Well, it's all set. October 19, I will be winging my way back to the midwest for a weekend. And I got a great deal. One roundtrip ticket from Miami to Kansas City for $150. Thank you priceline.com! Since I'm going back for a football team reunion, I figured I'd tell another football story from my 'glory days' for this entry. Aw, come on, it won't be that bad.

Simon, set the wayback machine for 1989 and let's get going. Most of the background was covered in this entry, but I'll quickly refresh your memories. Besides, there's a little bit more you need to know. Ok, basics. My senior year in school, football team has first perfect record for regular season in school history, 10-0. We played ironman football, meaning that most of us played offense and defense all the time. We go to the state playoffs, get beat in the semi-finals by a private school. Enough of that, now for a bit more detail.

Before school started, we had what were called 2-a-days. We would practice once in the morning and once at night for two weeks before school. Hard work and not a lot of time for play, which was actually a good thing. One brief respite came during 2-a-days in the form of the Missouri State Fair. We got one night off to go and have fun at the fair. Me, I stayed home and went over play formations and defensive strategies. My position was Center (the one who hikes the ball and get's 'goosed' by the quarterback) and Noseguard on defense (opposite the Center). Well, sadly, during the break we got for the State Fair, 2 of our star players decide to be a bit juvenile and get caught drinking. Bill Hallack, a senior, was one of our running backs and played Middle Linebacker (get a book), right behind me. Jonathan Gott was a sophomore (yes, he was a talented player to be starting on Varsity) was also a running back and played, I think, cornerback. Maybe linebacker. Anyway, they got busted, the coach found out and their punishment was that they had to sit out the first three games. Kind of hard on a team as small as us since we didn't have a lot of depth. We thought we were in trouble. Little did we know.

I had spent quite a bit of time working with Bill during defensive practice on different formations and plays. Well, now I had a new guy I had to work with. Luckily, he was a friend of mine, a sophomore named Jason Trexel. He was about my height, weighed maybe 150 or so (I only weighed 195), had red hair and a permanent smile. He didn't seem the middle linebacker type, tough, strong, ready to run headlong into a running back or lineman 50-100 pounds heavier than him, but looks can be deceiving. When the shit hit the fan, Trexel (as we called him) kicked ass with the best of them. It one of these 'ass kickings' that is the subject of this story.

Our first game was a close one. We won 6-3. Our defense, specifically Jason and I kicked some major ass. Problem is, our offense couldn't find it's feet, but we squeaked it out. Our second game was against the Sherwood Marksmen and would be a game that I would remember forever. Probably even more clearly than the playoff game that we lost. After we scored our first touchdown and had our first defensive series where we shut them out pretty good, Trexel comes over to me and says, "Hey, Ice, if you get caught in a pile, be carefull, they're going for the eyes." Basically, everytime there was a big pile up, they were trying to poke our players in the eyes. Well, we can't have that now can we?

Fuck no we can't! So, the next defensive play, Jason and I are in on a tackle and he ends up being piled on top of #88 one of their tight ends and, according to Trex, the one who's been trying to fit him for an eyepatch. Well, while I lay on his scrawny ass, Trexel grins, sticks his first two fingers inside the guys helmet and says, "Let's see how you like it." Now, mind you, this is happening rather quickly, maybe in a matter of a few seconds. #88, seeing what's in store decides he'll have nothing of it and turns his head violently to his left. Not a good move. Trexel had just gotten his fingers to the side of #88's nose, so when he turns his head violently, Trexel's fingers hit the side of his nose and it collapses. Like folding a piece of paper, it just goes flat against his face. Time stopped. We climb off in slow motion. We can hear the cheering of the crowd, but it's slowed way down, like a 78 rpm record played at 33. And just above that we can make out another sound. All of a sudden, reality snaps back and we realize the new sound is #88 screaming his fuckin' head off and sprinting to their sideline.

"Holy shit! Did you see that?" Trexel says. I just nod and we turn towards each other. That's when we see it. See, our team colors are Black, Green, and White. We have two different jerseys, one for home games and one for away games. We wear the white jerseys when we play away, and we wore the black for home games. Since we were playing at Sherwood, an away game, we had white jerseys on. At least they were white when we started. Now, mine and Trexel's jerseys were white with a smattering of blood all over the front. I'd never thought that that much blood could come from someone's nose. We just stood there and laughed at each other as we huddled back up for the next play.

After the second defensive series of the game, Trexel and I were taken off defensive duty for a while. We were putting a pretty good hurt on them and the coaches were subbing in the second string guys so as not to run up the score and look like assholes. While we sat on the sidelines recapping our story, much to the delight of most of the team, we kept an eye out for #88. He would wander in and out for a play or two, but he didn't see much action. Finally, about the middle of the fourth quarter, our coach calls to us and lets us back in the game. First play, we stop them cold. We're break the huddle for the next play when who do we see come trotting out for the next play? Our little ole buddy #88. Since he was a 'receiver' his helmet didn't have a lot of facemask (the bars on the helmet) obscuring his face and we got a good look. His nose was swollen and both nostrils were stuffed with cotton tubes, kind of like what the dentist sticks between your cheek and gum when you have a tooth pulled. His eyes were both black and he had a look like a deer caught in a headlight. He knew something we didn't. The play was coming his way and he was supposed to come out and block Trexel (I won't go into details about blocking and shit). Trexel and I look at each other, kind of snicker and get ready to go. Then the funniest thing I've seen in a football game happened.

The ball was snapped. We had a stunt on. That meanis that all the defensive linemen were going the same way. See, despite what you see on TV, we never really just ran straigh at the opposing player. We always tried to get around them on the right or left side by stunting. Like a 'left stunt' meant that, when the ball was snapped, I was aiming for the opposing players right shouler (my left side) and I was trying to get through the 'hole'. Well, as luck would have it, we had a stunt on that was going the same way the play was. The guard (guy next to the center) was trying to block the guy on my left so that meant that the center had to try to get in front of me. He just wasn't fast enough. The guy to the left of me, the defensive tackle, had dove at his guys legs so I jump over those two, the guy blocking me gets tripped and I'm home free. I see the quarter back heading behind #88 and around the end about the same time Trexel does. We both put on the speed and head right for him, but something stands in our way.

That's right. Our buddy #88 stood between us and our target. Me, Trexel, and the quarterback with the ball all converge on the same spot at the same time. Close your eyes and imagine the grunting, slamming sound that you always hear played during football commercials and stuff and you'll come close to the sound at that moment. Three things happened at that moment.

1. We both hit #88 at the same time. His eyes bulged out, the breath was knocked out of his body along with the cotton tubes in his nose, and fresh blood sprayed over both of us.

2. We push #88 backwards right into his own quarterback with enough force to knock the football loose (FUMBLE!) and their legs get tangled, all four of us landing in a big, dirty, bloody pile.

3. One of our other linebackers, seeing the loose ball, picks it up and runs for a 'salt-in-the-wound' touchdown. We won that game something like 37-14. It was fun, for us at least.

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