GRIDIRON MARTYRS - Segment 3 (Scroll down for earlier segments)


     It was soon game time.  I barely had enough time to get my spot on the bench warm when coach gave the call.  “Maberry, come here.”

     “Yes, Coach?”

     “We’re going to run a 32 end around.  Now get in there.”

     I ran into the huddle.  “32 end around,” I barked.  Then I looked across at the opposing line and my life flashed before my eyes.  I dreamed of one day growing up and having a family, but I knew that one step across the line of scrimmage, and all those plans could change.

     As everyone broke from the huddle, I broke for the sidelines.  I noticed all the players were waving as I was nearing the coach.  It looked as though they were waving for me to come back, but that couldn’t be, I thought. I’d just been in.  Besides, I had more important matters.

     “Why are you back?” asked the coach.

     “I have a question.  Does school insurance cover permanent disability caused by defensive linemen?” 

     Completely ignoring my concern for health, the coach said, “You were supposed to stay in.  You’re number 32.  The play was going to you on an end around.” 

     I may have been the white rat, but I wasn’t the dumb white rat.  That infamous play may have cost me future stardom, but more than likely it saved my life.  After all, as I looked at their lineman, I was certain this was an experiment gone awry.  The white helmet was a poor disguise.  I would be easy to track down in a sea of green and gold.   

     As soon as I realized the direction my life was taking…fertilizer for the football field, I came to my senses. 

     Knowing I might want to write a book one day, I chose to be an observer for the next three years. I watched everyone else become fertilizer.  Even today, every time I fertilize my lawn, I see the faces of fallen classmates.   

     I would love to see a town memorial honoring all those who gave teeth and various body parts during those three years.  They’ve never truly been recognized; not even their name and picture on a bag of “Weed and Feed.” 

     There has been talk of a movie being made to commemorate those years.  It’s called Friday Night Lights Out.  It has an R rating for gratuitous violence.  If you allow your children to see it, I would recommend they wear a blindfold. 

     Our big rival was fifteen miles to our west.  They were known as the Predators; their name probably derived from preying on defenseless football teams.   

     We traveled by school bus; they traveled by circus train.  When they arrived for a game, we could hear them rattling their cages.  Soon we would hear a rolling thunder as whips cracked and players were herded by our locker room on the way to the playing field.  “If they think that stuff is going to intimidate us, they’re doing a good job,” said Clifford.      

     It was their names that caught everyone’s attention; names like Igor, Hulk, Troll, Fang, Crusher, and John.  Their fullback, Hulk, looked like a boxcar with legs.  When he ran, everyone stepped back and watched.  Hulk didn’t appear to have a neck…just a head between his collarbones.  He used his shoulder pads for a helmet.

     They had 150 players in uniform, standing along the sidelines, arms at their side, knuckles dragging the ground.  We had sixteen players in uniform, nowhere to be found.  They were discovered in the locker room with the door locked and lights out.

 

 

To be continued...check back soon