Last night I had a vivid dream for the first time in a while. I revisited two kids I had the privilege of coaching in Kalamazoo, Michigan ‘72-’74. The time frame was odd. They were only a year out of high school. Both claimed to have been abducted by aliens. One had completed 95% of his indoctrination before falling back. In the past few years, thanks to the wonder of the internet, I’ve reconnected with some of those now middle-aged men. One of the sisters posts old pictures on Facebook. They are riotous, as all the males had the long hair fashionable during the era. I know precisely what triggered the dream. I watched a fascinating one-hour report on high school football broadcast on PBS’ Frontline series. The game has become alien to me, given the now legal use of hands in blocking and the spread offenses that feature so much passing. If I ever went back to coaching, I’d have to work on the defensive side, which hasn’t changed as much. The program focused on a small Catholic high school in Arkansas, three-time state champions in its classification, nationally ranked. That’s another thing that’s been instituted since I left the game circa 1980 -- national rankings. The school in question crossed state lines to play the number one ranked school in Texas, a game televised and played at the home field of the Dallas Cowboys, and was drubbed 80-26. The Texas school had more than 200 kids in its program (JV & Freshman teams included), which works year round, pounding weights and doing other strength and speed and agility drills in the off-season. Many of its linemen exceed 300 pounds, and they are not fat. Of course, a major focus of the piece was injuries, particularly damage done to the brain, which studies show is significant in high school football players. It also profiled two cases of heat syndrome, one fatal. In the ten years or so that I coached, only one player suffered an injury more serious than a blown out knee or broken limb, and I almost got that kid killed by inserting him into a game, foolishly refusing to believe such a tough guy couldn’t play through pain. That history is part of my second novel, Adjustments. It occasionally haunts me to this day. Although the kid’s original injury was not due to leading with the head but by a fluke face first landing with two opponents draped over him, we were taught that dangerous technique and I coached it as well. The study of head injuries in football had only just begun back then. I thought it was bunk, especially since it was virtually impossible to avoid the use of the head in blocking and tackling. In my later years of coaching, I taught to lead with the shoulder. Still, the head sticks out from the body and will always be in harm’s way. I loved high school football. It was so much fun, especially in Kalamazoo, where a game was a major event not lost among the pro sports news in New York City. Unfortunately, it was not as much fun as it should have been. The human desire to win and the disappointment of losing often robbed it of its joy. And if I returned to coaching, things would probably be the same in that respect. Strategy and technique change, but human nature remains the same. High school football is beautiful, although I think national rankings are insane and traveling hundreds of miles to play in another state should be banned. Of course, cross border skirmishes between towns near each other is fine.
My thanks to Bad News Billy, my only customer of the day. He played football in the legendary St. Francis Prep program. My thanks also to whoever bought Exchanges in paperback at Amazon.
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