Surviving

In 2005, I played my second year of tackle football. I played on a team for Kanapaha Middle School at the Boys and Girls Club. Patrick was back with me, but this time we were the younger ones, and definitely the smaller ones. Patrick and I were about the same at a menacing five feet, one hundred something pounds. We were playing with some guys at six feet, one hundred-sixty pounds. It was just a little unfair. Our coach was Steve Russell, he was the size of a toddler and had the voice of a megaphone. My first day of practice was scary to say the least. Our best players were a Halfback named Mackenzie and a Quarterback named Danny. That year I played Tight End again on offense, but on defense I moved to Linebacker. Patrick also played Linebacker, but played Fullback on offense. Because I spent the majority of the game time on the sideline, most of my memories come from practice. Our practice field wasn’t Hell, but we could see it from there. Our coach had the temper of a two year old, and didn’t stop yelling the whole practice. He would scream and yell and shout to no end. Our ears bled from his voice. Our field was a sand pit surrounded by about 15 feet of grass. When it rained, our coach would make us do Hell-Divers until it stopped raining. We would sprint, and when he blew the whistle we would dive in the mud, and continue sprinting. Although he was so hard on us, it must have worked. Our team went to the league championship that year. We went undefeated until the championship game. We lost to Lincoln Middle School, mainly on account of their size. Until College, football is a game of puberty. The team with the most grown-up guys usually wins. And they did. We ended up losing 30-0, I usually played about 4 or 5 snaps a game, but in the 4th quarter they let all us back-ups go in. I caught the ball off the bounce and ran to the sideline for a one yard gain. It was the only time I touched the ball the entire season, but it sure felt good. At many times during that season I wanted to quit…but I didn’t. I had hope that one day it would get better, and it has. Patrick and I endured the pain, we survived Coach Russell, and it has benefited us greatly. There was no better preparation possible for what was to come…

The First Year

Since the day I was born, my life has revolved around the game of Football. My dad had to rush to my birth after a Sunday night game. I moved twice every year, between various schools in various cities until the fifth grade because of football. It has always been the one constant in my life. My first year of tackle football was when I was in the fifth grade. I played on a team at the boys and girls club in Gainesville. I played with my little brother (a third grader at the time), and Patrick Pitts. Our team was the Falcons. We had grey jerseys with black numbers, and I wore number 12. I was a small, skinny, little kid with little athletic ability, and no idea what I wanted to do. I played tight end and defensive end that season. I had 3 receptions for a total of about 15 yards on the year, and about 5 tackles. Patrick and I were among the oldest on the team, and among the most inexperienced. Our teammates had been playing longer than us, even though we were only 10 years old. Patrick and I were timid, and almost always confused. Patrick looked nothing like the man-eater he is today, and I had no intentions of playing Quarterback. The most memorable experiences from that year came at the end of every practice. My dad was the coach that year (it was the only year he was ever one of my coaches) and he loved to push us, especially during conditioning. He would get us together in a big circle, and tell us what we were going to do. We would usually do some assortment of push-ups, sit-ups, 6 inchers, and sprints. He would get us in push-up position and say “we are only going to do ten. When I say down, you go down. When I say up, you come up.” He would then proceed to say “down”, but the “up” did not follow. We would hold ourselves in the down position while he struck up a conversation with one of us about our day at school, or what dinner would be. After he finished with that player, he’d say “up”. Then he would say “down” and start over with a different player. This continued until we had done ten push-ups. Despite this slow start, it was the beginning for Jackson, Patrick, and I. We had been hooked. Not only that, but starting at such a young age gave us some serious advantages. For example, my brother Jackson, an eighth grader, has been playing football longer than every player on the Varsity team at Oak Hall with the exception of Patrick and I. That year was a good one, but little did we know, the next year would take a turn for the worst, and test our dedication…