Playing Football

I attended grade school and junior high at Immaculate Conception School in North Little Rock, Arkansas. I started playing soccer as soon as I could run. I got pretty good at it too. I absolutely love soccer, but another sport I love is football. Football is just as much fun to me as soccer is. I like to play rough sometimes and soccer just was not rough enough. Football, on the other hand, is almost like manhandling your opponent. Because of the rough nature of football, my mom wouldn’t let me join the football team until sixth grade.

I grew up watching football on television, rooting for the Arkansas Razorbacks, and watching the NFL whenever I got the chance. When I was little I was always trying to get a group of friends together to play a pick-up football game. Whenever we could not get enough kids, we would start trying to get adults to play. It did not matter who it was we got to play as long as we had enough people to. We never played two-hand touch. The way we saw it, tackle football was a lot more challenging, and thus a lot more fun because you had to actually catch the person rather than just touch them with two hands. We had a wide, open yard to the side, so we always had a place to play.

When my mom finally let my brother and I join the school’s football team in sixth grade we knew all the rules and were fairly good at playing. I was primarily a defensive back, but I was also trained as a wide receiver. I also played a little defensive end, tight end, kicker, punter, and special teams. Because I loved football so much, I would try to show up to practices as early as possible and leave as late as possible. Despite this, neither my brother nor I ever received very much playing time. The coaches always made sure that their sons and their sons’ friends got a good chunk of playing time. I was second string because of this. I only got to get in on a play here and there, but I loved every second that I was on that football field.
On the very first play that I was in for, I had no idea what to expect. I was just happy to be on the field. I lined up at corner back, across from the other team’s wide receiver. When the quarterback called “hut” and the ball was snapped I just froze as I watched the quarterback drop back to pass. It was a hand off and the wide receiver had come out to block me. He mowed me down like an 18-wheeler flying down the highway. By the time I got back up the play was over. I was furious that I had let that happen to me. Despite how mad that wide receiver had made me, the game ended without anything noticeable from me.

During that same season, we played in the parochial league championship game. Since I was second string, I did not get to play very much. In fact, I did not get to play at all during the regular four-quarter game. Since it was a pee wee league they added a fifth quarter to the game so that the rest of the kids could get a chance to play. Of course the fifth quarter had absolutely no effect on the official outcome of the game. I was in on defense during that fifth quarter of the championship game. I had been sent on a couple of blitzes and coverages with nothing spectacular happening. When the clock was right around the two minute mark, the other team called a passing play. My assignment was a QB Spy. I was supposed to watch and read the quarterback and act as soon as I found out what he was going to do. The quarterback snapped the ball, dropped back to pass, looked at the receivers in my direction, and threw the ball. It fell short and I was able to pick it off. I returned it to about the fifteen yard line. Our offense just kneeled the ball after that. We won the championship, ending our perfect season record of 7-0.
At the beginning of every football season, we had this series of scrimmages that we played. It was called a football jamboree. This jamboree was where each team played each other to size one another up for the upcoming season. Each team got to have twenty plays on offense and twenty plays on defense against each team. There were only four or five teams in our league.

I had gone to refill my water bottle before we went up against our last opponent for the day. At this point in my life, all I wanted to do was impress my dad. When I was walking through the crowd, making my way back to the rest of the team on the sideline, someone stopped me and pulled me aside. They said to me:

“You know what your dad has been talking about all day and really wants to happen?”

“What is it?” I asked.

“He wants to hear your name come over that speaker!”

That made me light up. From that point on I was anxious to get out on the field so I could make a play, have the announcer say my name on the speaker, and make my dad happy.

Our team was on offense first so I did not see any action for the first twenty plays of that final matchup for the day. I was only in for about the last five plays of our defensive stance. My position is known for its job of shutting down the opponent’s passing game. For the first four of those five plays that I was on the field, they handed it off. On the final play of the day, the other team threw the ball right over my head. I jumped up as high as I could and watched the ball float into my hands. When I came back down I looked to the left and saw a sea of red shirts coming toward me. When I looked to the right side I saw the same thing. I had to pick a side and try to truck through them. I ran about five yards before I had almost the whole opposing team swarming all over me like a pack of wolves. When I finally went down, I was carrying the ball in front of my stomach. When I hit the ground, the ball was jabbed into my gut. It hurt but I could not care because I did what I had been told my father wanted me to do. As I walked toward the sideline, the last thing I heard the announcer say was:

“Interception made by number twenty, Josh Neal.”

As I walked off that field at the end of the day, I could not help but smile.

We played a team from a place called Rose City. It was our version of the ghetto. The rumor was that their football team was made up of a bunch of juvenile delinquents. People used to say that their players were given two options: play football for their team or go to jail. These kids played extremely dirty football. They fouled like there was no tomorrow. The referees were just as bad. They called tons of small-time penalties on us, but hardly ever called anything on the Rose City team. I got a decent amount of playing time in this game. It was probably the only time I did. I distinctly remember getting nailed in the back of the head several times while I was walking back to the huddle after a play. This game was the only time I got the chance to be kicker and punter. Unfortunately, I did not do too hot in those aspects of this particular game. This was the only game we would lose while I played football. This game, however, did not affect our overall record that would end once again at 7-0, because the Rose City team was not part of our parochial football league.

I played football for two years and went undefeated during both of them. I did not see a fair amount of playing time, but the playing time that I did see I made count. I thoroughly enjoyed every bit of that time too. I made some great plays and had a fun time making them during my short stint as a football player. Anytime I am invited to play a pick-up football game with my friends, it is almost guaranteed that I will go play.

College Wake-up Call

When I showed up last Wednesday at Hayden Hall at the University of Memphis I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I was there for Naval ROTC orientation/indoctrination. It turned out to be a major wake-up call.

Ever since I was a little kid, I have been fascinated by every aspect of the military. When people watch military movies that show new recruits going through boot camp they see the big, inimidating, muscular drill sergeant yelling at the flustered and frightened new recruits non-stop and right in their face. Some people may see this and think "Wow! That's intense!" or "I could do that; no problem!" What they don't take into consideration is that the drill sergeant is not directing his explosive criticisms at the viewer but at the recruits in the movie. I used to be one of these people.

When the parents left the new midshipman at orientation all the niceties went with them. We spent three and a half days going through this indoctrination process. It was our little taste of boot camp. We did PT at 0530 every morning; we marched everywhere we went; when we had chow, we ate in silence while looking straight ahead. Wake-up came at 0500 everymorning, and liberty would come around 1800. During this entire doctrination process we were being yelled at, even for tiny mistakes. Afterall, the military prides itself on attention to detail!