In the spring of my 11th grade year, our football team was preparing for the annual scrimmage known as the Red / White game. Spring was also a time to skip school and hit the beach. We did that more times than we should have, but somehow one of those beach outings ran a little late and we rushed back for football practice, not quite making it on time. Alas, we had been partying at the beach, because that is what knuckle heads like me and Duane did back then. The next thing I know, Coach Haynes is announcing to the entire team that Duane went to the beach and drank beer and by doing so, was guilty of "breaking training", a pseudo sacred team honor code. Coach went on to say that it was time to find out if Duane REALLY wanted to be part of our team and that the next few weeks of hell would tell the answer.
Now our team (at least 90%) were big time party guys, but most of them were not dumb enough to come to practice with beer breath. Don't know who felt compelled to mention to the coaching staff that Duane was a bad boy, but somehow they got that message. During coach Hayne's announcement, my heart is pounding as I expect to be the next fugitive identified. Crestview was a small town and a small school. EVERYBODY there knew Duane and I spent most of our awake time together. Coach Haynes did not say my name or even ask me about the incident, but he did LOOK at me...So, I slide on out after practice and the meeting head down and avoiding eye contact with basically everyone. Duane is pissed and is concerned with ID'ing the Narc. Me too, but that is secondary.
At the family dinner that night I tell my dad the story and go on to say that I think I should admit to coach that I was part of the day of revelry and disregard for team training rules. This was risky, as my dad was the kind of man who would not hesitate to address such violations on his own, quick and severe. But my dad was also a football guy and I had long heard his horrifying and facinating stories about his coach Keoniger (sp?). This insight is what probably saved me from my dad's wrath, since my dad had keen insight into what would lay in store for me. He was also appreciative of the fact that I was willing to turn myself in and not let Duane walk to the gallows alone. We drove over to coach Haynes house after dinner and dad let me spill my guts. I did not witness it, but I image my dad and coach exchanged a wink somewhere during our visit. It is a guy thing, which would have acknowledged a man to man understanding that "our boy" is gonna pay the price.
The next day AFTER practice, coach had our starting defense line up on the field, one guy every 10 yards. He told me to take the football and at his whistle to run directly into the first defender. After the tackle I was to get up and run into the next defender and then to repeat the process all the way down the field. I was almost 6 foot tall and weighed somewhere around 140 lbs. After the 4th or 5th spear tackle (those are a no no now a days) I was in so much pain that in a weird way, I didn't feel some of the pounding. Around defender # 8, my punishers had to pretty much pick me up and point and push me on to the next "licking his chops" classmate. When I finally reached the end zone I was only partially coherent. My chin strap was dangling from a cracked helmet and my shoulder pad strap was either broken or un done. I lay in the end zone trying to breath and not to cry and then coach said it. He said "alright, now turn around and come back!". I do not remember much about the return trip. I have flashes of contact with names like Thigpen, Cato and others. I remember some guys laughing, and some with actual looks of concern. While it is always fun to take a free shot at someone, nobody really wanted this poor little guy to die or anything.
Duane carried about 30 pounds more than I did and was much faster and quicker and all that stuff, but even his bravado was worn down during those 22 collisions.
That was all for that day, in the 3 week process to see if we had what it takes to remain part of the team. Every subsequent day called for running stadiums and belly flops up and down Jack Foster field. Many times either I or Duane would mutter to the other "it aint worth it, lets quit this crap". But we managed to encourage each other to stick it out. The Red White game could not get here soon enough!
On game night, Duane and I were on opposing teams. I was not a first stringer, but with the team divided into 2 teams, I did get to play. Duane was a 10 grade tail back and in the first half of that game, he broke THREE long touchdown runs to put his team comfortably ahead (I don't remember red or white). Anyway, the coaches actually made him switch teams at the half and he almost led his new team in the come from behind effort. He was fast and strong, and coming off a broken leg in the fall (another good story I might provide some day).
The "funny" scuttle butt going around on the side line was that with the way Duane was playing, "if David does anything at all in this game Coach will send the whole team to the beach to drink beer". Very funny...I was not an impact player, so the team was spared the new training technique.
That is my story and I'm sticking to it. After 32 and a half years, I remember it pretty well and have resisted the temptation to embellish the events.
FLOutlaw
