October 7, 2002

Too Old For Tackle Football?

I’m only 26 years old, but I’m finding that 26 is still a far cry from 17, which was the last time I played tackle football. That is until yesterday. Sunday afternoon I joined about 11 other twenty-something morons who thought it would be fun to play tackle football…you know the kind you played back when you were 12…and flexible…and oh so reslilient.

Picture this, the guy on the other team weighs at least 270 lbs., and I am pretty sure he is still mad for not being signed that college scholarship several years ago. My team tells me in the huddle, “Andy, we’re going to give it to you. and all five of us are going to block Craig (the big guy), to the right, you just run right up the middle.” I’m getting my self psyched up (mentally pounding my chest like a macho man), and then they hand me the ball. I take off with visions of Emmitt Smith toward the line of scrimmage, but guess what, all five of them could not block little Craig. Now he’s coming my way like he’s Refrigerator Perry, and like I’m the dude who ate his last Krispy Kreme. The up-the-middle route suddenly didn’t seem quite as enticing as the guys made it sound, so I swept to the left. It was as if I was in slow motion. My life was slowly passing before me. Then I saw the Line. It was glorious. I turned all my attention to making it to the line. The attackers were closing in, but I knew I had one choice…make it passed that line in one piece. With a final heroic leap, I hurled my out-of-shape body and joyously cleared the line. I made it. I was out of bounds!! Don’t tell me you thought I was referring the endzone!

I survived, but now I can hardly walk because of the soreness. My ego is writing checks my body can’t cash. Tiffany asked me, “Andy, why don’t you guys just go shopping together instead.” Sometimes I feel like she doesn’t even know me at all.