ten plays go by, still no action.

But now, the Head Coach is yelling at the O-line, because they’re still missing assignments and not blocking like they should. He ups the ante. He gives everyone on offense some up-downs.

“You should be scoring a touchdown EVERY SINGLE TIME! You guys are juniors and seniors. You’re going against the scout team. Get your asses in gear! I want to see some blocks! Let’s see some hits!”

I laugh to myself. What a great day to be on defense!

The scarecrow wide receiver runs back to the huddle and gets the play. He comes out to his post, shaking his head. I smirk. He’s probably mad he got up-downs.

QB calls out his cadence, ball is snapped, and my receiver runs diagonally in toward the line.

“What the heck?!” I’m processing as I watch him run in toward the linebackers. He hasn’t done this before. “What’s going on?” I wonder.

By the way he is running, he’s not running a route. And I know, as scout team defense, on this play, we’re supposed to imitate a zone defense.

I recognize something strange is happening. Two linebackers are turned and starting to run my way.

Oh shoot! The receiver is doing a crack block!

“Crack, crack!” I holler. I’m putting the pieces together in my head, micro seconds.

That means the play is coming toward me. It’s a run.

Just as the realization hits, I turn my head.

Suddenly, this huge offensive lineman is facemask to facemask with me. His hands are under my pads. My feet are coming off the ground. My head goes backward. I’m weightless.

“Oh no! He’s the pulling guard. He’s got me!” It clicks in my brain.

Then, just like that, boom, crash, my ass hits the grass.

But it’s not grass. It’s more like concrete.

Butt, then back, then head. They hit the ground in sequence. Feet still in air.

The offensive lineman runs over my limp body. Then, the running back hurdles over my limp body.

A few seconds later, I hear the varsity guys celebrating in the distance. They had scored a touchdown. I hear the offensive coordinator clapping. I hear the head coach shouting, “There you go boys! Now, that’s what I want to see.”

I’m laying there, still limp, gasping for air.

The offensive lineman comes back by me, bouncing and laughing.

“Yeah! Yeah! Hey little boy, how’d you like that pancake?!”

Pancake.

I had just been pancaked.

My second time ever having the wind knocked out of me.

Bumps and Bruises

Honestly, I don’t remember how I got up that day. Did the receiver come back and help me up? Did a fellow defensive player help me up? Did the assistant coach help me up? Did I just peel myself off the ground like Wylie Coyote?

Who knows?

What I do remember is that I left that practice and it hurt to sit in class for over a week.

Bruised tailbone.

Bruised ego.

Got to hear about it from that lineman the whole week.

Never again would I get lulled to sleep at the cornerback position.

And best believe, I’m still always on the lookout for that crack block.