My Son Plays Football.............For Now
Dear M&M,
This fall is solidifying itself as my favorite season for many different reasons: the crazy Southern Illinois heat is finally breaking, pumpkin beer has arrived, it's almost time for chilly and hoodies, and of course, football. I have loved football my entire life, so much that Marshall is named after my favorite player to step on a field. And yet, as we sit here 6 weeks into the season, with our first game under our belt, I am wondering if it will stay a part of our lives.
By the time you read this, football may be extinct, deemed too vicious for humans to play, like the gladiator games some dead people used to do in Rome. Back then, they thought it was awesome for people who were down on their luck to get into an arena and fight to the death (seriously). I am sure many a Roman dad named their firstborn after their favorite athlete who was most proficient at chopping off human heads. I don't mean to be so dramatic, but my point is that the view that human's have on a sport can grow very much over time. (Also, worth note, people have died on football fields, as well as left the field mangled, paralyzed, and/or mentally handicapped for life). I have asked countless people their opinions on football, and almost unanimously, they would not let their kids play. That includes both former players, and people who have only been fans. Most are shocked that we are letting our son play.
When Marshall reached the proper age to play the game, I was ecstatic. Thus far, we have raised a super-happy, fear-nothing, daredevil who can have fun in anything he does. Even when we went to register you, and learned you would be the only 5-year-old, we weren't deterred. When we learned they don't typically make pants small enough to fit your little frame, your mom's confidence wavered, but I was still in there. After all, you still needed an adult-sized helmet (sorry, you get it from me).
With you playing, it was a given that I would be one of the coaches. As I got signed up and learned more and more about the programs today, my confidence was reinforced. I spent 8 hours going through classes, learning proper tackling techniques, and the dangers of doing them wrong, and especially of playing football the "old-school" way. Marshall and I worked on several techniques, and drills I had discovered. You are small, but smart, kind of quick, and knew how to play.
As practices started, I quickly learned that I was one of two (out of five) coaches who had even heard of the new techniques today, much less how to do drills and teach them. Through the first few practices, we focused on fun, and proper ways to not get hurt. Then, we went right back to the ways I remembered, emphasizing "BIG HITS", and "killing" the guy across from you.
On the flip side, I have seen a group of 15 kids grow close in ways that can only happen on a football field. I love coaching all of them, and they are learning to play for each other as a true team. Football, in my opinion, is the one sport where all of the players on the field have to play together. In baseball, you can get by with a stud pitcher. In basketball, one great player can take over. But in football, you cannot cheat it. Everyone has to do a job, or sustained success won't happen. Football is the perfect metaphor for life, and the best sport there is.
Even better, Marshall has earned the moniker "Little Buddy" on the team. The bigger kids will take it easier on you in drills. They drag you through relays. Everyone cheers when you do make a tackle against someone much bigger. (Sidenote: sorry to burst your bubble if you thought you were some kind of stud as a 5 year old on the 7 and under team). During one drill, we gave Marshall the ball, and simply told everyone else not to let the defense touch him. The blockers destroyed the defense, and Marshall walked through the practice drill untouched.
While football has been everything I hoped it would be: a teambuilder, a life-lesson teacher, a bringer of discipline, and the best workout of your young life, it has also brought some other things. In our first game, I quickly realized the other team did not have anyone in Marshall's weight class, much less anyone on the other team who thought you were their buddy. Because of your inexperience, you played on the line, and got destroyed by much bigger kids. Twice I watched you get clobbered before you decided you needed to come off, in tears. After getting you calmed down, your number was called again. My guy, you made a few more plays, and then got clobbered twice again, coming off in tears. Finally, you went back in, got into the play, and then came out because you "really needed to pee". (Another sidenote: you never went pee)
To paint a more complete picture, you were not alone. Several of our players came off of the cold, rainy, field, crying. A couple more didn't want any part of going in. Also, we got destroyed on the scoreboard, leading one of our other coaches to throw several profanity-laden tirades, while slamming his clipboard (so we all know how tough he is). Our team was smaller, and behind on fundamentals, and the other squad ran all over us. At times, it looked like noone was having fun (which I pointed out to the other coaches), and I was embarrassed to be a part of it.
And then, as football does, it once again showed me why I love it. After the coaches came around and focused on (some of) the positive, the team came together. We kept the game close, had some fun, and found some positives to work on. Marshall inspired another kid to play after he thought he was hurt, and even got recognized by the team at the end of the game for his resiliency and heart. Despite the up-and-downs throughout, we once again left the field arm in arm, all smiles.
