Anyone who is fragile and easily triggered should not read this thread.
I thought some may enjoy going down memory lane and sharing memorable tidbits about sideshows during their playing careers - with absolution, because, times: they-are-a-changing.
I played from 1987-1990. My teammates were a mix of ~30 percent black and the rest white - plus one Mexican, who went to Wash U. where he played Tackle and was a Pre-Med Major. And yes, his given nickname was Mex.
Today, I participated in a Facebook thread with a couple of old teammates and a coach, who was huge and very excitable. He was a mix of WWF's Big Boss Man (Bigger) and Cool Hand Luke's Bossman (Stricter) - and that's what we had to call him ... and acknowledge that everything in our existence belonged to him, such as Bossman's hill, grass, sled/bag, water, air, etc. He was awesome!
My new avatar pic was taken from that thread. It's the coaching staff a couple years after I graduated, but it featured a teaching tool all Crusaders back then respected: a taped Wiffle Ball bat. Those were good for pointing, poking, whacking and whipping (although, the nearby willow tree was preferred for whipping switches if linemen did not keep feet apart when driving the sleds - exposed calves paid the price.) The bat was good for rattling your ankles for the same offense of feet too close together.
Part of the Facebook exchange:
TEAMMATE: The sounds of the wiffle ball bat is still ringing in my ears.
COACH: It's was always the sound, never the sting!
He's right - I never felt abused. EVER. I was playing a big boy game with big boy stakes. State title or failure.
***************
Bossman liked the movie Platoon. As such, he likened our helmets to a rifle (during the age of maximum weaponry) and made us jog between stations, in formation, chanting, "This is my rifle, this is my gun. This is for fighting, this is for fun."
The rifle was our helmet in hand, our gun was hand on pecker.
This practice ended when the cheerleading coach complained.
**************
Forever, Schott was an I formation guy. But we practiced a couple "list ditch" pass plays. Most notably, the Oreo Fly. The two fastest guys who could catch the ball (almost always black guys) and a white quarterback. My senior year, there happened to be a white receiver and a black QB ... I have no idea what they ultimately called that play, but there was great discussion as to that point. All of it funny.
***************
If it was a long bus ride, we packed more booze than your average bachelor party. Our over-the-road bus rides were privately paid - not a school deal. As such, accommodation like the emergency hatches could be kept open for convenient venting of marijuana or a few puffs of a cigarette.
In fact, after state finals in 1990, we stopped in Springfield at the Ol' Country Buffet to eat and all of the families did as well. My dad took my car keys after a sobriety assessment and happily offered to drive me to X family's home once we got back to Althoff. I was lit already - everyone was. And it was no big deal.
***************
Players' choice of the coach we wanted on the bus - the rest took the van. We always picked our Linebacker Coach and Team Lawyer (de facto). This was before the age of digital records, so if you got a ticket and you got it to him fast enough, he could get pulled out of the system for the cost of the ticket - a split situation for him, of course. He taught us to never testify against ourselves: never blow or talk without calling him first. "They have my number - just say my name."
***************
Schott would come to every player after the game and ask if their body was OK. Senior year, after game a game in high heat and after and two-a-days, I tell him, "I think I'm dehydrated - it hurts when I pee."
He laughed and called out, "Doc ... we need ya here." Then to me, more quietly, "Been dipping that wick where ya shouldn't have, huh?"
Soon, I learned I had the clap, but the team doc gave me enough penicillin samples to rid my ailment. "If your Mama notices the pills, you can just tell her it was a kidney infection - tell her it hurt in your stomach when you peed."
***************
You set your own dislocated fingers - and sometimes, teammates can do shoulders.
***************
Not a single person on my team did steroids. We were scared of our balls falling off. We only consumed chemicals that harmed our ability to compete - not enhanced.
***************
We were the last of the Raiders: Just Win Baby!
I thought some may enjoy going down memory lane and sharing memorable tidbits about sideshows during their playing careers - with absolution, because, times: they-are-a-changing.
I played from 1987-1990. My teammates were a mix of ~30 percent black and the rest white - plus one Mexican, who went to Wash U. where he played Tackle and was a Pre-Med Major. And yes, his given nickname was Mex.
Today, I participated in a Facebook thread with a couple of old teammates and a coach, who was huge and very excitable. He was a mix of WWF's Big Boss Man (Bigger) and Cool Hand Luke's Bossman (Stricter) - and that's what we had to call him ... and acknowledge that everything in our existence belonged to him, such as Bossman's hill, grass, sled/bag, water, air, etc. He was awesome!
My new avatar pic was taken from that thread. It's the coaching staff a couple years after I graduated, but it featured a teaching tool all Crusaders back then respected: a taped Wiffle Ball bat. Those were good for pointing, poking, whacking and whipping (although, the nearby willow tree was preferred for whipping switches if linemen did not keep feet apart when driving the sleds - exposed calves paid the price.) The bat was good for rattling your ankles for the same offense of feet too close together.
Part of the Facebook exchange:
TEAMMATE: The sounds of the wiffle ball bat is still ringing in my ears.
COACH: It's was always the sound, never the sting!
He's right - I never felt abused. EVER. I was playing a big boy game with big boy stakes. State title or failure.
***************
Bossman liked the movie Platoon. As such, he likened our helmets to a rifle (during the age of maximum weaponry) and made us jog between stations, in formation, chanting, "This is my rifle, this is my gun. This is for fighting, this is for fun."
The rifle was our helmet in hand, our gun was hand on pecker.
This practice ended when the cheerleading coach complained.
**************
Forever, Schott was an I formation guy. But we practiced a couple "list ditch" pass plays. Most notably, the Oreo Fly. The two fastest guys who could catch the ball (almost always black guys) and a white quarterback. My senior year, there happened to be a white receiver and a black QB ... I have no idea what they ultimately called that play, but there was great discussion as to that point. All of it funny.
***************
If it was a long bus ride, we packed more booze than your average bachelor party. Our over-the-road bus rides were privately paid - not a school deal. As such, accommodation like the emergency hatches could be kept open for convenient venting of marijuana or a few puffs of a cigarette.
In fact, after state finals in 1990, we stopped in Springfield at the Ol' Country Buffet to eat and all of the families did as well. My dad took my car keys after a sobriety assessment and happily offered to drive me to X family's home once we got back to Althoff. I was lit already - everyone was. And it was no big deal.
***************
Players' choice of the coach we wanted on the bus - the rest took the van. We always picked our Linebacker Coach and Team Lawyer (de facto). This was before the age of digital records, so if you got a ticket and you got it to him fast enough, he could get pulled out of the system for the cost of the ticket - a split situation for him, of course. He taught us to never testify against ourselves: never blow or talk without calling him first. "They have my number - just say my name."
***************
Schott would come to every player after the game and ask if their body was OK. Senior year, after game a game in high heat and after and two-a-days, I tell him, "I think I'm dehydrated - it hurts when I pee."
He laughed and called out, "Doc ... we need ya here." Then to me, more quietly, "Been dipping that wick where ya shouldn't have, huh?"
Soon, I learned I had the clap, but the team doc gave me enough penicillin samples to rid my ailment. "If your Mama notices the pills, you can just tell her it was a kidney infection - tell her it hurt in your stomach when you peed."
***************
You set your own dislocated fingers - and sometimes, teammates can do shoulders.
***************
Not a single person on my team did steroids. We were scared of our balls falling off. We only consumed chemicals that harmed our ability to compete - not enhanced.
***************
We were the last of the Raiders: Just Win Baby!
