Defining moment

A bad weekend for a lot of people. Car wrecks, fires, etc. In all that, it was probably lost on most people that a young man was possibly scarred of life.

Colerain and St. Xavier were playing to advance in the playoffs to the state championship. Colerain has had a great season and is loaded for bear. This could well be their year, as far as the seniors are concerned. When you’re in that position, you are aware that this could be your last shot at being part of something like this. St. Xavier has had a so-so season and squeaked in.

Imagine you’re the placekicker for Colerain. You team leads 10-0 at the end of the first quarter. It’s going according to script. But, X roars back with 24 unanswered points. The dream is slipping from your grasp. Colerain battles back and, in the closing minutes, scores a touchdown that brings them within one. The coach decides to play for the tie, which means you’re on.

A routine extra point. Except, it’s not. You boot it wide. Game over.

Yeah, your team blew their lead big time. The coach could’ve played for a win with a two-point conversion. And maybe the holder or snapper botched the deal. But, it’s on your head, as far as most are concerned.

Including you. You only trot out onto that field a few times in a game and are expected to be perfect. A defensive back may slip and the ball is thrown somewhere else. A guard may miss a block but the fullback takes out the defender. But for you, there’s no acceptable margin of error. And, nowhere to hide.

I can’t help but think this will stay with the poor kid for life. Undeservedly so. What he should be looking at is that he trained, developed a skill and put himself out on a limb. That puts him ahead of most people he will ever encounter. But, I don’t think he’ll look at it that way and I feel bad for him.

This incident will go unnoticed by most people outside of his school. I know why it caught my attention.

Not long ago, I posted something on the web that reminded my former classmates of some good times we had together. A number added their fond reminiscences. Dick inserted a snide remark and someone immediately inquired about his attitude. In the Philly tradition, it was worded in the WTF’s your problem mode. He deleted his comment.

I didn’t have to ask why he responded irrationally. I knew.

Dick was a gifted and intense athlete. Maybe too gifted for his own good. We played on the same junior high team and he was the star running back.

We also participated in another league and our respective teams played off for the championship. It was a seesaw battle and came down to them four points behind and being close to our goal line.

The quarterback called an option play, which had been working fairly well against us. In the huddle, Dick was outraged and protested vociferously that someone else should carry the ball. “You’re going to keep it?”, he snarled. “I’m the touchdown man and everyone knows it.” The quarterback was cowed and called Dick’s number for his favorite play, a sweep. Student body right.

They had a strong line of bulls capable of mowing down anyone in the back’s path, so it wasn’t a bad call. Except, in this case, one of our inside linebackers read the keys and thought he had it smelled out. Instead of going with the flow and being sealed in according to plan, he charged through the gap left by the pulling guard and nailed Dick in the backfield. Game over.

That fall, in junior high practice, everyone was referring to Dick as “Touchdown Man” when he yelled at his teammates to block better for him, as was his custom, alluding to the incident. "Dammit, Pollock, keep that end away from me!" "Whatever you say, Touchdown Man." He was literally red in the face and finally jumped one of the teasers.

The coach sent him to the lockers where he waited and then quit the team. He confronted the guy who had made the fateful tackle, accusing him of making a fool out of him. “You did it to yourself,” I replied.

He never said two words to me after that. Not much to anyone else, either.

When we went on to high school, the coach tried to get him to come out for football. He refused.

The coach was aware of the reason for his feelings and asked me to talk to him. I tried without success and stand corrected on my previous statement. He did say two words to me.

He graduated without much interface with anyone and things didn’t go real well for him in life. Obviously, he had problems going into that game and thereafter, but he seemed to hang everything on that play, not taking any responsibility. If he said anything to anybody about it, it was that the line broke down and left him exposed (they blocked according to plan) or that I was offsides (I wasn’t). Nothing about his insistence on being the hero or boasting. Everyone knew the score and ignored him. A delusional world is a lonely place to live.

Forty years later, I was somewhat surprised to see him at our reunion and went up to say hi to him. “You ruined me,” was all he said. Too bad he viewed it that way, but not my problem. He chose to write the check and couldn’t cover it. Worse yet, he let it define his life.

That’s what I’m hoping the kid from Colerain won’t do.