I don't know where this story is going to end. Maybe we decide to quit tomorrow, and maybe you go to the NFL (as a kicker). I only write this letter so you know that your debut into organized football has filled your dad with pride, and scared the shit out of him. I guess, once again, Football is proving to be the best metaphor in life.
Thanks for reading (Maggie will get her own letter soon enough).
Love,
Dad
This fall is solidifying itself as my favorite season for many different reasons: the crazy Southern Illinois heat is finally breaking, pumpkin beer has arrived, it's almost time for chilly and hoodies, and of course, football. I have loved football my entire life, so much that Marshall is named after my favorite player to step on a field. And yet, as we sit here 6 weeks into the season, with our first game under our belt, I am wondering if it will stay a part of our lives.
When Marshall reached the proper age to play the game, I was ecstatic. Thus far, we have raised a super-happy, fear-nothing, daredevil who can have fun in anything he does. Even when we went to register you, and learned you would be the only 5-year-old, we weren't deterred. When we learned they don't typically make pants small enough to fit your little frame, your mom's confidence wavered, but I was still in there. After all, you still needed an adult-sized helmet (sorry, you get it from me).
With you playing, it was a given that I would be one of the coaches. As I got signed up and learned more and more about the programs today, my confidence was reinforced. I spent 8 hours going through classes, learning proper tackling techniques, and the dangers of doing them wrong, and especially of playing football the "old-school" way. Marshall and I worked on several techniques, and drills I had discovered. You are small, but smart, kind of quick, and knew how to play.
As practices started, I quickly learned that I was one of two (out of five) coaches who had even heard of the new techniques today, much less how to do drills and teach them. Through the first few practices, we focused on fun, and proper ways to not get hurt. Then, we went right back to the ways I remembered, emphasizing "BIG HITS", and "killing" the guy across from you.
On the flip side, I have seen a group of 15 kids grow close in ways that can only happen on a football field. I love coaching all of them, and they are learning to play for each other as a true team. Football, in my opinion, is the one sport where all of the players on the field have to play together. In baseball, you can get by with a stud pitcher. In basketball, one great player can take over. But in football, you cannot cheat it. Everyone has to do a job, or sustained success won't happen. Football is the perfect metaphor for life, and the best sport there is.
Even better, Marshall has earned the moniker "Little Buddy" on the team. The bigger kids will take it easier on you in drills. They drag you through relays. Everyone cheers when you do make a tackle against someone much bigger. (Sidenote: sorry to burst your bubble if you thought you were some kind of stud as a 5 year old on the 7 and under team). During one drill, we gave Marshall the ball, and simply told everyone else not to let the defense touch him. The blockers destroyed the defense, and Marshall walked through the practice drill untouched.
While football has been everything I hoped it would be: a teambuilder, a life-lesson teacher, a bringer of discipline, and the best workout of your young life, it has also brought some other things. In our first game, I quickly realized the other team did not have anyone in Marshall's weight class, much less anyone on the other team who thought you were their buddy. Because of your inexperience, you played on the line, and got destroyed by much bigger kids. Twice I watched you get clobbered before you decided you needed to come off, in tears. After getting you calmed down, your number was called again. My guy, you made a few more plays, and then got clobbered twice again, coming off in tears. Finally, you went back in, got into the play, and then came out because you "really needed to pee". (Another sidenote: you never went pee)
To paint a more complete picture, you were not alone. Several of our players came off of the cold, rainy, field, crying. A couple more didn't want any part of going in. Also, we got destroyed on the scoreboard, leading one of our other coaches to throw several profanity-laden tirades, while slamming his clipboard (so we all know how tough he is). Our team was smaller, and behind on fundamentals, and the other squad ran all over us. At times, it looked like noone was having fun (which I pointed out to the other coaches), and I was embarrassed to be a part of it.
And then, as football does, it once again showed me why I love it. After the coaches came around and focused on (some of) the positive, the team came together. We kept the game close, had some fun, and found some positives to work on. Marshall inspired another kid to play after he thought he was hurt, and even got recognized by the team at the end of the game for his resiliency and heart. Despite the up-and-downs throughout, we once again left the field arm in arm, all smiles.
Thanks for reading (Maggie will get her own letter soon enough).
Love,
Dad
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