Vince Lombardi
Junior High School. It's seventh grade. I go out for football with all my buddies. At 4’11” and 98 pounds, I’m not much of a candidate. I go to the “shed” above the football field for my physical. I have no idea what a physical is, nor what you do when you “have a physical.” The coughing part was a complete surprise.
The coaches take one look at me and determine that I’m going to be a center. It seems that they’ve never met a pigeon-toed slow player that wasn’t big. So they’ve decided that I’m going to be big because I’m so pigeon-toed and slow. Two out of three ain't bad.
What this means is that I barely get to practice with the fourth team and I never get to play in a game. In fact, I never get to dress for a game. I feel like I did in my first year of Little League. I know I’m better than this. I just don’t know what this is! The team goes undefeated (I think we played 6 games), but I sure didn’t contribute to these games. I’m confused but muddle on.
Eighth grade is different. I’ve changed. I’m bigger, better, faster and I have no idea how or why. I just am. I try out for the football team and I’m selected as the starting “spinback”. Go figure!
We play the single-wing offense since this is the high school’s formation. The spinback is the quarterback of the team. I love it. I get to call the plays. I touch the ball on almost all the plays. I pass the ball. To top it off, we are good. We go undefeated for the season. I’m living a dream.
There are a few nightmares in this dream, however. During one game at home, I throw an “out” pass from our 5-yard line. It is intercepted and run back for a touchdown. As I’m walking off the field, the varsity high school coach, Merritt Parsons, comes down onto the field, grabs my facemask and shouts in my face “if you ever throw a pass inside 'my' 20 yard line again, you will never play for me.” I didn’t know who Merritt Parsons was until . . . then. However, I was excited that the head football coach of the high school team knew who I was. I never considered calling a pass inside my 20 yard line. . . again.
It is now my sophomore year in college. I’m starting my first game at quarterback. It is the third game of the season. I’m excited. It is the first quarter and we are on our 15 yard line. The coach, Chris Pagakis, sends in a play. It is a pass, a 15-yard out pattern with the half-back swinging into the flat. I can’t do it. I change the play to an off-tackle run. We make a first down and continue marching down the field for a touchdown.
As I come off the field, Coach Pagakis meets me at the side-line and wants to know why I changed his play. I simply told him that I don’t throw passes inside my 20 yard line.
I didn’t go back into the game at QB and I never played quarterback again.
Lesson learned: One coaches play is another’s folly. Know who your coach is. I forgot. I paid the price.
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